Fic: Cling (3/4)
Title: Cling (3/4)
Betas: canaana & wendymr
Rating: Teen (swearing, sexual content, mentions of non-con)
Spoilers: The Doctor Dances
Characters: Nine/Jack, Rose
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: It was supposed to be just a fun night out…
A/N: Written for dshael, who bid on me in the Support Stacie Auction. This is the word count of several incentive things she won added together… and then it got away from me a little. Prompt: Deal!verse, cling, blunt head trauma.
This is set in the Deal-verse.
Part 1 Part 2
Chapter 3
The Doctor wakes up half-leaning, half-lying on the kitchen bench. He stretches, cracking his spine. There's a terrible crick in his neck that he'll feel all day.
Worse, there's no Jack.
It's been seven hours and twenty-three minutes since Jack fell asleep. He was awake for most of that - fell asleep about an hour ago. So whenever Jack woke up, odds are he was back to himself by then.
The Doctor gets up and starts towards Jack's bedroom. He needs to check on him, apologize, see where they stand now.
Jack's not in his room. But the Doctor's jumper is lying on the floor, crumpled into a heap. The Doctor pulls it back on, breathing in the mingled scent of himself and Jack. He closes his eyes for a moment. He hopes he can make things right.
The Doctor glances into the en-suite bathroom. The shower cubicle's wet, the clothes Jack wore to the club are in the laundry bin, and the razor's been used.
Contrary to what most people would think at first glance, Jack doesn’t take long for his morning ablutions, but this still means he must have been up for a while. The Doctor berates himself for not noticing earlier.
This is the downside of trusting someone this much - being so relaxed around them that your inner alarm system lets you sleep through them moving around and climbing off and over you. He just hopes Jack hasn't done anything stupid - like gone out to confront the Ceridian by himself. She's no match for him, of course, but dangerous people often have dangerous allies. And besides, this is not just about bringing her down. She must have suppliers, who must have other customers. He heads for the console room.
There he finds Jack, half-buried under the console, tinkering. He almost smiles. That's a habit the lad's picked up from him - working on the TARDIS to calm his nerves. Of course, they've talked about what Jack can and can't work on by himself. Right now, he's scrubbing the exothermic connectors. Boring and physically demanding work, but very satisfying once it's done. And well within the range of things he doesn’t expect Jack to ask about anymore.
He clears his throat. Jack lifts his head, throws him a disgusted glance, and goes back to scrubbing. The Doctor flinches.
"Jack."
"Better for you if we don't talk right now. I'm liable to say stuff." He sounds just as angry as the Doctor imagined. But it's worse that he won't even look at him.
"I can handle that."
Jack snorts. "Yeah, that's what you're good at, isn't it? 'Handling' stuff." He pushes himself out from under the console and stands up, his whole body radiating tension. "Or people."
"I'm sorry I didn't watch the drin-"
"Like that's the fucking problem here? People screw up, overlook things." He narrows his eyes. "Even almighty, all-knowing Time Lords!"
The Doctor feels himself starting to bristle. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stay calm. Jack's got a right to be upset. "So if it's not the drinks you're angry about, what is it?"
Jack drops the steel wool he'd been using on the console and draws himself up into a fighting stance. "You not taking care of me after."
"What?" He was prepared to let Jack tear a strip off him about the drinks, but now he's being ridiculous. "I took care of you all bloody night!"
"Like I was a goddamn pet, or at best a toddler, yeah." Jack's eyes narrow and his voice becomes sharp. "You knew what I wanted, but you decided in your infinite wisdom that I couldn't have it."
The Doctor blinks. "Sex?" he asks, baffled. "You're upset I wouldn't shag you when you were incapable of consent?"
"I'm your lover, goddammit! You were supposed to make love to me, not coddle me like a colicky baby!"
"But… you'd been so angry." His mind flashes back to the way Jack pulled away from him at the club, the venom in his voice as he berated him for letting this happen.
"We've had sex when we were angry before."
"But it wouldn't have been that kind of sex. The drug would have made you all docile and gentle. Thought you'd be upset about havin' that kind of sex with me after I let you down like that."
"And you thought I wouldn't be upset about being wrapped into your fucking jumper like a whiney kitten?" Jack's voice is echoing off the ceiling.
