Support Stacie fic: Personal Care
Story: Personal Care
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, unless we want to pretend that this is part of a Year that Never Happened between The Doctor Dances and Boom Town.
Summary: What was that about today being off to a good start?
Written for yamx, who bid on a fixed-price 2000-word fic from me in the September Support Stacie auction. Yes, I'm currently posting wiggiemomsi's winning fic, but I'm interrupting that posting schedule for this one because yamx is currently recovering from surgery - which is also why this story is also longer than 2000 words. Hope you start to feel better soon, yamx! With very many thanks to my invaluable BRs, kae_nine and dark_aegis.
Personal Care
Rose takes a sip of her drink, gazing around at the marketplace as she waits for the Doctor to join her. It’s beautiful, splashes of rich colour everywhere and lots of sounds, voices raised as vendors offer free samples of their wares to passers-by. All food and drink, this section of the market, in a square surrounded by picnic tables. It’s the perfect place to sit on a warm day, sipping an exotic drink while they wait for Jack.
It’s thanks to Jack that they’re here, actually. Over breakfast, the Doctor started a conversation about favourite destinations, and Jack mentioned this planet, which the Doctor had only vaguely heard of. “Amazing place. It’s kinda off the beaten track, but their main business is scavenging. You wouldn’t believe the stuff you find in their markets. Parts that were obsolete centuries ago in most of the rest of the universe, but their technology uses them. Great place to pick up things you’d prefer no-one knew you had, if you get my meaning.”
The Doctor raised one eyebrow, but just said, “Might go there, then, if you remember the coordinates. Could get some spare parts for the TARDIS.”
Jack asked for the capital of one of the major continents somewhere in the fifty-eighth century and, minutes after they’d left the TARDIS, said he was heading for the armaments market. “See if I can find a replacement battery for my blaster, seeing as somebody had to blow up the factory.”
The Doctor could charge it with the sonic screwdriver, she thought, but said nothing when he didn’t offer. The Doctor doesn’t like guns, despite having aimed one at her only a month or so earlier - but he wasn’t in his right mind then. She didn’t hold it against him.
It was when the Doctor just nodded in response to Jack’s announcement, and grunted when Jack said he’d see them here in the market square in a couple of hours, that she realised what’s going on. The Doctor doesn’t expect Jack to come back. He brought the two of them here, to a place Jack chose, knowing that if Jack wanted he could easily talk his way into a berth on a ship - or, of course, con his way into ‘borrowing’ one.
Raising her glass to her lips again, she scans the area around the market, and the star-shaped intersections leading to arterial routes around the city, without any real expectation of seeing a tall, good-looking guy in a tight-fitting T-shirt and the Air Force trousers he was wearing yesterday when they met. The Doctor’s right. Jack’s no Adam, all talk until he’s faced with the reality of the universe and then too scared to enjoy it. He’s an experienced time-traveller who’s hardly going to want to stick around with a Time Lord who disapproves of him half the time, even if it is obvious that he fancies both of them.
No sign of him, and disappointment casts a shadow over her. He might be a self-confessed conman - even if he did risk his life to save them - but so far he’s fun to have around, as well as being about the best-looking bloke she’s ever met. She was really looking forward to getting to know him better, and now that’s not going to happen. And, if he was intending to leave them, he could at least have said goodbye, couldn’t he?
A figure moving through the throng to the right of her catches her eye - not the one she’s looking for, but one she’s happy to see regardless. The Doctor - that long, loping stride of his is unmistakeable, even if his head’s hidden by the canopy of a stall. Moments later, he’s completely in view, and he’s seen her. The warm, affectionate smile he reserves just for her spreads across his face, and she smiles back. It’s only been a few minutes - he might be an alien, but he’s typically male in so many ways, and that includes the need to empty his bladder several times a day - but she’s missed having him by her side, to tease and to share her reactions with.
She takes another sip of the raspberry-coloured drink, enjoying watching the Doctor approach, the easy way his limbs move through that casual saunter, the tilt of his head, the shrug of his shoulders and the way his leather jacket makes him stand out among the loose cotton-like fabrics favoured by the population of this planet. This time, she swishes the liquid around in her mouth, trying to analyse the flavour. It’s not like anything she’s ever had before. A cocktail of local fruits, the stallholder said when she asked for suggestions, one of his most popular items. It’s nice, though there’s a funny aftertaste - sort of bitter and cloying.
“No Jack, then?” the Doctor comments as he reaches the table. “No surprise there.” He picks up his drink, the same cocktail. “Need this. Thirsty work, followin’ you around alien markets.”
“Oi!” She sticks her raspberry-stained tongue out at him. “You’re the one who dragged me around all those-”
She breaks off abruptly. The Doctor went very still for a moment, and now he’s sniffing his glass and rolling his tongue around his mouth. So quickly she barely sees him move, he lunges towards her and knocks her glass out of her hand. “Pois-” he begins, before his legs seem to give way and he tumbles to the ground. There’s a sickening crack as he lands.
Heart in her throat, she starts to stand, to run to him, but her legs refuse to obey. Her head weighs a ton, and everything’s going woozy...
***
Today’s off to a good start, and he so needs that after yesterday. He got the battery, even if it did cost him more than he wanted to pay, but since he has no idea when he’s likely to run across another one he coughed up. Just as well he had those universal credits in his uniform pocket. Rare commodity, these batteries - the blasters had only been in production a month or so before the facility blew up. Correction: before the Doctor blew it up.
He pauses, getting his bearings again. The square’s west of here, so it must be... that way. He’s edging his way past some locals when it dawns on him that he can’t understand what they’re saying.
He can’t understand them.
Back in the Doctor’s ship, he commented that the only downside to this planet is that it’s so far off the popular space lanes that the natives don’t speak any of the trade or diplomatic languages and he doesn’t speak their language. Not a problem, Rose told him instantly, and explained that the TARDIS gets into their heads and translates. “That’s some powerful technology,” he said, looking straight at the Doctor, hoping for more details. All he got was a faint eyebrow-lift, a look that said he could hope all he wanted but that was all he was getting.
If the TARDIS translates, and there’s no translation going on right now... then that means the TARDIS is gone. Which means the Doctor and Rose have gone.
The tightness in his chest takes him by surprise. He should have expected this, really. Why else would the Doctor, who didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for him last night despite his initial welcome to the TARDIS, bring him to his choice of destination? Now that he thinks about it, the message was loud and clear: bugger off.
And why not, really? Just because the Doctor saved his life doesn’t mean the guy’s responsible for him. Especially not considering the reason the Doctor had to save his life in the first place.
It shouldn’t hurt. It’s not as if he wouldn’t even do the same thing himself - has done it, in fact. And it’s not as if he’s the sticking-around type, as a rule, or even as if he’d actually enjoy having the Doctor looking down his nose at him every day for the foreseeable future. It’s just that...
