Finding Judas 6/9
Story: Finding Judas
Author: WMR
Rated: Mainly PG13, mostly for language.
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack, Martha Jones, others
Spoilers: New series DW all the way to Doomsday, Torchwood more or less to Small World; Greeks Bearing Gifts if you squint. Note: I have made some assumptions about things hinted at in Torchwood, fully expecting to be Russelled at some point fairly soon ;)
Summary: He’s a different Jack Harkness now, though. Not at all the same man who considered that ship his home once upon a time.
With many thanks and much love to dark_aegis and
nnwest for BRing. Dedicated to
christn7 for nagging and the icons ;)
Chapter 1: Seeing the Impossible l Chapter 2: Questions l Chapter 3: Surprises l Chapter 4: Following the Captain l Chapter 5: Advance and Retreat
Chapter 6: Through the Rift
Still a stubborn bastard, isn’t he, the Doctor?
He told the guy he was coming with him. And he always keeps his word - unlike some others he could mention. Takes him a minute or so to find his TARDIS key, buried away as it is at the back of a drawer where he stuffed it the day the city was due to explode. Too tempting, otherwise, to go walkabout in front of the Millennium Centre, to let himself into the time-ship when he knew they were all out and about, to see the inside again, run his fingers over the console, maybe even take a look inside his room.
Then he has to get out of the Hub and back up to the Square; there, he has an advantage over the Doctor in that he knows all the exits and which is the quickest way. Even so, he’s just got here in time; the engines are already starting.
Bastard, almost leaving without him again. So much for any apologies about the first time. If he’d been two seconds later, the TARDIS would’ve been gone. Not that he lets any sign of haste show as he pushes open the door.
“Not leaving without me, were you?” he drawls as he shoves the door shut behind him.
The Doctor, chin tilted upwards, says, “Thought you stated your position pretty clearly. It didn’t feel as if we had anything left to say.”
“Maybe not. Doesn’t change the fact that I said I was coming. And I keep my promises, Doctor.”
There’s a flash of something like bitterness in the Doctor’s eyes. “I don’t. Which is why I rarely make promises.”
“I noticed.” He doesn’t hold back on the sarcasm.
The Doctor inclines his head very briefly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, tone quiet but sincere, and Jack almost forgets to breathe for a moment.
Without waiting for an invitation, he takes his old position at right-angles to the Doctor at the console, immediately turning his attention to the monitors. The Doctor’s already got the comm device hooked up and the TARDIS is getting a very clear reading from it. Should be a simple enough matter to find the right universe once they get into the Rift.
One question occurs to him. “Is there a Time Vortex in the other universe?” What he’s really asking, of course, is whether the TARDIS will be able to travel. If not, they’ll be stuck wherever and whenever they materialise. Not such a problem if they’re in the right year, or close to the right year but after Rose winds up in that universe. More of a problem if they’re too early, or way too late. Or, of course, if they end up on a different planet altogether.
Most likely, though, in terms of location, they’ll end up in Cardiff - or, at least, wherever the Rift opens up in the other universe. No particular reason, of course, other than symmetry, that says it has to be in the same city, or even the same country.
“There shouldn’t be.” The Doctor’s tone’s matter-of-fact now, the anger of just a few minutes ago, back in the Hub, all gone. “It never really mattered before, not when my people were alive and the Eye of Harmony was still there. Travel between universes - well, it wasn’t easy, exactly, but it was possible. And we could get around a bit if we ended up in a different universe. Now that the Eye’s gone, that’s all changed. Last time the TARDIS ended up in Pete’s World she lost all power, so I couldn’t tell. We had to leave quickly, too, once the TARDIS was all better, so I didn’t have a chance to check. Never really thought I’d be going back.”
“So we don’t even know if we’ll be able to get to Rose once we’re through to the other side?”
“Nope.” The Doctor gives him a faint smile. “Want to change your mind about coming, Jack Harkness?”
“Nah.” And, suddenly, he grins. This is risk, for once; a real, genuine risk that something bad could happen, something he can’t escape from with his immortality trick. If they don’t end up in the Void, they - he - could be stuck somewhere in another universe, with no chance of getting home and no way of getting anywhere, anywhen, else, other than what their brains can devise. “Just makes it more interesting.”
There’s a barely-perceptible reduction in the tension he’s noticed in the Doctor’s body ever since letting himself into the TARDIS. “Good. Interesting’s fun, isn’t it? I always thought so.”