"I couldn't think how else to keep you calm!" Damn, can't Jack see he did the best he could? Of course he understands how humiliating the memory must be, but it was the best he could do at the time.
Jack's hand slaps the console. "Fucking my brains out might have worked!"
The Doctor shakes his head. Why won’t Jack understand that sex was never an option? "Pardon me for thinking it might be better to go with something less intrusive!"
He's hit in the chest by something hard and lumpy. Looking down, he recognizes the steel wool. He looks up to see Jack staring at him with a mixture of rage and ridicule.
"Have you fucking met me?" His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white. "What do you think I find more intrusive - being thrown on the mattress and having the drugs fucked out of my brain, or being cradled and having lullabies cooed to me on my so-called lover's lap?"
*****
Jack sees the Doctor's face crumple in sudden understanding. The Time Lord turns away and rubs his forehead. He starts pacing. Then he turns back, his eyes straight on Jack's. "I was wrong. I'm sorry."
It's the honesty of the statement, the complete lack of excuses, that make Jack take a deep breath and lean back against the console. "What the hell were you thinking?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "I just… didn't consider that you're an alien."
Jack raises an eyebrow.
"Or that I am. Either way. I didn't…" He shakes his head. "I looked at it like a Time Lord."
Jack cocks his head. He makes an effort to release his clenched fists and breathe in and out slowly. The Doctor rarely talks about what it's like to be a Time Lord. Jack will make himself stay calm long enough to listen. "Explain?"
"Back when I told you I don't have casual sex… well, it's not just me. It's us. Time Lords… to us, sex is not recreational. You don't get casual sex with Gallifreyans, not because we're so high 'n mighty, but because of the way we're wired." The Doctor's visibly fighting for words. "If we're just casually interested, we simply don't develop the drive. It goes much deeper - deeper than the physical, than thoughts, deeper than emotions…" He looks away and starts pacing again.
Jack lets that sink in. Every species he's ever met knew the concept of recreational sex. Yes, it's frowned upon in many cultures, but that's because the drive is always there. But Time Lords are far from a normal species, for all that they could pass for human. "Deeper?"
"There's no word for it in human language. Or any language except Gallifreyan. It's a connection on a level that…" He sighs. "I can't explain it to you, Jack. It involves senses, instincts and perceptions you're biologically incapable of understanding." His eyes are pleading. This is not a put-down, not one of the "I'm so superior" speeches the Doctor is fond of. These are the eyes of a man who's desperate to be understood, but knows he won't be. Will never be again. Because there's no one left in the universe who could.
Jack breathes in sharply. The loneliness of the Doctor's existence hits him cold and hard like a block of ice. He's not just the last of his species - he's the last of a species completely unlike any other species in the universe. There's no one else who can even come close to his way of thinking and feeling anymore. And there never will be again. One night of humiliation seems a petty complaint compared to centuries of crushing isolation.
He takes three steps and stands in front of the Doctor, interrupting the pacing. The Time Lord doesn’t look at him. Jack takes his chin and forces him to - gently, but inexorably. "You judged what I would want by your standards and prejudices."
The Doctor nods, as much as Jack's hand on his chin will allow. He's visibly uncomfortable to be thus restrained, but he accepts it.
Jack keeps searching the Doctor's eyes. "Promise me you'll never do that to me again."
The Doctor flinches. There's panic in his eyes.
Jack relents. "Promise me you'll try never to do that to me again."
This time, the Doctor doesn’t hesitate. "Promise."
"Promise me if something like last night happens again, you'll screw my brains out."
The Doctor squares his jaw. "Don't mean to let that happen again. Ever."
Jack rolls his eyes. "You didn't 'mean to' last night. Things go wrong."
The Doctor looks unhappy, but doesn’t protest.
"If it happens, you have my blanket consent to fuck me six ways till Sunday to keep me out of trouble."
Another nod, and the Doctor's shoulders lose some of their tension.
Jack tightens his hold and leans in for a kiss - rough, forceful, savage. The Doctor is passive, but eager. Jack sucks the Doctor's lower lip into his mouth and bites it until he tastes blood. With a small hiss of pain, the Doctor steps closer, until their chests are touching and his thigh is rubbing against Jack's.
They're both out of breath when they break apart.
"I forgive you," Jack says. He knows this is not the end of it - things have been raised that they'll have to talk about. But it's a start.
He can see in the Doctor's eyes that he knows it too, but all he says is "Thank you."
