sahiya: Hardly an Adventure (Jack/Eleven) [PG] - SUMMER HOLIDAYS, PROMPT 9
Title: Hardly an Adventure
Author: sahiya
Pairing(s): Jack/Eleven
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warning(s): Discussion of non-clinical depression.
Notes: Many thanks to both via_ostiense and yamx for their awesome betas!
Summary: Jack is having a bad day. The Doctor tries to help.
Prompt: Fred; Delta 679; The Northern Crater; Soup
Upon waking, Jack's first thought was, Damn.
He'd hoped this wouldn’t happen here, on the TARDIS. It didn't happen nearly as often as it had, once upon a time, but every once in a while, he opened his eyes on a new day and was hit with a sudden sense of exhaustion - not physical, but mental. Existential.
After Ianto and Stephen and the 456, almost every day had been like this, and he'd dealt with it by finding new and increasingly horrible ways to make it all stop, if only for a few minutes. Eventually, that had gotten wearing and the bad days were a bit further apart - once a week, then once a month, then only a few times a year - and he'd started simply rolling over to sleep through them, however many of them came.
He hadn't had one since rejoining the Doctor two years ago. He'd thought that perhaps that was not an accident; he knew the ship soothed the Doctor's nightmares, and he'd suspected more than once that she was doing the same for him. But today he opened his eyes, and all he could see was a long, bleak future. The headache throbbing at the base of his skull didn't help.
He'd started to roll over and go back to sleep when he realized he'd been woken by someone knocking on his door. "Jack!" the Doctor called. "Are you up?"
Jack sighed, weighing his options. He could ignore the Doctor, though that . . . probably wouldn’t end well. He could force himself into a semblance of fine and follow the Doctor out the door on their daily adventure. Or he could . . . tell the truth. The Doctor was no stranger to depression himself, Jack knew, even if this Doctor seemed on a much more even-keel than either of his predecessors.
"Jaaaaack," the Doctor said again through the door.
Jack shook his head and sat up. "Come in, Doc," he said.
The door slid open. "Jack! You're -" The Doctor blinked. "Still in bed?"
"So it seems," Jack said dryly.
The Doctor frowned. Then he peered more closely at Jack's face and frowned some more. "Are you ill?"
Jack shrugged. "In a manner of speaking." The Doctor's frown deepened, and Jack sighed. "I get . . . bad days. Still."
The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, "Ah."
"Not very often anymore," Jack said. "Not at all since I've been with you, but I guess I was due for one."
"Right," the Doctor said. He pushed his jacket back, put his hands on his hips, and cast about awkwardly for a moment before coming to sit on the bed. He put his arm around Jack, and Jack leaned into him, barely resisting the temptation to rest his head on the Doctor's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" the Doctor asked, the question cautious and slow, like a new phrase in a foreign language.
It was almost enough to make Jack smile. "Nothing to talk about, Doc. Nothing happened. I just woke up . . . sad." Sad, and missing anyone and everyone he'd ever lost. It was a little better with the Doctor's arm around him, but nothing was going to fix it, because nothing could fix him. "Anyway," Jack said after a moment, "I thought you should know. I'm not up for an adventure."
"No," the Doctor said. "I see that. But not every trip has to be an adventure."
"Doc." Jack gave him a skeptical look.
"I can do something calm and - and relaxing. What are you going to do all day, lie here and stare at the same four walls? Bad idea, Jack, you'll get lost in your own head, believe me, I should know."
Jack supposed he should, at that. And it was true that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Sleeping the day away still held some appeal, but he didn't think the Doctor would let him. "What did you have in mind?"
"Fred!"
Jack blinked. "Fred?"
"Fred! Specifically, the northern crater thereof! Have you ever been?"
"To . . . Fred? No . . ."
"You'll love it. Fred is just what the doctor - ha - ordered. And their local specialty is soup! Perfect for a bad day, don't you agree?"
"I . . . guess?"
"That's the spirit!" the Doctor said, squeezing Jack's shoulder. "Now get dressed."
"Doctor," Jack said, when the Doctor was nearly to the door. The Doctor glanced back. "I mean it. I'm not up for anything exciting. I don't -” He stopped, drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose anyone today."
The Doctor nodded, slowly. "Scout's honor, Jack."
Jack supposed that would have to be good enough.
***
The northern crater of Fred was, Jack had to admit, beautiful. It was far enough north for an almost perpetual winter, the Doctor told him as they trudged through the snow, and its main industry was tourism. He'd set the TARDIS down on top of a ridge a brief walk from the second-most popular resort (because the most popular resort was "Teeming with tourists! Bah!"), and Jack was enjoying the view from above as they hiked: colorful beings skiing or snowboarding or snow-surfing down the mountain. The Doctor had taken his arm, and the air was crisp and cold in his lungs. He had to admit this was probably better for him than staying inside and wallowing.
The lodge was situated halfway down the mountain. It was sleek rather than rustic, with frosted glass doors and windows. The ledges were adorned with abstract ice sculptures - at least, Jack assumed they were abstract, since the swirling, flowing shapes didn't mean anything to him.