He nods, then reaches across to the Doctor’s side of the console and flips the dematerialisation control. No turning back now, for either of them.
***
Not what he expected, Jack coming back like that. Nor that sudden burst of humour. But good. He welcomes the company, not to mention the fact that Jack can actually understand his technobabble and even contribute to it.
They follow the energy signal into the Vortex, and from there into the Rift, in silence, gripping the edge of the console as the TARDIS engineers her path into the Rift, using it as a passage through the Void, and the ride becomes very bumpy.
Finally, the flight path is smooth again, and they’re deep within the Rift, navigating the way through to Rose’s universe. And then Jack glances across at him. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Surprised, he raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know what?”
“That you can’t regenerate if a Dalek gets you.” There’s sincerity in Jack’s expression, and for the first time the man standing mere feet from him looks like his former travelling companion, the Captain. The bleakness, the icy distance in Jack’s eyes, has gone. This could be any day in those three months, a year ago in his timeline, when Jack travelled with him and Rose.
He nods, pulling a face. “It’s one of the few things that can really kill me. Well, other than running out of regenerations, of course.”
“Right.” Jack nods in return. “Shouldn’t’ve said it. Whatever else, Doctor, you were never a coward. That was me. And it was a cheap shot, anyway.”
“You a coward? You said it, but I never thought so.” And that’s the honest truth. He’s the one who is really the coward, but he’s not going to tell Jack that. He’s never been one for too much honesty. “As for cheap shots, you probably owed me a few. Made enough at you before. I seem to remember a few gratuitous mentions of Volcano Day.”
“God, I was a shallow bastard,” Jack says. “I’d have left me on that ship.”
That, of course, is from the perspective of this new Jack Harkness. The old version had much more compassion. Of course, there’s a century of pain and bitterness between the new and the old.
He holds Jack’s gaze. “You’d have been wrong.”
There’s a pause, and he can feel the tension between them, hanging in the air, in the very molecules of the atmosphere surrounding them. And then, finally, Jack smiles. “Someone told me you weren’t into second chances any more, Doctor. Glad to see that’s not true.”
His own smile is warm in return. “Never where they’re deserved. Besides, when it comes to making mistakes I’ve got a few centuries even on you.” That gets him a rueful nod. And so he says it once more. “I am sorry, Jack. If I’d had even the faintest suspicion that you were alive... But what’s done is done. I can’t undo it.”
Jack’s smile disappears, but this time there’s no bitterness. “I know you can’t. Like you said, what’s done is done.”
He nods once more, understanding what’s not being said. He’s not being forgiven, but Jack’s willing to move past it so they can work together. Maybe even try to reconstruct something of the friendship they once had.
In acknowledgement, he holds out a hand towards Jack. And, after the longest second of his life, it’s taken.
***
A truce. Well, it’s probably about time. A hundred years is long enough to nurse a grudge. Things will never be the same as they were all those years ago, when it was the three of them against whatever the universe threw at them, but it’s time to let go of his anger.
The silence lasts a few seconds beyond the point when he releases the Doctor’s hand, but it’s less uncomfortable than before.
“What does Torchwood Three do, then?”
The Doctor’s question is unexpected, yet one he should actually have anticipated. After all, the guy’s had an unenviable encounter with Torchwood One. And he’s hinted, though not said so in so many words, that his Torchwood is different. He’s certainly made it clear that his Torchwood has no agenda where the Doctor himself is concerned, though he hasn’t spelled out that he’s the only employee who knows about the Doctor or the TARDIS. Well, of course, Tosh did meet him once, but from what he can tell she had no idea who she was talking to, and no-one’s enlightened her. He certainly hasn’t.
Ianto, of course, came from the Canary Wharf office... but he wasn’t senior enough to have known about that part of Torchwood’s mission.
“We hunt aliens,” he says. “Catch them, find out what they’re doing, find out about them, neutralise them if we have to. Grab their tech, work out what it does and whether it’s useful to us.”
“Ah.” There’s a note of something disapproving in the Doctor’s voice. “Like the phased energy weapon that shot down the Sycorax?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t anything to do with me, but yeah. That sort of thing. We’re protecting the planet.”
It’s obvious that the Doctor wants to argue. But then he shakes his head and drops the subject. “You’ll have to tell me how you ended up running it.”
He shrugs. “Long story, and not especially interesting.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’d find it fascinating.” The Doctor’s eyes are wide again.