It’s just that, watching the two of them last night and again this morning on the TARDIS, and remembering what it was like to work with them as a team, he felt... envy. Longing for something he hasn’t had in a very long time: real friendship and a sense of belonging. They couldn’t be more different from each other, the Doctor and Rose, yet they just fit: they anticipate each other’s words and actions, and they’re forever touching, or finding each other with their gazes as if they can’t settle to what they’re doing without knowing the other is okay and somewhere near.
And yet, for all that, they didn’t make him feel excluded. Rose welcomed him, smiled with him, behaving as if he was already a friend. Even the Doctor, gruff as he was, made conversation and didn’t treat him like an idiot.
Well, now he knows the truth. He was never going to get the chance to be part of what the two of them have.
Not a lot of point in going to the square now, is there? Better to find the nearest spaceport and try to charm his way onto a ship.
For some reason, his feet keep carrying him towards the square, pointless as that is. And once he’s there, he can’t seem to help glancing around, searching for a tall, brooding man and a golden-haired girl. Even though he knows they won’t be there.
He doesn’t see the man sprawled on the ground next to a picnic table until he almost trips over him. “Hey, might wanna snooze somewhere else,” he practically snarls, barely glancing down - and then stops dead.
Leather jacket. Black jeans. Close-cut hair.
“Doctor?” They didn’t leave him. But he dismisses the instant relief that slams into him. There’s something wrong here.
He drops to his haunches and shakes the Doctor’s shoulder. Nothing. No response at all. A quick press of the back of his hand to the Doctor’s lips shows he’s still breathing. Good. Unconscious, then. But why? And where’s...?
One look to his left shows Rose slumped over the table, a glass lying on its side next to her, its reddish-purple contents in a pool on the table. And there’s a glass on the ground near the Doctor, too, with a much larger mass of liquid trailing over the cobblestones.
Acting on impulse, he picks up the nearest glass and sniffs the contents.
“Shit!” Cubbenberries. A delicacy on this planet, but - as he found out last time he was here, though thankfully not through personal experience - poisonous to many other species. Including humans. Not fatal, but it results in a pretty miserable time until the poison’s passed out of the victim’s system.
The Doctor’s out cold, so he quickly checks Rose. She’s not completely out of it; when he shakes her, she mumbles something indistinct and settles back again. Better to leave her, he decides. She’ll be feeling horrible once she’s awake; the longer she can sleep the better.
One thing’s a bit odd, though. Looks like Rose drank far more of the cubbenberry drink than the Doctor, yet he seems to be affected worse. Different metabolisms, maybe. The Doctor isn’t human, though he’s yet to find out exactly what species he is. The poison in the berries must have a stronger reaction on him.
Get them back to the TARDIS - that’s his first thought. Carrying Rose won’t be a problem, though the Doctor might be a bit more difficult. Doable, though. Okay, he doesn’t have a key, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find theirs, and so what if the locals happen to see him going through the Doctor’s pockets?
That’s when he notices the awkward angle of the Doctor’s lower leg. A quick scan with his wrist computer confirms his initial diagnosis: a broken ankle. Great. No moving him, then - well, certainly not as far as the TARDIS.
With a grimace, he rummages in his pockets to see how much money he’s got left. It’s looking like they’ll need a hotel-room and some supplies. Oh, yeah, and he doesn’t speak the language, either.
What was that about today being off to a good start?
***
Something’s hammering on her skull, and her stomach feels like it’s in a blender. She’s soaking wet all over, and more uncomfortable than she’s been in her life apart from when she had chicken-pox when she was seven.
There’s a sour smell nearby, and someone’s fingers are unbuttoning her shirt. What the...?
With an effort, she drags her eyes open, though the shooting pain that rushes across her temples makes her close them again immediately. It takes even more effort to open them again.
She’s in a darkened room, on a narrow bed - and there’s someone lying next to her. Is that who’s opening her shirt? She turns her head to look, battling against the increased stabs of pain. All she can see is black. Who? A stranger?
“Easy,” a male voice murmurs gently. It’s familiar. But who...? “Just let me get this off.” The fingers are back, tugging at her shirt. She tries to protest, but all that comes out is a moan.
Instantly, there’s movement from her side, and a low, angry voice that’s the Doctor’s yet sounds all wrong for him growls, “Touch her again and you’ll wish you’d died in your ship.”
“What the-” the other voice says again, and it’s then she realises. Jack. “You’re soaked in sweat, both of you. I’m only trying to make you more comfortable.”
“Cu...berries.” The Doctor sounds hoarse, and completely disgusted.
“Yeah. Take it your species has a particularly bad reaction to them?” Jack asks. She wants to tell them to stop talking. It’s making the hammers inside her skull hit harder. She squeezes her eyes closed to shut out the light.
“Yep.” The word’s clipped, but the best thing is the silence that follows.
Jack starts pulling at her shirt again, and she stiffens, bringing her hands up to stop him. It feels as if she’s fighting to move through treacle. “Hey, told you, I’m just trying to make you more comfortable,” Jack says, keeping his voice low. “Your shirt’s wet, and you threw up over your clothes before I could stop you.”
That explains the smell, and what she now realises is a horrible taste in her mouth. With a resigned groan, she lies back and lets him strip her to the skin. The tiny part of her that’s still able to be rational can’t help cringing at that - Jack Harkness, flirt extraordinaire, is stripping her naked and surely he’s going to take advantage of her in some way, even if just to enjoy the sight. But when she manages to crack open one eye, he’s completely focused on picking up the dirty clothes. He glances back at her for a moment - looking at her face, nowhere else - and says, “I’ll be back with some cloths in a minute.”
“Doc...tor?” she manages with difficulty. “You... a’ri’?”
“Will... be.” His voice is still barely recognisable. “Sorry... should’ve...”
“Don’t waste energy talking.” The bed dips as Jack returns. “Best thing for you both is if you can sleep it off.” She jumps a bit as a warm, damp cloth lands on her stomach. “Sorry, should’ve said. Cleaning you up a bit - you’ll be more comfortable then.”
Even though the light hurts, she has to watch - she’s not going to trust him to have his hands all over her body unsupervised. But his movements are completely clinical, and she has to admit it feels good. “Okay, I’ll do the rest of you in a minute,” he says, and then a blanket’s drawn over her, preserving her modesty. A new cloth, a gentle but thorough wash of her face, and then his hand is behind her head. “Up,” he says, encouraging, and when she refocuses her vision she sees the glass in his hand. “Rinse your mouth.” She swishes carefully, trying to avoid moving her head too much, and then spits into the bowl he’s holding for her.
A warm hand rests gently on her shoulder. “Get some rest.”
With relief, she closes her eyes. Sounds and movements tell her that Jack’s moved around the other side of the bed, trying to make the Doctor more comfortable. The fact that she doesn’t hear any protests from the Doctor says a lot about how sick he really is.