Inside, it was warm. The Doctor glanced around, flashed the psychic paper, and ushered Jack into a room that could have been something straight out of 20th century Earth: dark wood paneling, roaring fires in the many hearths, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling - even a small Christmas tree in the corner. Jack wondered if anyone knew where the tradition of the tree had come from, or if it had just become one of those things people did. The small crowd in here was mostly human and very wealthy. And in the corner were two enormous kettles of soup over an open fire. Uniformed workers - one human, one small and blue with four arms - were ladling out large mugs to the guests.
"Is this all right?" the Doctor asked him. "If it's too much, I could look into getting us a room."
Jack shook his head. "It's not too much. Though I wouldn't say no to a room later," he added with a reflexive smirk.
The Doctor glanced at him sharply. "Jack, don't."
"What?"
"Don't - you know you don't have to do that, not with me."
Jack frowned. "Do what?"
"Flirt."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "I thought this you liked flirting." He responded to it in a way neither of Jack's other Doctors ever had. Sometimes Jack thought the Doctor even wanted him to take it a bit further, but he'd felt that doing so would be tempting fate.
"I do, I do, I definitely do, but not if you're - you're -" The Doctor flapped his hands helplessly. "The show's for other people, Jack. Not me."
Jack blinked, startled. "O-kay."
"Good. Now go sit while I get us some soup." The Doctor steered Jack over toward a seat near a hearth in a less crowded corner of the room. He sank into the plush sofa and watched the Doctor thread his way back toward the kettles of soup. Jack sighed, feeling the exhaustion encroaching the moment the Doctor moved beyond arm's reach.
He hadn't missed this at all, and he wondered why it had come on now of all times, when he was content with his life for the first time in hundreds of years. Hopefully it wouldn't last long. If the Doctor's prescription of a day out with soup didn't fix him, perhaps the TARDIS could provide him with something that would.
The Doctor returned bearing two mugs. "Tomato bisque!" he announced. "And also -" He burst into a string of unpronounceable syllables.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask?"
"Probably better if you don't. But it's delicious!"
It was delicious, Jack found, sipping at the mug. The unpronounceable soup was yellow and a bit viscous, but it tasty nutty and just a little . . . piney. Like crisp, sunny snow days and warm nights by the fire. "It tastes like winter," Jack said, marveling. "I take it this is the local specialty."
The Doctor nodded. They traded mugs. The tomato bisque wasn't anything unusual, though it was also very good, thick and creamy and piping hot, spreading its warmth through his stomach. He leaned back and encountered the Doctor's arm, stretched back across the top of the sofa. It bent a little, the Doctor's hand coming to rest on Jack's shoulder, pulling him in. Jack allowed himself to be pulled and rested his head on the Doctor's shoulder.
"The last me," the Doctor said, after a long silence, "had all sorts of bad days. The me before that, too, but at least that me wasn't usually a danger to anyone but himself. But the last me had bad days, terrible, awful days, and he couldn't admit it. Couldn't ask anyone for help, couldn't explain why it hurt so badly for days on end. He got by for a while, until he didn't, and then . . . well, I think it was a good thing he regenerated when he did. He was on a path that would've ended badly for just about everyone."
Jack was quiet, digesting this. Even after two years, this Doctor could still surprise him with how different he was from either of his others. There were reasons, he reflected, why it had worked out for the two of them now and not any earlier. "It's not so bad anymore," he said quietly. "Like I said, Doc, this is the first one I've had since I've been traveling with you. And it's not even that bad, really. I'm just a bit low, that's all."
The Doctor turned his head, brushed his lips against Jack's forehead. "I wish I could help. I know there were times in the past when I must have made it worse. I'd change them all if I could."
You’re wrong, Jack. You’re just wrong. Jack suppressed a shudder. That memory shouldn’t still affect him after so long. He swallowed. "I know you would. And you do help. You are helping, right now."
The Doctor made a scoffing noise. "By dragging you off someplace you don't even want to be."
"No," Jack said firmly. "By dragging me to the northern crater of Fred - exactly where I need to be." The Doctor smiled, faintly. "What?"
"Nothing," the Doctor said. "Just, it reminded me of something someone said to me once." He lifted his hand and cupped Jack's cheek in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the arch of Jack's cheekbone. Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. "Jack," the Doctor murmured. "My beautiful, broken Jack."
Jack felt hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He’d seen the Doctor look at other people like this before. He’d never realized that being on the receiving end could be so devastating. "Less broken than I used to be," he managed, hoarsely.
"No thanks to me."
"Every thanks to you."
The Doctor shook his head, ever so slightly, a lock of unruly brown hair falling into his eyes. Jack thought briefly about brushing it aside, but he seemed to be frozen in place. They were so close together, Jack could see the flecks of gold in the Doctor's irises. One breath, two breaths, and the Doctor leaned in, ever so slightly.