“Tell you what - if we do end up getting stuck in the other universe or inside the Void, I’ll tell you. That should kill an hour or so.”
He gets a faint smile for that. “So, what do you want me to do for you, Captain?” the Doctor says then, changing the subject, his tone light. “Where - or maybe when - do you want me to take you?”
Of course. When the Rose situation is sorted out, and when the Doctor’s done whatever he has to do to take the shred of Time Vortex from him. “Would you believe,” he says, fingers resting lightly on the still-familiar TARDIS controls, feeling the thrum of the ancient time-machine coursing through his body, “I’ve had all this time to think about it and I don’t actually know.”
“Back to your own time?” the Doctor suggests. “Or is the Time Agency likely to be a problem?”
It’s been so long since he’s even thought about the Time Agency. Or about those two years of memory they stole from him. Incredible to realise, now, that their absence barely matters any more. Oh, it’d be good to know what he actually did during those two years, and he would like to know why they were taken from him, but the anger he felt over that all those years ago is long gone. Now, too, he shakes his head at the much younger him, taking pointless revenge against the Agency in the form of stupid, criminal cons that had about as much impact on the Agency as a fly buzzing around outside a window. The only people his cons hurt were the victims and himself.
Still, it’s true that he can’t go back to the fifty-first century. It may have been more than a hundred years for him since quitting the agency, but that’s meaningless in the context of time-travel. “Not a good idea. Few centuries beyond that, maybe. Or I could stay away from Earth altogether - plenty of colony planets out there, or even a deep-space colonisation mission.”
“I can do that,” the Doctor agrees. “Though you might want to stay away from the sanctuary base on a planet called Krok-Tor. Not that they couldn’t do with your kind of skills, but I really wouldn’t recommend it.”
There’s a story there, clearly. And part of him’s tempted to ask for it. But the part of him that knows what’s likely to happen if he does holds him back. Because this is just the first step on the way to breaking down yet more of the walls between them. To rebuilding what they once had. And to making him want something other than his vague plan to go back to the future.
So he doesn’t ask. Instead, out of the corner of his eye he studies the Doctor, for the first time taking a dispassionate look at the Time Lord’s new body. The body he’s shagged without really examining properly.
Tall. Lean - skinny, really, far less obviously muscular than the Doctor’s last body, and yet he already knows this man is strong. Has to be a Time Lord thing, because a human with this physique wouldn’t have the degree of strength he noted in the Doctor as they kissed and groped each other.
Hair that’s just begging for fingers to be combed through it. And sideburns. Sideburns! In his last body, the Doctor’d barely had hair. This version is very different in that respect. Freckles, too, that are just waiting to be counted, and maybe kissed, too, one by one.
Eyes that hold a lot more laughter than before. Has this Doctor been able to put the Time War behind him in a way his previous incarnation couldn’t? There’s sadness, too, in particular when the Doctor talked about Rose, and - he has to acknowledge - when they’re talking about him. Again, he has to admit that he was wrong. He did - does - matter to the Doctor. He believes the Doctor when he says he would have come back if he’d known Jack was alive.
What he concludes from that is that it’s his death that made the Doctor abandon him. Thinking he was dead, the Doctor deliberately didn’t go back to Satellite Five - because that would have required facing up to the loss of someone he regarded as a friend. Someone whose death he was in some way responsible for.
Maybe it’s the Doctor who’s really the coward, after all.
At the same time, he can’t help wondering whether, if it’d been Rose who died back on the Game Station, the Doctor would have gone back for her body. He does seem to have felt some responsibility towards Rose’s mother, of course, but on the other hand if Rose had died wouldn’t it have been easier to avoid Jackie Tyler? Just to stay away from that time, that place, and never face up to the consequences of what happened?
But he can’t see the Doctor doing that if Rose had died.
Well, he’s always known he mattered less than Rose in some respects - or, at least, he was considered older, more independent, more able to look after himself. More dispensable, too. Though he can’t really argue with that, since he agreed with that assessment. He knew what he was signing on for when he stayed in this ship with them, while Rose, for all her apparent worldliness, really hadn’t a clue. He thought the Doctor did the right thing by sending Rose home when they were on the Game Station. Hell, he even told the Doctor that he agreed with his decision. He can hardly argue with it now.
Ancient history now, that - even if it does sting. And he’s tacitly agreed to put it behind him by that handshake a few minutes ago.