Damn those bloody red berries, anyway.
***
It’s dark when he wakes again; sometime in the small hours of the morning, he can tell. A quick run-through of his organs and limbs tells him that he’s metabolised the cubbenberries. Good. One of the many benefits to Time Lord physiology: even if in this case the poison affected him much worse than Rose, his recovery period is shorter.
Faint sounds, the whisper of clothing and of stretching limbs, from the other side of the room alert him to movement. “Jack?” He keeps his voice soft, to avoid waking Rose.
“Need something, Doctor?” A shadow looms over him.
“Nah. Just wondered. Why didn’t you take us to the TARDIS?” Well, that’s not the only thing he wondered. How did Jack find them? How did he know about the berries, and what to do to treat the symptoms? And where are they, anyway?
Most of all, he wants to know why Jack’s still here. Why didn’t he make straight for a trading ship and flirt his way to a berth? Or, even if that wasn’t his intention, why didn’t he just walk on by when he saw his hosts were incapacitated, sick in a way that’d disgust many people who didn’t have a reason to care about their well-being?
“Don’t have a key, though that’s not the main reason,” Jack answers, also keeping his voice low. “Would just’ve searched your pockets, or Rose’s. But your ankle’s broken. Thought it best not to move you too far. We’re in a boarding-house just next to where you two were sitting.”
His ankle? Rassilon, he’s been really sick if he missed that. Now that Jack mentions it, he can feel the tight strapping on his left ankle. There’s nagging pain there too, pain that turns into a sharp stab if he tries to flex.
“Did what I could, but without a bone-grafter I just had to set it and leave it to knit,” Jack explains.
“Got one on the TARDIS. Course, would have to get there to be able to use it,” he says, resigned. “Could try later on, though. If you don’t mind me leanin’ on you.”
Jack hunches down beside the bed. “Not sure that’s such a good idea. The path’s kinda rough once you’re away from the city centre, remember? And Rose is still pretty feverish. We couldn’t leave her here alone, and I can’t carry her if I’m supporting you.”
He nods. The bloke’s got a point.
“Could see if I can borrow some kind of vehicle.” A movement in the shadows tells him Jack’s rumpling his hair. “Gonna have to go out when it’s light anyway. Rose is gonna be dehydrated when she wakes, and she needs something better than the water in this place. Need to find her something to wear, too - I’m pretty sure she won’t want to put those clothes back on.”
“TARDIS key’s in my pocket.” He shifts, trying to rummage for it, then remembers. Jack stripped him naked too. Not the kind of thing he’d prefer to be remembering - but, thinking about it, the lad was pretty good about it. Quick, professional, with no inappropriate comments. Maybe he’s not such a lightweight after all. Though, of course, if he really was a career Time Agent - and he must have been, with that Vortex manipulator he’s wearing - he’ll have had to deal with injuries and sickness in the field before.
“Yeah, but unless there’s other things you want from the TARDIS I’d prefer just to get her something locally. Don’t want to be away that long, for one thing - you might be a lot better than you were, but you’re still not mobile, which isn’t a lot of help if Rose needs something. Plus I’m not sure she’d like me going through her stuff,” Jack adds ruefully. “She wasn’t all that happy about me undressing her.”
“She’s sick,” he protests in her defence.
“I know.” Jack’s head tilts, looking past him to where Rose is lying fast asleep on the other side of the bed, and he can just about see a wistful, concerned look on the younger man’s face. Then Jack’s attention is back on him. “Should’ve asked. You want something to drink?”
He is thirsty, he realises. “Yeah. Thanks.”
And this, he thinks, as Jack holds a cup to his lips a couple of minutes later, supporting his head at the same time, is the bloke he wrote off as a waste of space just a little more than twenty-four hours ago. Just goes to show: even he can be wrong sometimes.
***
It’s a weight off his mind to know that the Doctor’s over the worst. Not knowing what species he is made it very difficult to know if he was doing the right thing for the guy.
After sponging Rose down again - her fever’s a bit lower than the last time, an hour or so ago, but not much - he feels his way back to the hard-backed chair in the semi-darkness and sinks into it, yawning. Another cat-nap, if he can manage it, will help him do whatever needs to be done when day comes.
When he wakes again, neck stiff and back aching, daylight’s pouring into the room through the too-thin curtains. He glances at the blanket covering the Doctor; that’ll have to go over the rail again if Rose’s eyes are still as sensitive to light as they were yesterday.
“Captain.” The Doctor’s voice is low, but it still carries across the room. “You awake?”
He stands, stretching aching muscles. “Need something?”
There’s a different note in the Doctor’s voice this time. “You slept in that?”
“Slept in worse,” he says, hating the defensiveness in his tone. What else was he expected to do? There’s only one bed in this room, and even if it was big enough for three he knows what kind of reaction he’d get if he tried to share it.
“Anyway, yeah, I do want something. You were plannin’ to go out, right?”
Once he’s splashed some cold water on his face, yes. No shower in this room, and he’s not keen on using the shared facilities down the hall if he can help it. The noises from some of the other rooms during the night weren’t particularly appealing. “Yeah. Need something?”
“Rose does.” The Doctor glances towards the young woman sleeping next to him. “Fever’s takin’ a bit too long to break for my likin’. See if you can find some acetphenetidinum or qulnina, something like that. Something to rehydrate her as well, like you said.”
“I’ll try, but it might be a bit tricky.” Shuffling with embarrassment, wishing like hell he didn’t have to admit this, he explains, “Paying for this room took almost all the money I had. If we need to be here another night I’ll have to get a couple of hours’ work, as long as you two are okay-”
“Jack.” The Doctor’s voice is curt, but there’s an underlying note of - what? Awkwardness? “Jus’ pass me my jeans, all right?”
He does, hoping that the guy’s not planning on getting out of bed. The strapping job he did on the ankle’s fine as long as the Doctor doesn’t move it too much.
But instead the Doctor rummages in a pocket, then hands over several credits. Large denominations, too. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly.
“You should’ve just said.” The Doctor sounds irritable, but then adds immediately, “No, I should’ve thought. Better still, why didn’t you just check my pockets? Must’ve known I’d have cash.”
He stiffens. “You already think I’m a waste of space as well as a conman. Not gonna have you think me a thief, too.”
“Oh, for-” the Doctor exclaims, then breaks off with a glance at Rose. “Takin’ money ‘cause you need it to help us is hardly stealing.”
He looks away. “Okay, fever-reducer and rehydration fluids, and something for her to wear. What about you?” Food, at least. The Doctor hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and he could do with some breakfast as well.
“Nothin’, thanks.” The Doctor pulls himself - carefully - into a sitting position. “An’ Jack? Thank you.”
The words are sincere, and he feels warmth flow through him. “Welcome. Hell, it’s only what anyone would do.” He bends, picks up the Doctor’s jumper and passes it over; the room’s not over-warm.