Which was, of course, precisely when an enraged roar shook the lodge. The chandeliers swayed, someone screamed, and soup mugs shattered against the polished wood floor.
The Doctor was on his feet immediately, rushing forward to peer out the window. "Is that - Jack! It's a yeti! What's a yeti doing here? There shouldn't be any yetis here!"
Jack groaned. "Doctor, you promised me an adventure-free day."
"It's not an adventure, Jack, it's just a yeti. A poor lost yeti . . . oh. Oh dear."
"What?" Jack asked, despite himself.
"Villagers with pitchforks. Well, I say pitchforks, I mean lasers. Same thing." The Doctor started to sprint for the door, paused mid-stride, and turned back on his heel. "You don't have to come, Jack. Don't worry, I'm sure I can take care of this myself. It's just one yeti, after all."
Jack stayed sitting on the sofa for about five seconds, scowling in stubborn resolve, before giving up. It was never just one yeti.
***
Except, in this case, it seemed it actually was just one yeti. One very confused yeti named Carl, who had just been minding his own business when he'd suddenly fallen into a bit of wormhole and ended up somewhere else entirely. The Doctor tried to get everyone to calm down and put away their lasers, but the citizens of Fred weren't having any of it.
Jack had to admit that the sprint through the snow to the TARDIS was actually rather invigorating - not, perhaps, what he would've chosen to get his blood pumping and a few endorphins flowing, but it did the trick well enough. He brought up the rear, blowing through the door of the TARDIS just behind Carl - who, miraculously, managed to squeeze through without any dimension shifting necessary - and ahead of the angry villagers. He slammed the door shut as the Doctor threw the lever to start the dematerialization sequence.
"Thank you, my friends," Carl said. "Those men were alarming."
"Well, you know, no one ever expects a yeti," the Doctor said. "But they could've been a bit nicer about it, don’t you think so, Jack?"
"Fewer lasers would've been ideal," Jack agreed, rolling his shoulders. There was a singed stripe across the back of his coat.
"We'll have you home in just a mo," the Doctor told Carl, as he danced around the console.
"Where are we?" Carl asked, noticing that the dimensions of the room didn't quite meet expectations.
"The Doctor's ship," Jack said, resting a hand against the console. The TARDIS sparked a greeting across the surface of his mind and he smiled faintly. "Home."
"HOME!" the Doctor echoed loudly, and the TARDIS shook through her usual landing. "Right where and when - wait!" He glanced at the screen. "Yes, right where and when you left. Sorry, sometimes the old girl's a bit temperamental, I've learned to double-check - ow!" The Doctor wrung his hand, frowning up at the time rotor. "Sorry, sorry, dear."
Carl glanced down at Jack. "Is he mad?" he asked.
"As a hatter," Jack confirmed.
"A what?"
Jack waved a hand. "Never mind."
After wrangling a promise from them to visit sometime soon, Carl squeezed back out through the door and into the frozen forest of his home. The Doctor waved and shut the door, nearly skipping back up the steps to the console. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together, "that was energizing, wasn't it? Didn't you find it energizing, Jack?"
"It was energizing," Jack had to admit. "Though it was also awfully . . . adventure-ish."
"What? No! That hardly counts as an adventure."
"There was running, Doc! Serious running! People with lasers!"
"Yes, but not many of them, and the lasers were -"
"Lasers!"
The Doctor looked chagrined. "Well . . . all right, yes, I suppose that was a bit more adventure-ish than it could have been. Let me make it up to you, take another crack at Fred -"
"No," Jack said firmly. The Doctor, to his credit, shut up. Jack drew a deep breath. "I'm going to go take a bath.”
"A bath," the Doctor said, eyes lighting up, "excellent idea, Jack, I've been meaning to visit the hot springs of Tront for ages -"
"No hot springs," Jack said. The Doctor's face fell. "At least, not today," he amended. "Just a normal bath in a tub here on the TARDIS. But,” he smiled wryly, “you're welcome to join me, if you like."
The Doctor flushed. "Oh. Um. Hrm."
"Or not," Jack added with a shrug. "Up to you, Doc."
The Doctor nodded. "Right. I'll just, uh . . . right."
Jack suppressed a sigh and turned away.
***
He didn't expect the Doctor to come and join him, but he needed some peace and quiet to let his mind settle. The hit of adrenaline and endorphins he'd gotten from the chase through the snow was starting to wear off, and he mostly felt tired and headachey. He settled in the bath and found himself staring out the little fake window the TARDIS had provided over the tub at a field of stars. How much longer, he wondered bleakly, until I'm back out there?
Jack blinked, surprised by the thought. But then again, maybe he shouldn't be. He'd been with the Doctor for nearly two years now - not long at all for either of them, but long enough. How much longer until the Doctor tired of him? Or, worse yet, until Jack made a call the Doctor didn't like and he found himself out on his ear? Either way, Jack thought, his days on the TARDIS were probably numbered and always had been. He sank down into the water up to his chin. At least this solved his question about what had caused the bad day to begin with.