“Well, there’s no hurry,” the Doctor says, and he has to think for a moment to recall their conversation. Right. His plans. “It’s not as if you need to make a decision immediately. I daresay Torchwood still needs you - or, if you’re desperate to get away from Cardiff in the twenty-first century, and I can’t say I blame you, you could always...”
The Doctor hesitates for a moment, as if nervous about finishing his thought. Jack meets his gaze, eyebrow raised, waiting.
“Well...” One hand goes to the back of his head again, and the Doctor’s gaze rests anywhere but on him. “You could always stay around for a while. The TARDIS’s got plenty of room, after all. In fact, your own room’s still here. Still got all your stuff in it. Including that RAF uniform of yours, actually. Never got around to doing anything with it.”
His room’s still here? His things? Even though the Doctor thought he was dead?
He has to swallow. That’s so completely unexpected.
And that invitation to come back to the TARDIS, to travel with the Doctor again - because that’s what it is. It’s not just a stick around for a week or two if you’ve got nothing better to do suggestion. It’s far more of an invitation than he got the last time. Then, there was never any real discussion of his position. They rescued him, gave him a bed for the night and showed him the wardrobe facilities; the Doctor and Rose bickered a bit over how useful or otherwise he’d be; and somehow he just fell into their routine, and none of them got around to suggesting either that it was time he found somewhere to go or that he formally become part of the team.
He just... was.
For the first year or so after being left behind, that was about the only thing he thought about. Well, in between being so furious that he wanted to knock the Doctor flat if they ever met again. He pictured finding the two of them, the Doctor and Rose, yelling at the Doctor for leaving him behind, but then accepting whatever explanation the Doctor offered and joining them in the TARDIS once more. The three of them, as they were before.
But then he discovered that being left behind wasn’t all that had happened on the Game Station. And the Doctor never did come to find him. Thoughts of rejoining the Time Lord on his travels vanished. And now...
Well, this Doctor’s just as inept when it comes to tact as the one he knew. No doubt at all that they’re the same man.
“Right. Yes. Not a good idea.” Well, the Doctor’s received the unspoken message. Just as well. It’d never work. Not now. Too much has happened.
“Let’s just focus on getting to Rose,” he says instead.
And there’s a thought - something that should probably have occurred to him before. The Doctor’s going to bring her back with him, isn’t he? It’s obvious how much losing her affected him, and that’s no surprise anyway.
He can’t help wondering how Rose is going to react to Martha’s presence. And, of course, vice versa; from the little he saw, it’s clear that the Doctor’s worked his own unique brand of charm on Martha as well. Rose never did like seeing another woman eyeing up the Doctor, and even worse to see the Doctor responding to it. Sure, she didn’t mind the way he flirted with the Doctor, but he always assumed it was because it never occurred to her that the Doctor could be as flexible as he himself is.
Rose won’t like having Martha around at all. And, if his assessment of Martha is right, she’s likely to have a similar reaction. He bets, too, that the Doctor hasn’t a clue about what’s going to happen.
Two women fighting over the Doctor. He’s going to hate it.
It’s almost worth sticking around for. Almost. But not quite.
***
The TARDIS is showing him that they’re almost there. Just as well. He should never have said that about Jack coming back - it’s too soon. Far too soon. They’ve only just managed to establish a tentative truce.
Nine hundred years, and he still hasn’t learned anything about tact. Even if he does pride himself on his understanding of human psychology.
Time to change the subject. Ignore what’s just happened: his offer and Jack’s refusal. “Better hold onto something,” he says, keeping his tone even. “We’re about to come out of the Rift.”
Jack just nods, reaching behind him for the console rail and steadying himself as their trajectory becomes rocky again. And the Doctor can’t help seeing yet another difference between Jack then and Jack now: the Jack he remembers would have had an instant come-back, probably wanting to know if he was offering himself to be held onto.
It’s a bumpy ride for several minutes, the two of them being thrown around, crashing into the console, the rail and each other. By the time the turbulence finally stops, they’re both sprawled on the floor, Jack half on top of him. He waits for the flirtatious remark, the come-on... but it never comes. Matter-of-factly, Jack gets to his feet. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”
They have. Materialisation’s starting. Climbing to his feet as well, he returns to the controls.
“Well, looks like Earth, anyway,” Jack comments, gesturing towards the monitor as the exterior becomes visible.