“It’s not, and you know it.”
He shrugs and turns to leave, then pauses. “Might be a while. The translator thing... it stopped working yesterday.” Which will make it more difficult for him to find what he needs - not to mention the fact that he’s curious about why it stopped working if the TARDIS is still here.
“Oh.” The Doctor frowns. “Nothin’ to worry about. It’ll be workin’ now.”
“It will?”
“Yep. That was me. Translation circuit flows through me, an’ I was unconscious, so it shut off.”
His heart skips a beat; a suspicion has just become ten times more likely. “You must be a pretty powerful telepath.”
“I am, actually,” the Doctor agrees, a faint smile on his lips.
“And...” He takes a deep breath and goes for it. “When I was sponging you down last night, I couldn’t help noticing that you have a... a binary vascular system.” At the last minute, he switches to the more scientific language. For some reason, that sounds less intimidating than the two hearts the myths have spoken of.
“Yep.” The Doctor’s expression is bland. “And...?”
“Are you...” God, he can’t believe he’s actually saying this. “Are you a Time Lord?”
The Doctor’s smile splits his face from ear to ear. “That’s me!”
“Oh, god.” He can feel himself going pale. He had to go and make the biggest screw-up of his life in front of a Time Lord. “I’m such an idiot.”
The Doctor raises one eyebrow. “Think we’ve all been idiots at one time or another. You’re makin’ up for it.” Then he frowns again. “When you couldn’t understand anyone, what did you think happened?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
Cool blue eyes hold his gaze. “You thought we’d left, didn’t you? Dumped you here, like any old rubbish?”
He refuses to look away. “You thought I was going to leave anyway, didn’t you? Couldn’t have blamed you for assuming.”
“No.” Still that unbroken gaze. “I don’t do that, Jack. If someone wants to leave my ship, fine. If I want them to leave, I’ll make it clear. I don’t just abandon you on a foreign world when you’re looking the other way.” The Doctor pauses, and the atmosphere’s thick with an emotion Jack can’t even name. He tries to swallow, and finds a lump in his throat.
“If you want to leave, find another ship or whatever, I won’t stop you. I can take care of Rose from here if you’re in a hurry. But if you want to stay...” Again, that electric pause. “If you want to stay, there’s room on the TARDIS for you.”
This time, he manages to swallow. “Thanks. I...” He turns, unable to meet the Doctor’s eyes any more. “I’ll be back soon.”
***
Wrapped in blankets, Rose sits at the picnic table and watches Jack help the Doctor onto the seat of a hover-car. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a day and a half since she sat here sipping her drink and waiting for the Doctor, and it’s not anything she wants to experience again.
Her fever broke a few hours ago and Jack and the Doctor have been dosing her with rehydrating fluids and painkillers ever since. She’s still got a headache and bright sunlight sends stabbing pains around her eyes and temples, but she’s a lot better than she was. And it’s all thanks to Jack - she has no idea what would have happened if he hadn’t found them.
“Ready?” He’s standing in front of her, holding out his hands.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She sways a little as she stands. “Oops. Still a bit dizzy.”
“No worries.” His grin’s dazzling. “Anything for a lady.” In one smooth movement, he scoops her into his arms, then carries her to the hover-car and lowers her down next to the Doctor before running around and jumping up beside the driver.
“You all right?” the Doctor asks immediately, reaching for her hand. “Soon have you sorted,” he adds, not waiting for her answer. “Sorry. Should’ve checked everything was safe before sendin’ you to buy drinks.”
Jack twists around in his seat. “It’s my fault, really. I knew cubbenberries were a big deal here and I should have warned you.”
She has to laugh. “Will you two stop fighting over taking the blame? I could’ve asked the stallholder if it was safe for off-worlders, an’ I didn’t. Won’t make that mistake again. Anyway, ‘s no worse than when my mate Shareen went to Kos an’ ate bad fish.”
Back at the TARDIS, Jack helps the Doctor inside, then comes back for her, tipping the driver on the way. She has to reach out and touch the side of the ship as Jack carries her in. She’s home, the Doctor’s promised an injection that’ll take away the rest of the symptoms and she can have a hot bath and get to sleep in her own bed. Bliss.
An hour later, wrapped in a huge towelling robe, she finds the Doctor and Jack exiting the medlab. The Doctor’s just limping slightly now. “All fixed?” she asks.
“Yeah. Our Captain’s not half bad with a bone-grafter.” The Doctor pats Jack’s shoulder.
“Had plenty of practice,” Jack comments. He glances from the Doctor to her and back. “Okay, if you guys don’t need me for anything, think I’m gonna grab a shower and a change of clothes, if you don’t mind me borrowing some more stuff from the wardrobe, Doctor.”
“That’s what it’s there for.”
She steps forward, reaches up and wraps her arms around Jack’s neck. “Thanks. You were fantastic. Dunno how we’d have managed without you.” Standing on tip-toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek.
He hugs her back, and she presses tightly against him, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his body. He feels every bit as wonderful as he did two days ago on top of his ship: a little bit dangerous, a lot sexy and fun.
Jack loosens his hold on her and bends to drop a kiss on her forehead - though she can’t help noticing that he seems to hesitate for a moment before playing safe and kissing her there. As he releases her, the Doctor steps forward and says, “Never answered my question from earlier, you didn’t, Jack.”
“What question was that?” Jack looks surprised, and a little bit nervous.
“D’you want me to take you somewhere you can start a new life, or d’you want to stay here? Told you, there’s room. Can always use a clever, quick-thinking bloke like you.”
Jack looks as if he’s been offered the moon on a plate. “I’d be honoured to stay, Doctor.”
“Right, then, glad that’s settled.” The Doctor’s reaching into his jacket pocket, and when she sees what he’s pulling out - a long chain with a key on the end of it - she grins and bumps the Doctor’s hip with hers.
He holds the key out to Jack, doing a terrible job of pretending not to smile. “Here you go. Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” Jack promises, then lunges for the Doctor, wrapping his arms around him in a bear-hug.
To her amazement - and delight - the Doctor hugs back. “Hug anyone, me. But you’re not gettin’ my clothes off again!”
- end
yamx's prompt:
Rose, Doctor hurt, incapacitated. At this point, they barely know Jack (REALLY shortly after TDD, like the next day), but now they have to rely on him completely. The Doctor’s distrustful, of course. Certain Jack’s going to take advantage. Rose is not quite as pessimistic about him, but also wary, what with having been conned so recently. And due to the nature of their problem, he has to do some pretty intimate things (Washing? Cleaning up?) that she’s really not comfortable with. But Jack totally comes through, is completely awesome, and totally professional during the difficult bits, making the awkwardness minimal. Both are very impressed. End with Jack being made part of the crew by the Doctor. Hope I managed to fulfil this satisfactorily!