Centuries later and everything had changed, but it all was more or less the same. Part of him was still waking up every morning, hoping today wasn't the day the Doctor decided to get rid of him. How sad was that.
When the water started to cool, he got out, toweled off, and put on a pair of fresh pajama pants. It was only early afternoon, TARDIS-time, but he thought he might lie down for a while. Sleeping the rest of this day away might be his best option after all.
He wasn't expecting to find the Doctor sitting on his bed, along with a tray that held two large mugs and a soup tureen. Jack stopped in the doorway. "Hi," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Hi," the Doctor said. He gestured at the tray. "We never got to finish our soup."
"I guess we didn't," Jack agreed. He sat down on the bed and watched the Doctor ladle the soup into the mugs. "Chicken and vegetable?" he asked, peering into it.
"Yes. Well, no. But close."
Jack shook his head. Whatever it was, it was hearty, full of colorful root vegetables and hunks of what apparently wasn't - but certainly could have been - chicken. Jack took a bite and hummed his appreciation. "Delicious," he said. "Thanks. But you didn't have to go to all this trouble."
"Yes, I did," the Doctor said, ruefully. "You don't ask much of me, Jack - a lot less than most companions, in fact, and don't think I don't notice. But today you did, and I bungled it. Soup's the least I could do."
Jack shrugged. "It wasn't so bad, Doc. It got me out of my head." Temporarily, at least.
"That's not the point. The point is," the Doctor paused, gesturing with his spoon. Jack waited, curious. After a moment, the Doctor put his spoon down in his mug and set it aside. "The point is, I'm sorry."
Jack tried not to look too surprised. Not that he'd never heard the Doctor apologize, but he wasn't sure he'd ever heard him mean I made a mistake before. "Thank you," he said. Then he, too, set his spoon very deliberately into his mug of soup and set it aside. "And there is a way you could make it up to me."
"Oh?" the Doctor said, with trepidation.
Jack drew a deep breath and hoped like hell he hadn’t read the Doctor’s signals wrong. "I'd like us to finish what we started before the yeti showed up."
The Doctor closed his mouth with an audible click. "Oh. Are you . . . sure? I don't want to - sometimes people make terrible decisions when they're feeling low, I should know, I once - well, never mind that, it wasn't good, it was very bad, and I wouldn't -"
Maybe he had read him wrong after all, Jack thought with a sinking feeling. "Doc. If you'd rather not -"
"No, no no no, it's just -"
Jack reached across the bed and laid his hand firmly on the back of the Doctor's neck. The Doctor went instantly silent. Jack met his eyes, and to his surprise, saw there not the terror he was expecting, but something like . . . concern. Kindness, too, and even some humor. Jack found himself smiling as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the Doctor's.
There was a brief, frozen moment before the Doctor's mouth went pliant under Jack's. Jack shifted his weight forward on the bed, and the Doctor shifted back, so they were leaning against the headboard. Jack brought his hand up, cupping the side of the Doctor's face, thumb rubbing over the double pulse-point in his neck. The Doctor hummed and gripped Jack's hip.
Jack pulled back after a few seconds. "Thank you," he said, quietly.
The Doctor blinked. "Wait - that's not it?"
Jack smiled. "That's all it has to be. I always regretted not doing that before, when I had the chance. I wanted something to remember you by after I leave."
The Doctor frowned. "Leave? You’re leaving?" His voice went up at the end, almost into a squeak.
"Not now," Jack said, careful to keep his voice even. "But we both know it'll happen sometime."
The Doctor's frown deepened. "We do?"
Jack forced himself to smile. "C'mon, Doc. We both know how this goes."
The Doctor stared at him. "Actually," he said at last, "I don't. I've had a lot of companions, Jack, but I've never had one like you. Even you weren't like you when you were here before. So I don't know how this is going to go. I've never tried it before.” The Doctor shook his head. "Humans, Jack. I can't - I'm not as brave as you are. It hurts too much."
"It hurts me, too," Jack said, quietly. They were waiting there, still, at the back of his mind. All his lost loves.
"I know, I know it does, but you still . . . and I don't know how you do it. But I love that you do."
Jack reached out and took the Doctor's hand in his, lifted it to his lips. "Would you like to try?"
"Maybe," the Doctor said, his voice just a little breathless. "Maybe almost definitely."
“Good enough,” Jack said, and kissed him again.
***
Later, much later that night, Jack lay in bed with the Doctor's head on his chest. The Doctor was, if not actually asleep, then at least doing a very good impression of it. Jack stared up at the ceiling, stroked his fingers slowly through the Doctor’s hair, and dared himself to think about the future.
There would always be bad days, he knew, for both of them. And unless something changed for Jack, someday in his future there would be a very bad day indeed. The Doctor wasn’t immortal, not truly, not like him. But there would also be running, and snow, and unexpected yetis, and the Doctor - for a very long time still, there would be the Doctor, especially if Jack was around to look after him.