Earth and, if he’s not mistaken, definitely Britain - that looks like a postbox over in the corner of the screen, and it’s bright red.
“Well, come on, then!” he says brightly, almost running down from the console. Something to do. Somewhere to go. A way of smoothing over the awkwardness by working as a team again.
Outside, their location is instantly recognisable - the TARDIS monitor just wasn’t pointing in the right direction. “Creu gwir fel gwydr o ffwrnais awe,” he reads, knowing he’s not getting the pronunciation right; Welsh isn’t a language the TARDIS has in her databanks. “So, what’s that mean, then? Same as the English? In these stones horizons sing?”
Jack corrects his pronunciation - so he’s gone native during his stay in Cardiff - and adds, “Translates as ‘creating truth like glass from the furnace of inspiration’. Not the same as the English, and don’t ask me why.” As he spins slowly on the spot, Jack’s lips turn down. “Eerie. I’ve never been in a parallel universe before and if I didn’t know we’ve just been through the Rift I’d say we’re back where we started.”
“We’re not, though,” he points out. He’s already checked that. “Definitely a parallel universe. The TARDIS said so. And the readings are definitely Pete’s world.”
He takes a few steps, a few tentative breaths, looks around. “It feels different, too. Don’t you see it? Don’t you notice? It smells different.” No zeppelins here, though. Maybe they were just in London - or maybe things have changed in this world and people feel safe enough not to have to use them.
This isn’t where they need to be, though. Impatient again, he turns back to the TARDIS. “Right. Cardiff’s not where we want to be. We need to find out if the TARDIS can travel in this universe.”
“And if she can’t?” Jack’s falling into step beside him.
“Oh, if she can’t...” He almost shudders. “We’ll just have to resort to conventional transport.” He pulls a face. “We’ll have to take the train. Can you imagine? Me travelling by train?”
“Could always hire a car,” Jack says with a shrug. “I’ve got my driving licence.”
“Assuming they look the same here,” he points out. “This Britain has a president, not a monarchy.”
“Right. Now you tell me.” Jack rolls his eyes. “And there’s a point. What do we do for cash here? Everything I’ve got has the Queen on it. And my credit card’d never pass these electronic checking systems. If it was the eighties, no problem - it was all manual then.”
Oh. Right. Money. So human, needing money to get around, isn’t it? Most of the time, he manages perfectly well without it. “No problem,” he pronounces cheerfully. “I’m sure I could get the swipe-machines to take your card, Captain. Or I can use the tried-and-trusted emergency method.” As Jack gives him a questioning look, he holds up the sonic screwdriver. He does remember Jack seeing him use it to get credits from a machine on Gothwaldan once when the supply he had on the TARDIS ran out.
“You know, Doctor, in some ways you’re as much of a conman as I ever was.”
He’s grinning at that, head turned towards his companion, when Jack suddenly yells, alarm and warning in his voice, “Doctor!”
He spins around. Directly ahead of them, between them and the TARDIS, are three skinheads. They’ve just appeared out of nowhere, standing and eying him and Jack with menace. Two of them are holding tyre-irons, and the third has a knife.
He takes a closer look. Dilated pupils, and one of them, the one with the knife, is having visible tremors. High on drugs. Wanting money for their next fix, at a guess.
“Hey, guys.” Jack’s moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, and he’s speaking to the skinheads before he has a chance to say a word. “You know, you really don’t want to do this.”
“Shut it.” The tallest’s stepped forward, tyre-iron brandished. “Just hand over the cash.”
“Sorry,” he says, before Jack can respond. “Got none on me. Forgot to bring my wallet.” In demonstration, he digs his hands deep in his coat pockets and brings them out again, pulling the lining with him.
The skinhead swears at him. And there’s movement suddenly, almost too fast for him to follow. Jack’s got a gun in his hand. The thugs are advancing, weapons at the ready.
“TARDIS, Doctor!” Jack shouts. He’s tempted to ignore the instruction, to try his usual trick of talking his way out of trouble. But these kids are high - on crack, is his guess - and they won’t listen.
So he starts to make a run for it, but his way’s blocked by one of the skinheads, tyre-iron held aloft, ready. He tries to dodge, but knows he’s going to get hit hard across the head...
...and then he’s shoved, hard, to the ground, and at the same time he hears a sickening crunch and a loud, agonised grunt of pain. Jack’s crumpled on the ground beside him, not moving, blood pouring from his head.
***
tbc