Jack kisses him again, tenderly now, gently licking the places he made bleed. The Doctor plays his tongue across Jack's, responding but letting him lead. A cool hand sneaks around Jack's waist and lands in the small of his back. Jack smiles into the kiss and mumbles "You're such a cuddler."
Instead of the heated denial that remark usually gets, he can feel the Doctor's mouth curving upwards and his other hand starts caressing Jack's nipple.
And that reminds Jack of something else he needs to do. He breaks off the kiss. "As much as I'd like to explore this further… I need to talk to Rose." He shifts his weight uncomfortably.
The Doctor stills. "Want me to come with you? Was my fault more than yours."
Jack shakes his head. "No." He rubs his neck. "Unless you think she'd feel safer with you there?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "She feels safe with you. She was just upset last night. Knows you're not like that."
"Hope you're right." Jack lets his hand trail down the Doctor's arm as he turns from him towards the doorway.
*****
Rose is lying on her bed, flipping through a magazine. She's decided it'd be best to stay in her room until one of the blokes lets her know it's all over. The chocolate and raisins from her desk drawer made an unsatisfying breakfast, but apart from that, lazing around in bed all morning has been quite nice. The Doctor normally makes them start the day early, bored with their sleeping habits and excited to run off and show them new places.
She wonders if the blokes are okay. But she figures if anything was seriously wrong, the Doctor would have let her know. Or the TARDIS would have. Best to just let them get on with it.
There's a hesitant knock on her door. Neither of the blokes is usually hesitant, but right now either one might be, so she calls out "Who's there?"
"It's Jack."
For a moment, she feels herself tense. But he sounds so shy and tentative. She sits up. "'S open."
The door opens, but Jack doesn't come in. He leans in the doorframe, staring at his shoes.
He looks miserable. Rose's heart goes out to him. He's one of her two best mates. Yes, she was scared when she woke up last night with his body pinning her down and his hands all over her. For a second, her sleep-addled brain thought she was somehow back with Jimmy, and by the time she realized it was Jack, his tongue was already in her mouth. Even knowing it wasn't his fault, the memory makes her flinch.
But it's not like he could help it. Now that she's calm and over the first shock, she realizes the memory is probably as bad for him - if not worse. She gets up and takes a step towards Jack.
He looks at her. It's clearly a fight, but he does. "I'm so, so sorry, Rose."
She smiles. "Okay."
Jack blinks. "Okay?"
She shrugs. "Yeah. Not much you can do 'cept apologize, is there? 'S all I needed to hear." And if she's still a bit uncomfortable, there's no way she'll let him know that. Because there's really nothing else he can do. She'll just have to get over it.
He opens his arms and she makes herself step closer. As he wraps her in a warm embrace, she feels the tension flow out of her. This feels safe, not awkward like she'd feared. They really are okay. Thank god. She returns his hug and grins up at him. "You have to let me win our next tickle fight, though."
He grimaces, but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "That's fair."
She gives him a peck on the cheek, then looks at him earnestly. "How're you?"
"Sober. Exhausted. Humiliated."
She takes his hand. "Sounds like me after the first time me an' my mates went to a strip club."
Jack grins. "That sounds like a story I'd like to hear."
"Make me some tea and maybe I'll tell you."
She's still holding his hand as he leads her towards the kitchen.
*****
They sit in the kitchen while Rose tells him an outrageous story of sneaking out one night to see what in her century was considered a scandalous show full of nudity and fabulous props. Jack's laughing so hard his sides hurt. Rose was right, the story of how she had a few drinks too many and tried to improve the show through audience participation is almost as embarrassing as what happened to him, and the fact that she tells it to him with a grin and fighting down giggles gives him hope that one day, they'll all look back at last night and laugh.
Rose is just at the part where she got entangled in the feather boa and couldn't take her arms down anymore when Jack spots the Doctor in the doorway, watching them with a smile. He grins at his lover.
Noticing his look, Rose turns around and spots the Doctor, but that doesn’t stop her from bringing her story to its ridiculous conclusion. They're all laughing by the end.
When they calm down the Doctor touches her shoulder. "You two okay, then?"
Rose grins. "Yeah. No harm done. Not his fault, anyway."
The Doctor nods. "Yeah. Was mine. Should have kept a closer eye on him." His expression is chagrined. "I'm sorry about that." His gaze flicks from Rose to Jack, including him in the apology.