Bad days were inevitable. But this one, Jack thought, hadn't ended up all that badly after all.
Fin.
Author: sahiya
Pairing(s): Jack/Eleven
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warning(s): Discussion of non-clinical depression.
Notes: Many thanks to both via_ostiense and yamx for their awesome betas!
Summary: Jack is having a bad day. The Doctor tries to help.
Prompt: Fred; Delta 679; The Northern Crater; Soup
Upon waking, Jack's first thought was, Damn.
He'd hoped this wouldn’t happen here, on the TARDIS. It didn't happen nearly as often as it had, once upon a time, but every once in a while, he opened his eyes on a new day and was hit with a sudden sense of exhaustion - not physical, but mental. Existential.
After Ianto and Stephen and the 456, almost every day had been like this, and he'd dealt with it by finding new and increasingly horrible ways to make it all stop, if only for a few minutes. Eventually, that had gotten wearing and the bad days were a bit further apart - once a week, then once a month, then only a few times a year - and he'd started simply rolling over to sleep through them, however many of them came.
He hadn't had one since rejoining the Doctor two years ago. He'd thought that perhaps that was not an accident; he knew the ship soothed the Doctor's nightmares, and he'd suspected more than once that she was doing the same for him. But today he opened his eyes, and all he could see was a long, bleak future. The headache throbbing at the base of his skull didn't help.
He'd started to roll over and go back to sleep when he realized he'd been woken by someone knocking on his door. "Jack!" the Doctor called. "Are you up?"
Jack sighed, weighing his options. He could ignore the Doctor, though that . . . probably wouldn’t end well. He could force himself into a semblance of fine and follow the Doctor out the door on their daily adventure. Or he could . . . tell the truth. The Doctor was no stranger to depression himself, Jack knew, even if this Doctor seemed on a much more even-keel than either of his predecessors.
"Jaaaaack," the Doctor said again through the door.
Jack shook his head and sat up. "Come in, Doc," he said.
The door slid open. "Jack! You're -" The Doctor blinked. "Still in bed?"
"So it seems," Jack said dryly.
The Doctor frowned. Then he peered more closely at Jack's face and frowned some more. "Are you ill?"
Jack shrugged. "In a manner of speaking." The Doctor's frown deepened, and Jack sighed. "I get . . . bad days. Still."
The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, "Ah."
"Not very often anymore," Jack said. "Not at all since I've been with you, but I guess I was due for one."
"Right," the Doctor said. He pushed his jacket back, put his hands on his hips, and cast about awkwardly for a moment before coming to sit on the bed. He put his arm around Jack, and Jack leaned into him, barely resisting the temptation to rest his head on the Doctor's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" the Doctor asked, the question cautious and slow, like a new phrase in a foreign language.
It was almost enough to make Jack smile. "Nothing to talk about, Doc. Nothing happened. I just woke up . . . sad." Sad, and missing anyone and everyone he'd ever lost. It was a little better with the Doctor's arm around him, but nothing was going to fix it, because nothing could fix him. "Anyway," Jack said after a moment, "I thought you should know. I'm not up for an adventure."
"No," the Doctor said. "I see that. But not every trip has to be an adventure."
"Doc." Jack gave him a skeptical look.
"I can do something calm and - and relaxing. What are you going to do all day, lie here and stare at the same four walls? Bad idea, Jack, you'll get lost in your own head, believe me, I should know."
Jack supposed he should, at that. And it was true that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Sleeping the day away still held some appeal, but he didn't think the Doctor would let him. "What did you have in mind?"
"Fred!"
Jack blinked. "Fred?"
"Fred! Specifically, the northern crater thereof! Have you ever been?"
"To . . . Fred? No . . ."
"You'll love it. Fred is just what the doctor - ha - ordered. And their local specialty is soup! Perfect for a bad day, don't you agree?"
"I . . . guess?"
"That's the spirit!" the Doctor said, squeezing Jack's shoulder. "Now get dressed."
"Doctor," Jack said, when the Doctor was nearly to the door. The Doctor glanced back. "I mean it. I'm not up for anything exciting. I don't -” He stopped, drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose anyone today."
The Doctor nodded, slowly. "Scout's honor, Jack."
Jack supposed that would have to be good enough.
***
The northern crater of Fred was, Jack had to admit, beautiful. It was far enough north for an almost perpetual winter, the Doctor told him as they trudged through the snow, and its main industry was tourism. He'd set the TARDIS down on top of a ridge a brief walk from the second-most popular resort (because the most popular resort was "Teeming with tourists! Bah!"), and Jack was enjoying the view from above as they hiked: colorful beings skiing or snowboarding or snow-surfing down the mountain. The Doctor had taken his arm, and the air was crisp and cold in his lungs. He had to admit this was probably better for him than staying inside and wallowing.
The lodge was situated halfway down the mountain. It was sleek rather than rustic, with frosted glass doors and windows. The ledges were adorned with abstract ice sculptures - at least, Jack assumed they were abstract, since the swirling, flowing shapes didn't mean anything to him.