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, unless we want to pretend that this is part of a Year that Never Happened between The Doctor Dances and Boom Town.
Summary: What was that about today being off to a good start?
Written for yamx, who bid on a fixed-price 2000-word fic from me in the September Support Stacie auction. Yes, I'm currently posting wiggiemomsi's winning fic, but I'm interrupting that posting schedule for this one because yamx is currently recovering from surgery - which is also why this story is also longer than 2000 words. Hope you start to feel better soon, yamx! With very many thanks to my invaluable BRs, kae_nine and dark_aegis.
Personal Care
Rose takes a sip of her drink, gazing around at the marketplace as she waits for the Doctor to join her. It’s beautiful, splashes of rich colour everywhere and lots of sounds, voices raised as vendors offer free samples of their wares to passers-by. All food and drink, this section of the market, in a square surrounded by picnic tables. It’s the perfect place to sit on a warm day, sipping an exotic drink while they wait for Jack.
It’s thanks to Jack that they’re here, actually. Over breakfast, the Doctor started a conversation about favourite destinations, and Jack mentioned this planet, which the Doctor had only vaguely heard of. “Amazing place. It’s kinda off the beaten track, but their main business is scavenging. You wouldn’t believe the stuff you find in their markets. Parts that were obsolete centuries ago in most of the rest of the universe, but their technology uses them. Great place to pick up things you’d prefer no-one knew you had, if you get my meaning.”
The Doctor raised one eyebrow, but just said, “Might go there, then, if you remember the coordinates. Could get some spare parts for the TARDIS.”
Jack asked for the capital of one of the major continents somewhere in the fifty-eighth century and, minutes after they’d left the TARDIS, said he was heading for the armaments market. “See if I can find a replacement battery for my blaster, seeing as somebody had to blow up the factory.”
The Doctor could charge it with the sonic screwdriver, she thought, but said nothing when he didn’t offer. The Doctor doesn’t like guns, despite having aimed one at her only a month or so earlier - but he wasn’t in his right mind then. She didn’t hold it against him.
It was when the Doctor just nodded in response to Jack’s announcement, and grunted when Jack said he’d see them here in the market square in a couple of hours, that she realised what’s going on. The Doctor doesn’t expect Jack to come back. He brought the two of them here, to a place Jack chose, knowing that if Jack wanted he could easily talk his way into a berth on a ship - or, of course, con his way into ‘borrowing’ one.
Raising her glass to her lips again, she scans the area around the market, and the star-shaped intersections leading to arterial routes around the city, without any real expectation of seeing a tall, good-looking guy in a tight-fitting T-shirt and the Air Force trousers he was wearing yesterday when they met. The Doctor’s right. Jack’s no Adam, all talk until he’s faced with the reality of the universe and then too scared to enjoy it. He’s an experienced time-traveller who’s hardly going to want to stick around with a Time Lord who disapproves of him half the time, even if it is obvious that he fancies both of them.
No sign of him, and disappointment casts a shadow over her. He might be a self-confessed conman - even if he did risk his life to save them - but so far he’s fun to have around, as well as being about the best-looking bloke she’s ever met. She was really looking forward to getting to know him better, and now that’s not going to happen. And, if he was intending to leave them, he could at least have said goodbye, couldn’t he?
A figure moving through the throng to the right of her catches her eye - not the one she’s looking for, but one she’s happy to see regardless. The Doctor - that long, loping stride of his is unmistakeable, even if his head’s hidden by the canopy of a stall. Moments later, he’s completely in view, and he’s seen her. The warm, affectionate smile he reserves just for her spreads across his face, and she smiles back. It’s only been a few minutes - he might be an alien, but he’s typically male in so many ways, and that includes the need to empty his bladder several times a day - but she’s missed having him by her side, to tease and to share her reactions with.
She takes another sip of the raspberry-coloured drink, enjoying watching the Doctor approach, the easy way his limbs move through that casual saunter, the tilt of his head, the shrug of his shoulders and the way his leather jacket makes him stand out among the loose cotton-like fabrics favoured by the population of this planet. This time, she swishes the liquid around in her mouth, trying to analyse the flavour. It’s not like anything she’s ever had before. A cocktail of local fruits, the stallholder said when she asked for suggestions, one of his most popular items. It’s nice, though there’s a funny aftertaste - sort of bitter and cloying.
“No Jack, then?” the Doctor comments as he reaches the table. “No surprise there.” He picks up his drink, the same cocktail. “Need this. Thirsty work, followin’ you around alien markets.”
“Oi!” She sticks her raspberry-stained tongue out at him. “You’re the one who dragged me around all those-”
She breaks off abruptly. The Doctor went very still for a moment, and now he’s sniffing his glass and rolling his tongue around his mouth. So quickly she barely sees him move, he lunges towards her and knocks her glass out of her hand. “Pois-” he begins, before his legs seem to give way and he tumbles to the ground. There’s a sickening crack as he lands.
Heart in her throat, she starts to stand, to run to him, but her legs refuse to obey. Her head weighs a ton, and everything’s going woozy...
***
Today’s off to a good start, and he so needs that after yesterday. He got the battery, even if it did cost him more than he wanted to pay, but since he has no idea when he’s likely to run across another one he coughed up. Just as well he had those universal credits in his uniform pocket. Rare commodity, these batteries - the blasters had only been in production a month or so before the facility blew up. Correction: before the Doctor blew it up.
He pauses, getting his bearings again. The square’s west of here, so it must be... that way. He’s edging his way past some locals when it dawns on him that he can’t understand what they’re saying.
He can’t understand them.
Back in the Doctor’s ship, he commented that the only downside to this planet is that it’s so far off the popular space lanes that the natives don’t speak any of the trade or diplomatic languages and he doesn’t speak their language. Not a problem, Rose told him instantly, and explained that the TARDIS gets into their heads and translates. “That’s some powerful technology,” he said, looking straight at the Doctor, hoping for more details. All he got was a faint eyebrow-lift, a look that said he could hope all he wanted but that was all he was getting.
If the TARDIS translates, and there’s no translation going on right now... then that means the TARDIS is gone. Which means the Doctor and Rose have gone.
The tightness in his chest takes him by surprise. He should have expected this, really. Why else would the Doctor, who didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for him last night despite his initial welcome to the TARDIS, bring him to his choice of destination? Now that he thinks about it, the message was loud and clear: bugger off.
And why not, really? Just because the Doctor saved his life doesn’t mean the guy’s responsible for him. Especially not considering the reason the Doctor had to save his life in the first place.
It shouldn’t hurt. It’s not as if he wouldn’t even do the same thing himself - has done it, in fact. And it’s not as if he’s the sticking-around type, as a rule, or even as if he’d actually enjoy having the Doctor looking down his nose at him every day for the foreseeable future. It’s just that...