Jack sends him a smile and a shrug. When he said he forgave the Doctor earlier, he meant the whole night.
Rose just waves him off. "S okay. Not what I meant, though. I meant the wankers who drugged our drinks in the first place. We're gonna deal with them, yeah?" She looks at the Doctor expectantly; so does Jack.
The Time Lord's mouth curves into a feral smile.
Go to part 4.
Betas: canaana & wendymr
Rating: Teen (swearing, sexual content, mentions of non-con)
Spoilers: The Doctor Dances
Characters: Nine/Jack, Rose
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: It was supposed to be just a fun night out…
A/N: Written for dshael, who bid on me in the Support Stacie Auction. This is the word count of several incentive things she won added together… and then it got away from me a little. Prompt: Deal!verse, cling, blunt head trauma.
This is set in the Deal-verse.
Part 1 Part 2
Chapter 3
The Doctor wakes up half-leaning, half-lying on the kitchen bench. He stretches, cracking his spine. There's a terrible crick in his neck that he'll feel all day.
Worse, there's no Jack.
It's been seven hours and twenty-three minutes since Jack fell asleep. He was awake for most of that - fell asleep about an hour ago. So whenever Jack woke up, odds are he was back to himself by then.
The Doctor gets up and starts towards Jack's bedroom. He needs to check on him, apologize, see where they stand now.
Jack's not in his room. But the Doctor's jumper is lying on the floor, crumpled into a heap. The Doctor pulls it back on, breathing in the mingled scent of himself and Jack. He closes his eyes for a moment. He hopes he can make things right.
The Doctor glances into the en-suite bathroom. The shower cubicle's wet, the clothes Jack wore to the club are in the laundry bin, and the razor's been used.
Contrary to what most people would think at first glance, Jack doesn’t take long for his morning ablutions, but this still means he must have been up for a while. The Doctor berates himself for not noticing earlier.
This is the downside of trusting someone this much - being so relaxed around them that your inner alarm system lets you sleep through them moving around and climbing off and over you. He just hopes Jack hasn't done anything stupid - like gone out to confront the Ceridian by himself. She's no match for him, of course, but dangerous people often have dangerous allies. And besides, this is not just about bringing her down. She must have suppliers, who must have other customers. He heads for the console room.
There he finds Jack, half-buried under the console, tinkering. He almost smiles. That's a habit the lad's picked up from him - working on the TARDIS to calm his nerves. Of course, they've talked about what Jack can and can't work on by himself. Right now, he's scrubbing the exothermic connectors. Boring and physically demanding work, but very satisfying once it's done. And well within the range of things he doesn’t expect Jack to ask about anymore.
He clears his throat. Jack lifts his head, throws him a disgusted glance, and goes back to scrubbing. The Doctor flinches.
"Jack."
"Better for you if we don't talk right now. I'm liable to say stuff." He sounds just as angry as the Doctor imagined. But it's worse that he won't even look at him.
"I can handle that."
Jack snorts. "Yeah, that's what you're good at, isn't it? 'Handling' stuff." He pushes himself out from under the console and stands up, his whole body radiating tension. "Or people."
"I'm sorry I didn't watch the drin-"
"Like that's the fucking problem here? People screw up, overlook things." He narrows his eyes. "Even almighty, all-knowing Time Lords!"
The Doctor feels himself starting to bristle. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stay calm. Jack's got a right to be upset. "So if it's not the drinks you're angry about, what is it?"
Jack drops the steel wool he'd been using on the console and draws himself up into a fighting stance. "You not taking care of me after."
"What?" He was prepared to let Jack tear a strip off him about the drinks, but now he's being ridiculous. "I took care of you all bloody night!"
"Like I was a goddamn pet, or at best a toddler, yeah." Jack's eyes narrow and his voice becomes sharp. "You knew what I wanted, but you decided in your infinite wisdom that I couldn't have it."
The Doctor blinks. "Sex?" he asks, baffled. "You're upset I wouldn't shag you when you were incapable of consent?"
"I'm your lover, goddammit! You were supposed to make love to me, not coddle me like a colicky baby!"
"But… you'd been so angry." His mind flashes back to the way Jack pulled away from him at the club, the venom in his voice as he berated him for letting this happen.
"We've had sex when we were angry before."