Inside, it was warm. The Doctor glanced around, flashed the psychic paper, and ushered Jack into a room that could have been something straight out of 20th century Earth: dark wood paneling, roaring fires in the many hearths, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling - even a small Christmas tree in the corner. Jack wondered if anyone knew where the tradition of the tree had come from, or if it had just become one of those things people did. The small crowd in here was mostly human and very wealthy. And in the corner were two enormous kettles of soup over an open fire. Uniformed workers - one human, one small and blue with four arms - were ladling out large mugs to the guests.
"Is this all right?" the Doctor asked him. "If it's too much, I could look into getting us a room."
Jack shook his head. "It's not too much. Though I wouldn't say no to a room later," he added with a reflexive smirk.
The Doctor glanced at him sharply. "Jack, don't."
"What?"
"Don't - you know you don't have to do that, not with me."
Jack frowned. "Do what?"
"Flirt."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "I thought this you liked flirting." He responded to it in a way neither of Jack's other Doctors ever had. Sometimes Jack thought the Doctor even wanted him to take it a bit further, but he'd felt that doing so would be tempting fate.
"I do, I do, I definitely do, but not if you're - you're -" The Doctor flapped his hands helplessly. "The show's for other people, Jack. Not me."
Jack blinked, startled. "O-kay."
"Good. Now go sit while I get us some soup." The Doctor steered Jack over toward a seat near a hearth in a less crowded corner of the room. He sank into the plush sofa and watched the Doctor thread his way back toward the kettles of soup. Jack sighed, feeling the exhaustion encroaching the moment the Doctor moved beyond arm's reach.
He hadn't missed this at all, and he wondered why it had come on now of all times, when he was content with his life for the first time in hundreds of years. Hopefully it wouldn't last long. If the Doctor's prescription of a day out with soup didn't fix him, perhaps the TARDIS could provide him with something that would.
The Doctor returned bearing two mugs. "Tomato bisque!" he announced. "And also -" He burst into a string of unpronounceable syllables.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask?"
"Probably better if you don't. But it's delicious!"
It was delicious, Jack found, sipping at the mug. The unpronounceable soup was yellow and a bit viscous, but it tasty nutty and just a little . . . piney. Like crisp, sunny snow days and warm nights by the fire. "It tastes like winter," Jack said, marveling. "I take it this is the local specialty."
The Doctor nodded. They traded mugs. The tomato bisque wasn't anything unusual, though it was also very good, thick and creamy and piping hot, spreading its warmth through his stomach. He leaned back and encountered the Doctor's arm, stretched back across the top of the sofa. It bent a little, the Doctor's hand coming to rest on Jack's shoulder, pulling him in. Jack allowed himself to be pulled and rested his head on the Doctor's shoulder.
"The last me," the Doctor said, after a long silence, "had all sorts of bad days. The me before that, too, but at least that me wasn't usually a danger to anyone but himself. But the last me had bad days, terrible, awful days, and he couldn't admit it. Couldn't ask anyone for help, couldn't explain why it hurt so badly for days on end. He got by for a while, until he didn't, and then . . . well, I think it was a good thing he regenerated when he did. He was on a path that would've ended badly for just about everyone."
Jack was quiet, digesting this. Even after two years, this Doctor could still surprise him with how different he was from either of his others. There were reasons, he reflected, why it had worked out for the two of them now and not any earlier. "It's not so bad anymore," he said quietly. "Like I said, Doc, this is the first one I've had since I've been traveling with you. And it's not even that bad, really. I'm just a bit low, that's all."
The Doctor turned his head, brushed his lips against Jack's forehead. "I wish I could help. I know there were times in the past when I must have made it worse. I'd change them all if I could."
You’re wrong, Jack. You’re just wrong. Jack suppressed a shudder. That memory shouldn’t still affect him after so long. He swallowed. "I know you would. And you do help. You are helping, right now."
The Doctor made a scoffing noise. "By dragging you off someplace you don't even want to be."
"No," Jack said firmly. "By dragging me to the northern crater of Fred - exactly where I need to be." The Doctor smiled, faintly. "What?"
"Nothing," the Doctor said. "Just, it reminded me of something someone said to me once." He lifted his hand and cupped Jack's cheek in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the arch of Jack's cheekbone. Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. "Jack," the Doctor murmured. "My beautiful, broken Jack."
Jack felt hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He’d seen the Doctor look at other people like this before. He’d never realized that being on the receiving end could be so devastating. "Less broken than I used to be," he managed, hoarsely.
"No thanks to me."
"Every thanks to you."
The Doctor shook his head, ever so slightly, a lock of unruly brown hair falling into his eyes. Jack thought briefly about brushing it aside, but he seemed to be frozen in place. They were so close together, Jack could see the flecks of gold in the Doctor's irises. One breath, two breaths, and the Doctor leaned in, ever so slightly.
Which was, of course, precisely when an enraged roar shook the lodge. The chandeliers swayed, someone screamed, and soup mugs shattered against the polished wood floor.