It’s just that, watching the two of them last night and again this morning on the TARDIS, and remembering what it was like to work with them as a team, he felt... envy. Longing for something he hasn’t had in a very long time: real friendship and a sense of belonging. They couldn’t be more different from each other, the Doctor and Rose, yet they just fit: they anticipate each other’s words and actions, and they’re forever touching, or finding each other with their gazes as if they can’t settle to what they’re doing without knowing the other is okay and somewhere near.
And yet, for all that, they didn’t make him feel excluded. Rose welcomed him, smiled with him, behaving as if he was already a friend. Even the Doctor, gruff as he was, made conversation and didn’t treat him like an idiot.
Well, now he knows the truth. He was never going to get the chance to be part of what the two of them have.
Not a lot of point in going to the square now, is there? Better to find the nearest spaceport and try to charm his way onto a ship.
For some reason, his feet keep carrying him towards the square, pointless as that is. And once he’s there, he can’t seem to help glancing around, searching for a tall, brooding man and a golden-haired girl. Even though he knows they won’t be there.
He doesn’t see the man sprawled on the ground next to a picnic table until he almost trips over him. “Hey, might wanna snooze somewhere else,” he practically snarls, barely glancing down - and then stops dead.
Leather jacket. Black jeans. Close-cut hair.
“Doctor?” They didn’t leave him. But he dismisses the instant relief that slams into him. There’s something wrong here.
He drops to his haunches and shakes the Doctor’s shoulder. Nothing. No response at all. A quick press of the back of his hand to the Doctor’s lips shows he’s still breathing. Good. Unconscious, then. But why? And where’s...?
One look to his left shows Rose slumped over the table, a glass lying on its side next to her, its reddish-purple contents in a pool on the table. And there’s a glass on the ground near the Doctor, too, with a much larger mass of liquid trailing over the cobblestones.
Acting on impulse, he picks up the nearest glass and sniffs the contents.
“Shit!” Cubbenberries. A delicacy on this planet, but - as he found out last time he was here, though thankfully not through personal experience - poisonous to many other species. Including humans. Not fatal, but it results in a pretty miserable time until the poison’s passed out of the victim’s system.
The Doctor’s out cold, so he quickly checks Rose. She’s not completely out of it; when he shakes her, she mumbles something indistinct and settles back again. Better to leave her, he decides. She’ll be feeling horrible once she’s awake; the longer she can sleep the better.
One thing’s a bit odd, though. Looks like Rose drank far more of the cubbenberry drink than the Doctor, yet he seems to be affected worse. Different metabolisms, maybe. The Doctor isn’t human, though he’s yet to find out exactly what species he is. The poison in the berries must have a stronger reaction on him.
Get them back to the TARDIS - that’s his first thought. Carrying Rose won’t be a problem, though the Doctor might be a bit more difficult. Doable, though. Okay, he doesn’t have a key, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find theirs, and so what if the locals happen to see him going through the Doctor’s pockets?
That’s when he notices the awkward angle of the Doctor’s lower leg. A quick scan with his wrist computer confirms his initial diagnosis: a broken ankle. Great. No moving him, then - well, certainly not as far as the TARDIS.
With a grimace, he rummages in his pockets to see how much money he’s got left. It’s looking like they’ll need a hotel-room and some supplies. Oh, yeah, and he doesn’t speak the language, either.
What was that about today being off to a good start?
***
Something’s hammering on her skull, and her stomach feels like it’s in a blender. She’s soaking wet all over, and more uncomfortable than she’s been in her life apart from when she had chicken-pox when she was seven.
There’s a sour smell nearby, and someone’s fingers are unbuttoning her shirt. What the...?
With an effort, she drags her eyes open, though the shooting pain that rushes across her temples makes her close them again immediately. It takes even more effort to open them again.
She’s in a darkened room, on a narrow bed - and there’s someone lying next to her. Is that who’s opening her shirt? She turns her head to look, battling against the increased stabs of pain. All she can see is black. Who? A stranger?
“Easy,” a male voice murmurs gently. It’s familiar. But who...? “Just let me get this off.” The fingers are back, tugging at her shirt. She tries to protest, but all that comes out is a moan.
Instantly, there’s movement from her side, and a low, angry voice that’s the Doctor’s yet sounds all wrong for him growls, “Touch her again and you’ll wish you’d died in your ship.”
“What the-” the other voice says again, and it’s then she realises. Jack. “You’re soaked in sweat, both of you. I’m only trying to make you more comfortable.”
“Cu...berries.” The Doctor sounds hoarse, and completely disgusted.
“Yeah. Take it your species has a particularly bad reaction to them?” Jack asks. She wants to tell them to stop talking. It’s making the hammers inside her skull hit harder. She squeezes her eyes closed to shut out the light.
“Yep.” The word’s clipped, but the best thing is the silence that follows.
Jack starts pulling at her shirt again, and she stiffens, bringing her hands up to stop him. It feels as if she’s fighting to move through treacle. “Hey, told you, I’m just trying to make you more comfortable,” Jack says, keeping his voice low. “Your shirt’s wet, and you threw up over your clothes before I could stop you.”
That explains the smell, and what she now realises is a horrible taste in her mouth. With a resigned groan, she lies back and lets him strip her to the skin. The tiny part of her that’s still able to be rational can’t help cringing at that - Jack Harkness, flirt extraordinaire, is stripping her naked and surely he’s going to take advantage of her in some way, even if just to enjoy the sight. But when she manages to crack open one eye, he’s completely focused on picking up the dirty clothes. He glances back at her for a moment - looking at her face, nowhere else - and says, “I’ll be back with some cloths in a minute.”
“Doc...tor?” she manages with difficulty. “You... a’ri’?”
“Will... be.” His voice is still barely recognisable. “Sorry... should’ve...”
“Don’t waste energy talking.” The bed dips as Jack returns. “Best thing for you both is if you can sleep it off.” She jumps a bit as a warm, damp cloth lands on her stomach. “Sorry, should’ve said. Cleaning you up a bit - you’ll be more comfortable then.”
Even though the light hurts, she has to watch - she’s not going to trust him to have his hands all over her body unsupervised. But his movements are completely clinical, and she has to admit it feels good. “Okay, I’ll do the rest of you in a minute,” he says, and then a blanket’s drawn over her, preserving her modesty. A new cloth, a gentle but thorough wash of her face, and then his hand is behind her head. “Up,” he says, encouraging, and when she refocuses her vision she sees the glass in his hand. “Rinse your mouth.” She swishes carefully, trying to avoid moving her head too much, and then spits into the bowl he’s holding for her.
A warm hand rests gently on her shoulder. “Get some rest.”
With relief, she closes her eyes. Sounds and movements tell her that Jack’s moved around the other side of the bed, trying to make the Doctor more comfortable. The fact that she doesn’t hear any protests from the Doctor says a lot about how sick he really is.