"But it wouldn't have been that kind of sex. The drug would have made you all docile and gentle. Thought you'd be upset about havin' that kind of sex with me after I let you down like that."
"And you thought I wouldn't be upset about being wrapped into your fucking jumper like a whiney kitten?" Jack's voice is echoing off the ceiling.
"I couldn't think how else to keep you calm!" Damn, can't Jack see he did the best he could? Of course he understands how humiliating the memory must be, but it was the best he could do at the time.
Jack's hand slaps the console. "Fucking my brains out might have worked!"
The Doctor shakes his head. Why won’t Jack understand that sex was never an option? "Pardon me for thinking it might be better to go with something less intrusive!"
He's hit in the chest by something hard and lumpy. Looking down, he recognizes the steel wool. He looks up to see Jack staring at him with a mixture of rage and ridicule.
"Have you fucking met me?" His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white. "What do you think I find more intrusive - being thrown on the mattress and having the drugs fucked out of my brain, or being cradled and having lullabies cooed to me on my so-called lover's lap?"
*****
Jack sees the Doctor's face crumple in sudden understanding. The Time Lord turns away and rubs his forehead. He starts pacing. Then he turns back, his eyes straight on Jack's. "I was wrong. I'm sorry."
It's the honesty of the statement, the complete lack of excuses, that make Jack take a deep breath and lean back against the console. "What the hell were you thinking?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "I just… didn't consider that you're an alien."
Jack raises an eyebrow.
"Or that I am. Either way. I didn't…" He shakes his head. "I looked at it like a Time Lord."
Jack cocks his head. He makes an effort to release his clenched fists and breathe in and out slowly. The Doctor rarely talks about what it's like to be a Time Lord. Jack will make himself stay calm long enough to listen. "Explain?"
"Back when I told you I don't have casual sex… well, it's not just me. It's us. Time Lords… to us, sex is not recreational. You don't get casual sex with Gallifreyans, not because we're so high 'n mighty, but because of the way we're wired." The Doctor's visibly fighting for words. "If we're just casually interested, we simply don't develop the drive. It goes much deeper - deeper than the physical, than thoughts, deeper than emotions…" He looks away and starts pacing again.
Jack lets that sink in. Every species he's ever met knew the concept of recreational sex. Yes, it's frowned upon in many cultures, but that's because the drive is always there. But Time Lords are far from a normal species, for all that they could pass for human. "Deeper?"
"There's no word for it in human language. Or any language except Gallifreyan. It's a connection on a level that…" He sighs. "I can't explain it to you, Jack. It involves senses, instincts and perceptions you're biologically incapable of understanding." His eyes are pleading. This is not a put-down, not one of the "I'm so superior" speeches the Doctor is fond of. These are the eyes of a man who's desperate to be understood, but knows he won't be. Will never be again. Because there's no one left in the universe who could.
Jack breathes in sharply. The loneliness of the Doctor's existence hits him cold and hard like a block of ice. He's not just the last of his species - he's the last of a species completely unlike any other species in the universe. There's no one else who can even come close to his way of thinking and feeling anymore. And there never will be again. One night of humiliation seems a petty complaint compared to centuries of crushing isolation.
He takes three steps and stands in front of the Doctor, interrupting the pacing. The Time Lord doesn’t look at him. Jack takes his chin and forces him to - gently, but inexorably. "You judged what I would want by your standards and prejudices."
The Doctor nods, as much as Jack's hand on his chin will allow. He's visibly uncomfortable to be thus restrained, but he accepts it.
Jack keeps searching the Doctor's eyes. "Promise me you'll never do that to me again."
The Doctor flinches. There's panic in his eyes.
Jack relents. "Promise me you'll try never to do that to me again."
This time, the Doctor doesn’t hesitate. "Promise."
"Promise me if something like last night happens again, you'll screw my brains out."
The Doctor squares his jaw. "Don't mean to let that happen again. Ever."
Jack rolls his eyes. "You didn't 'mean to' last night. Things go wrong."
The Doctor looks unhappy, but doesn’t protest.
"If it happens, you have my blanket consent to fuck me six ways till Sunday to keep me out of trouble."
Another nod, and the Doctor's shoulders lose some of their tension.