The Doctor was on his feet immediately, rushing forward to peer out the window. "Is that - Jack! It's a yeti! What's a yeti doing here? There shouldn't be any yetis here!"
Jack groaned. "Doctor, you promised me an adventure-free day."
"It's not an adventure, Jack, it's just a yeti. A poor lost yeti . . . oh. Oh dear."
"What?" Jack asked, despite himself.
"Villagers with pitchforks. Well, I say pitchforks, I mean lasers. Same thing." The Doctor started to sprint for the door, paused mid-stride, and turned back on his heel. "You don't have to come, Jack. Don't worry, I'm sure I can take care of this myself. It's just one yeti, after all."
Jack stayed sitting on the sofa for about five seconds, scowling in stubborn resolve, before giving up. It was never just one yeti.
***
Except, in this case, it seemed it actually was just one yeti. One very confused yeti named Carl, who had just been minding his own business when he'd suddenly fallen into a bit of wormhole and ended up somewhere else entirely. The Doctor tried to get everyone to calm down and put away their lasers, but the citizens of Fred weren't having any of it.
Jack had to admit that the sprint through the snow to the TARDIS was actually rather invigorating - not, perhaps, what he would've chosen to get his blood pumping and a few endorphins flowing, but it did the trick well enough. He brought up the rear, blowing through the door of the TARDIS just behind Carl - who, miraculously, managed to squeeze through without any dimension shifting necessary - and ahead of the angry villagers. He slammed the door shut as the Doctor threw the lever to start the dematerialization sequence.
"Thank you, my friends," Carl said. "Those men were alarming."
"Well, you know, no one ever expects a yeti," the Doctor said. "But they could've been a bit nicer about it, don’t you think so, Jack?"
"Fewer lasers would've been ideal," Jack agreed, rolling his shoulders. There was a singed stripe across the back of his coat.
"We'll have you home in just a mo," the Doctor told Carl, as he danced around the console.
"Where are we?" Carl asked, noticing that the dimensions of the room didn't quite meet expectations.
"The Doctor's ship," Jack said, resting a hand against the console. The TARDIS sparked a greeting across the surface of his mind and he smiled faintly. "Home."
"HOME!" the Doctor echoed loudly, and the TARDIS shook through her usual landing. "Right where and when - wait!" He glanced at the screen. "Yes, right where and when you left. Sorry, sometimes the old girl's a bit temperamental, I've learned to double-check - ow!" The Doctor wrung his hand, frowning up at the time rotor. "Sorry, sorry, dear."
Carl glanced down at Jack. "Is he mad?" he asked.
"As a hatter," Jack confirmed.
"A what?"
Jack waved a hand. "Never mind."
After wrangling a promise from them to visit sometime soon, Carl squeezed back out through the door and into the frozen forest of his home. The Doctor waved and shut the door, nearly skipping back up the steps to the console. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together, "that was energizing, wasn't it? Didn't you find it energizing, Jack?"
"It was energizing," Jack had to admit. "Though it was also awfully . . . adventure-ish."
"What? No! That hardly counts as an adventure."
"There was running, Doc! Serious running! People with lasers!"
"Yes, but not many of them, and the lasers were -"
"Lasers!"
The Doctor looked chagrined. "Well . . . all right, yes, I suppose that was a bit more adventure-ish than it could have been. Let me make it up to you, take another crack at Fred -"
"No," Jack said firmly. The Doctor, to his credit, shut up. Jack drew a deep breath. "I'm going to go take a bath.”
"A bath," the Doctor said, eyes lighting up, "excellent idea, Jack, I've been meaning to visit the hot springs of Tront for ages -"
"No hot springs," Jack said. The Doctor's face fell. "At least, not today," he amended. "Just a normal bath in a tub here on the TARDIS. But,” he smiled wryly, “you're welcome to join me, if you like."
The Doctor flushed. "Oh. Um. Hrm."
"Or not," Jack added with a shrug. "Up to you, Doc."
The Doctor nodded. "Right. I'll just, uh . . . right."
Jack suppressed a sigh and turned away.
***
He didn't expect the Doctor to come and join him, but he needed some peace and quiet to let his mind settle. The hit of adrenaline and endorphins he'd gotten from the chase through the snow was starting to wear off, and he mostly felt tired and headachey. He settled in the bath and found himself staring out the little fake window the TARDIS had provided over the tub at a field of stars. How much longer, he wondered bleakly, until I'm back out there?
Jack blinked, surprised by the thought. But then again, maybe he shouldn't be. He'd been with the Doctor for nearly two years now - not long at all for either of them, but long enough. How much longer until the Doctor tired of him? Or, worse yet, until Jack made a call the Doctor didn't like and he found himself out on his ear? Either way, Jack thought, his days on the TARDIS were probably numbered and always had been. He sank down into the water up to his chin. At least this solved his question about what had caused the bad day to begin with.