Damn those bloody red berries, anyway.
***
It’s dark when he wakes again; sometime in the small hours of the morning, he can tell. A quick run-through of his organs and limbs tells him that he’s metabolised the cubbenberries. Good. One of the many benefits to Time Lord physiology: even if in this case the poison affected him much worse than Rose, his recovery period is shorter.
Faint sounds, the whisper of clothing and of stretching limbs, from the other side of the room alert him to movement. “Jack?” He keeps his voice soft, to avoid waking Rose.
“Need something, Doctor?” A shadow looms over him.
“Nah. Just wondered. Why didn’t you take us to the TARDIS?” Well, that’s not the only thing he wondered. How did Jack find them? How did he know about the berries, and what to do to treat the symptoms? And where are they, anyway?
Most of all, he wants to know why Jack’s still here. Why didn’t he make straight for a trading ship and flirt his way to a berth? Or, even if that wasn’t his intention, why didn’t he just walk on by when he saw his hosts were incapacitated, sick in a way that’d disgust many people who didn’t have a reason to care about their well-being?
“Don’t have a key, though that’s not the main reason,” Jack answers, also keeping his voice low. “Would just’ve searched your pockets, or Rose’s. But your ankle’s broken. Thought it best not to move you too far. We’re in a boarding-house just next to where you two were sitting.”
His ankle? Rassilon, he’s been really sick if he missed that. Now that Jack mentions it, he can feel the tight strapping on his left ankle. There’s nagging pain there too, pain that turns into a sharp stab if he tries to flex.
“Did what I could, but without a bone-grafter I just had to set it and leave it to knit,” Jack explains.
“Got one on the TARDIS. Course, would have to get there to be able to use it,” he says, resigned. “Could try later on, though. If you don’t mind me leanin’ on you.”
Jack hunches down beside the bed. “Not sure that’s such a good idea. The path’s kinda rough once you’re away from the city centre, remember? And Rose is still pretty feverish. We couldn’t leave her here alone, and I can’t carry her if I’m supporting you.”
He nods. The bloke’s got a point.
“Could see if I can borrow some kind of vehicle.” A movement in the shadows tells him Jack’s rumpling his hair. “Gonna have to go out when it’s light anyway. Rose is gonna be dehydrated when she wakes, and she needs something better than the water in this place. Need to find her something to wear, too - I’m pretty sure she won’t want to put those clothes back on.”
“TARDIS key’s in my pocket.” He shifts, trying to rummage for it, then remembers. Jack stripped him naked too. Not the kind of thing he’d prefer to be remembering - but, thinking about it, the lad was pretty good about it. Quick, professional, with no inappropriate comments. Maybe he’s not such a lightweight after all. Though, of course, if he really was a career Time Agent - and he must have been, with that Vortex manipulator he’s wearing - he’ll have had to deal with injuries and sickness in the field before.
“Yeah, but unless there’s other things you want from the TARDIS I’d prefer just to get her something locally. Don’t want to be away that long, for one thing - you might be a lot better than you were, but you’re still not mobile, which isn’t a lot of help if Rose needs something. Plus I’m not sure she’d like me going through her stuff,” Jack adds ruefully. “She wasn’t all that happy about me undressing her.”
“She’s sick,” he protests in her defence.
“I know.” Jack’s head tilts, looking past him to where Rose is lying fast asleep on the other side of the bed, and he can just about see a wistful, concerned look on the younger man’s face. Then Jack’s attention is back on him. “Should’ve asked. You want something to drink?”
He is thirsty, he realises. “Yeah. Thanks.”
And this, he thinks, as Jack holds a cup to his lips a couple of minutes later, supporting his head at the same time, is the bloke he wrote off as a waste of space just a little more than twenty-four hours ago. Just goes to show: even he can be wrong sometimes.
***
It’s a weight off his mind to know that the Doctor’s over the worst. Not knowing what species he is made it very difficult to know if he was doing the right thing for the guy.
After sponging Rose down again - her fever’s a bit lower than the last time, an hour or so ago, but not much - he feels his way back to the hard-backed chair in the semi-darkness and sinks into it, yawning. Another cat-nap, if he can manage it, will help him do whatever needs to be done when day comes.
When he wakes again, neck stiff and back aching, daylight’s pouring into the room through the too-thin curtains. He glances at the blanket covering the Doctor; that’ll have to go over the rail again if Rose’s eyes are still as sensitive to light as they were yesterday.
“Captain.” The Doctor’s voice is low, but it still carries across the room. “You awake?”
He stands, stretching aching muscles. “Need something?”
There’s a different note in the Doctor’s voice this time. “You slept in that?”
“Slept in worse,” he says, hating the defensiveness in his tone. What else was he expected to do? There’s only one bed in this room, and even if it was big enough for three he knows what kind of reaction he’d get if he tried to share it.
“Anyway, yeah, I do want something. You were plannin’ to go out, right?”
Once he’s splashed some cold water on his face, yes. No shower in this room, and he’s not keen on using the shared facilities down the hall if he can help it. The noises from some of the other rooms during the night weren’t particularly appealing. “Yeah. Need something?”
“Rose does.” The Doctor glances towards the young woman sleeping next to him. “Fever’s takin’ a bit too long to break for my likin’. See if you can find some acetphenetidinum or qulnina, something like that. Something to rehydrate her as well, like you said.”
“I’ll try, but it might be a bit tricky.” Shuffling with embarrassment, wishing like hell he didn’t have to admit this, he explains, “Paying for this room took almost all the money I had. If we need to be here another night I’ll have to get a couple of hours’ work, as long as you two are okay-”
“Jack.” The Doctor’s voice is curt, but there’s an underlying note of - what? Awkwardness? “Jus’ pass me my jeans, all right?”
He does, hoping that the guy’s not planning on getting out of bed. The strapping job he did on the ankle’s fine as long as the Doctor doesn’t move it too much.
But instead the Doctor rummages in a pocket, then hands over several credits. Large denominations, too. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly.
“You should’ve just said.” The Doctor sounds irritable, but then adds immediately, “No, I should’ve thought. Better still, why didn’t you just check my pockets? Must’ve known I’d have cash.”
He stiffens. “You already think I’m a waste of space as well as a conman. Not gonna have you think me a thief, too.”
“Oh, for-” the Doctor exclaims, then breaks off with a glance at Rose. “Takin’ money ‘cause you need it to help us is hardly stealing.”
He looks away. “Okay, fever-reducer and rehydration fluids, and something for her to wear. What about you?” Food, at least. The Doctor hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and he could do with some breakfast as well.
“Nothin’, thanks.” The Doctor pulls himself - carefully - into a sitting position. “An’ Jack? Thank you.”
The words are sincere, and he feels warmth flow through him. “Welcome. Hell, it’s only what anyone would do.” He bends, picks up the Doctor’s jumper and passes it over; the room’s not over-warm.
“It’s not, and you know it.”
He shrugs and turns to leave, then pauses. “Might be a while. The translator thing... it stopped working yesterday.” Which will make it more difficult for him to find what he needs - not to mention the fact that he’s curious about why it stopped working if the TARDIS is still here.
“Oh.” The Doctor frowns. “Nothin’ to worry about. It’ll be workin’ now.”
“It will?”
“Yep. That was me. Translation circuit flows through me, an’ I was unconscious, so it shut off.”
His heart skips a beat; a suspicion has just become ten times more likely. “You must be a pretty powerful telepath.”
“I am, actually,” the Doctor agrees, a faint smile on his lips.
“And...” He takes a deep breath and goes for it. “When I was sponging you down last night, I couldn’t help noticing that you have a... a binary vascular system.” At the last minute, he switches to the more scientific language. For some reason, that sounds less intimidating than the two hearts the myths have spoken of.
“Yep.” The Doctor’s expression is bland. “And...?”
“Are you...” God, he can’t believe he’s actually saying this. “Are you a Time Lord?”
The Doctor’s smile splits his face from ear to ear. “That’s me!”
“Oh, god.” He can feel himself going pale. He had to go and make the biggest screw-up of his life in front of a Time Lord. “I’m such an idiot.”
The Doctor raises one eyebrow. “Think we’ve all been idiots at one time or another. You’re makin’ up for it.” Then he frowns again. “When you couldn’t understand anyone, what did you think happened?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
Cool blue eyes hold his gaze. “You thought we’d left, didn’t you? Dumped you here, like any old rubbish?”
He refuses to look away. “You thought I was going to leave anyway, didn’t you? Couldn’t have blamed you for assuming.”
“No.” Still that unbroken gaze. “I don’t do that, Jack. If someone wants to leave my ship, fine. If I want them to leave, I’ll make it clear. I don’t just abandon you on a foreign world when you’re looking the other way.” The Doctor pauses, and the atmosphere’s thick with an emotion Jack can’t even name. He tries to swallow, and finds a lump in his throat.
“If you want to leave, find another ship or whatever, I won’t stop you. I can take care of Rose from here if you’re in a hurry. But if you want to stay...” Again, that electric pause. “If you want to stay, there’s room on the TARDIS for you.”
This time, he manages to swallow. “Thanks. I...” He turns, unable to meet the Doctor’s eyes any more. “I’ll be back soon.”
***
Wrapped in blankets, Rose sits at the picnic table and watches Jack help the Doctor onto the seat of a hover-car. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a day and a half since she sat here sipping her drink and waiting for the Doctor, and it’s not anything she wants to experience again.
Her fever broke a few hours ago and Jack and the Doctor have been dosing her with rehydrating fluids and painkillers ever since. She’s still got a headache and bright sunlight sends stabbing pains around her eyes and temples, but she’s a lot better than she was. And it’s all thanks to Jack - she has no idea what would have happened if he hadn’t found them.
“Ready?” He’s standing in front of her, holding out his hands.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She sways a little as she stands. “Oops. Still a bit dizzy.”
“No worries.” His grin’s dazzling. “Anything for a lady.” In one smooth movement, he scoops her into his arms, then carries her to the hover-car and lowers her down next to the Doctor before running around and jumping up beside the driver.
“You all right?” the Doctor asks immediately, reaching for her hand. “Soon have you sorted,” he adds, not waiting for her answer. “Sorry. Should’ve checked everything was safe before sendin’ you to buy drinks.”
Jack twists around in his seat. “It’s my fault, really. I knew cubbenberries were a big deal here and I should have warned you.”
She has to laugh. “Will you two stop fighting over taking the blame? I could’ve asked the stallholder if it was safe for off-worlders, an’ I didn’t. Won’t make that mistake again. Anyway, ‘s no worse than when my mate Shareen went to Kos an’ ate bad fish.”
Back at the TARDIS, Jack helps the Doctor inside, then comes back for her, tipping the driver on the way. She has to reach out and touch the side of the ship as Jack carries her in. She’s home, the Doctor’s promised an injection that’ll take away the rest of the symptoms and she can have a hot bath and get to sleep in her own bed. Bliss.
An hour later, wrapped in a huge towelling robe, she finds the Doctor and Jack exiting the medlab. The Doctor’s just limping slightly now. “All fixed?” she asks.
“Yeah. Our Captain’s not half bad with a bone-grafter.” The Doctor pats Jack’s shoulder.
“Had plenty of practice,” Jack comments. He glances from the Doctor to her and back. “Okay, if you guys don’t need me for anything, think I’m gonna grab a shower and a change of clothes, if you don’t mind me borrowing some more stuff from the wardrobe, Doctor.”
“That’s what it’s there for.”
She steps forward, reaches up and wraps her arms around Jack’s neck. “Thanks. You were fantastic. Dunno how we’d have managed without you.” Standing on tip-toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek.
He hugs her back, and she presses tightly against him, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his body. He feels every bit as wonderful as he did two days ago on top of his ship: a little bit dangerous, a lot sexy and fun.
Jack loosens his hold on her and bends to drop a kiss on her forehead - though she can’t help noticing that he seems to hesitate for a moment before playing safe and kissing her there. As he releases her, the Doctor steps forward and says, “Never answered my question from earlier, you didn’t, Jack.”
“What question was that?” Jack looks surprised, and a little bit nervous.
“D’you want me to take you somewhere you can start a new life, or d’you want to stay here? Told you, there’s room. Can always use a clever, quick-thinking bloke like you.”
Jack looks as if he’s been offered the moon on a plate. “I’d be honoured to stay, Doctor.”
“Right, then, glad that’s settled.” The Doctor’s reaching into his jacket pocket, and when she sees what he’s pulling out - a long chain with a key on the end of it - she grins and bumps the Doctor’s hip with hers.
He holds the key out to Jack, doing a terrible job of pretending not to smile. “Here you go. Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” Jack promises, then lunges for the Doctor, wrapping his arms around him in a bear-hug.
To her amazement - and delight - the Doctor hugs back. “Hug anyone, me. But you’re not gettin’ my clothes off again!”
- end
yamx's prompt:
Rose, Doctor hurt, incapacitated. At this point, they barely know Jack (REALLY shortly after TDD, like the next day), but now they have to rely on him completely. The Doctor’s distrustful, of course. Certain Jack’s going to take advantage. Rose is not quite as pessimistic about him, but also wary, what with having been conned so recently. And due to the nature of their problem, he has to do some pretty intimate things (Washing? Cleaning up?) that she’s really not comfortable with. But Jack totally comes through, is completely awesome, and totally professional during the difficult bits, making the awkwardness minimal. Both are very impressed. End with Jack being made part of the crew by the Doctor. Hope I managed to fulfil this satisfactorily!