Centuries later and everything had changed, but it all was more or less the same. Part of him was still waking up every morning, hoping today wasn't the day the Doctor decided to get rid of him. How sad was that.
When the water started to cool, he got out, toweled off, and put on a pair of fresh pajama pants. It was only early afternoon, TARDIS-time, but he thought he might lie down for a while. Sleeping the rest of this day away might be his best option after all.
He wasn't expecting to find the Doctor sitting on his bed, along with a tray that held two large mugs and a soup tureen. Jack stopped in the doorway. "Hi," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Hi," the Doctor said. He gestured at the tray. "We never got to finish our soup."
"I guess we didn't," Jack agreed. He sat down on the bed and watched the Doctor ladle the soup into the mugs. "Chicken and vegetable?" he asked, peering into it.
"Yes. Well, no. But close."
Jack shook his head. Whatever it was, it was hearty, full of colorful root vegetables and hunks of what apparently wasn't - but certainly could have been - chicken. Jack took a bite and hummed his appreciation. "Delicious," he said. "Thanks. But you didn't have to go to all this trouble."
"Yes, I did," the Doctor said, ruefully. "You don't ask much of me, Jack - a lot less than most companions, in fact, and don't think I don't notice. But today you did, and I bungled it. Soup's the least I could do."
Jack shrugged. "It wasn't so bad, Doc. It got me out of my head." Temporarily, at least.
"That's not the point. The point is," the Doctor paused, gesturing with his spoon. Jack waited, curious. After a moment, the Doctor put his spoon down in his mug and set it aside. "The point is, I'm sorry."
Jack tried not to look too surprised. Not that he'd never heard the Doctor apologize, but he wasn't sure he'd ever heard him mean I made a mistake before. "Thank you," he said. Then he, too, set his spoon very deliberately into his mug of soup and set it aside. "And there is a way you could make it up to me."
"Oh?" the Doctor said, with trepidation.
Jack drew a deep breath and hoped like hell he hadn’t read the Doctor’s signals wrong. "I'd like us to finish what we started before the yeti showed up."
The Doctor closed his mouth with an audible click. "Oh. Are you . . . sure? I don't want to - sometimes people make terrible decisions when they're feeling low, I should know, I once - well, never mind that, it wasn't good, it was very bad, and I wouldn't -"
Maybe he had read him wrong after all, Jack thought with a sinking feeling. "Doc. If you'd rather not -"
"No, no no no, it's just -"
Jack reached across the bed and laid his hand firmly on the back of the Doctor's neck. The Doctor went instantly silent. Jack met his eyes, and to his surprise, saw there not the terror he was expecting, but something like . . . concern. Kindness, too, and even some humor. Jack found himself smiling as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the Doctor's.
There was a brief, frozen moment before the Doctor's mouth went pliant under Jack's. Jack shifted his weight forward on the bed, and the Doctor shifted back, so they were leaning against the headboard. Jack brought his hand up, cupping the side of the Doctor's face, thumb rubbing over the double pulse-point in his neck. The Doctor hummed and gripped Jack's hip.
Jack pulled back after a few seconds. "Thank you," he said, quietly.
The Doctor blinked. "Wait - that's not it?"
Jack smiled. "That's all it has to be. I always regretted not doing that before, when I had the chance. I wanted something to remember you by after I leave."
The Doctor frowned. "Leave? You’re leaving?" His voice went up at the end, almost into a squeak.
"Not now," Jack said, careful to keep his voice even. "But we both know it'll happen sometime."
The Doctor's frown deepened. "We do?"
Jack forced himself to smile. "C'mon, Doc. We both know how this goes."
The Doctor stared at him. "Actually," he said at last, "I don't. I've had a lot of companions, Jack, but I've never had one like you. Even you weren't like you when you were here before. So I don't know how this is going to go. I've never tried it before.” The Doctor shook his head. "Humans, Jack. I can't - I'm not as brave as you are. It hurts too much."
"It hurts me, too," Jack said, quietly. They were waiting there, still, at the back of his mind. All his lost loves.
"I know, I know it does, but you still . . . and I don't know how you do it. But I love that you do."
Jack reached out and took the Doctor's hand in his, lifted it to his lips. "Would you like to try?"
"Maybe," the Doctor said, his voice just a little breathless. "Maybe almost definitely."
“Good enough,” Jack said, and kissed him again.
***
Later, much later that night, Jack lay in bed with the Doctor's head on his chest. The Doctor was, if not actually asleep, then at least doing a very good impression of it. Jack stared up at the ceiling, stroked his fingers slowly through the Doctor’s hair, and dared himself to think about the future.
There would always be bad days, he knew, for both of them. And unless something changed for Jack, someday in his future there would be a very bad day indeed. The Doctor wasn’t immortal, not truly, not like him. But there would also be running, and snow, and unexpected yetis, and the Doctor - for a very long time still, there would be the Doctor, especially if Jack was around to look after him.
Bad days were inevitable. But this one, Jack thought, hadn't ended up all that badly after all.
Fin.