Jack tightens his hold and leans in for a kiss - rough, forceful, savage. The Doctor is passive, but eager. Jack sucks the Doctor's lower lip into his mouth and bites it until he tastes blood. With a small hiss of pain, the Doctor steps closer, until their chests are touching and his thigh is rubbing against Jack's.
They're both out of breath when they break apart.
"I forgive you," Jack says. He knows this is not the end of it - things have been raised that they'll have to talk about. But it's a start.
He can see in the Doctor's eyes that he knows it too, but all he says is "Thank you."
Jack kisses him again, tenderly now, gently licking the places he made bleed. The Doctor plays his tongue across Jack's, responding but letting him lead. A cool hand sneaks around Jack's waist and lands in the small of his back. Jack smiles into the kiss and mumbles "You're such a cuddler."
Instead of the heated denial that remark usually gets, he can feel the Doctor's mouth curving upwards and his other hand starts caressing Jack's nipple.
And that reminds Jack of something else he needs to do. He breaks off the kiss. "As much as I'd like to explore this further… I need to talk to Rose." He shifts his weight uncomfortably.
The Doctor stills. "Want me to come with you? Was my fault more than yours."
Jack shakes his head. "No." He rubs his neck. "Unless you think she'd feel safer with you there?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "She feels safe with you. She was just upset last night. Knows you're not like that."
"Hope you're right." Jack lets his hand trail down the Doctor's arm as he turns from him towards the doorway.
*****
Rose is lying on her bed, flipping through a magazine. She's decided it'd be best to stay in her room until one of the blokes lets her know it's all over. The chocolate and raisins from her desk drawer made an unsatisfying breakfast, but apart from that, lazing around in bed all morning has been quite nice. The Doctor normally makes them start the day early, bored with their sleeping habits and excited to run off and show them new places.
She wonders if the blokes are okay. But she figures if anything was seriously wrong, the Doctor would have let her know. Or the TARDIS would have. Best to just let them get on with it.
There's a hesitant knock on her door. Neither of the blokes is usually hesitant, but right now either one might be, so she calls out "Who's there?"
"It's Jack."
For a moment, she feels herself tense. But he sounds so shy and tentative. She sits up. "'S open."
The door opens, but Jack doesn't come in. He leans in the doorframe, staring at his shoes.
He looks miserable. Rose's heart goes out to him. He's one of her two best mates. Yes, she was scared when she woke up last night with his body pinning her down and his hands all over her. For a second, her sleep-addled brain thought she was somehow back with Jimmy, and by the time she realized it was Jack, his tongue was already in her mouth. Even knowing it wasn't his fault, the memory makes her flinch.
But it's not like he could help it. Now that she's calm and over the first shock, she realizes the memory is probably as bad for him - if not worse. She gets up and takes a step towards Jack.
He looks at her. It's clearly a fight, but he does. "I'm so, so sorry, Rose."
She smiles. "Okay."
Jack blinks. "Okay?"
She shrugs. "Yeah. Not much you can do 'cept apologize, is there? 'S all I needed to hear." And if she's still a bit uncomfortable, there's no way she'll let him know that. Because there's really nothing else he can do. She'll just have to get over it.
He opens his arms and she makes herself step closer. As he wraps her in a warm embrace, she feels the tension flow out of her. This feels safe, not awkward like she'd feared. They really are okay. Thank god. She returns his hug and grins up at him. "You have to let me win our next tickle fight, though."
He grimaces, but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "That's fair."
She gives him a peck on the cheek, then looks at him earnestly. "How're you?"
"Sober. Exhausted. Humiliated."
She takes his hand. "Sounds like me after the first time me an' my mates went to a strip club."
Jack grins. "That sounds like a story I'd like to hear."
"Make me some tea and maybe I'll tell you."
She's still holding his hand as he leads her towards the kitchen.
*****
They sit in the kitchen while Rose tells him an outrageous story of sneaking out one night to see what in her century was considered a scandalous show full of nudity and fabulous props. Jack's laughing so hard his sides hurt. Rose was right, the story of how she had a few drinks too many and tried to improve the show through audience participation is almost as embarrassing as what happened to him, and the fact that she tells it to him with a grin and fighting down giggles gives him hope that one day, they'll all look back at last night and laugh.
Rose is just at the part where she got entangled in the feather boa and couldn't take her arms down anymore when Jack spots the Doctor in the doorway, watching them with a smile. He grins at his lover.
Noticing his look, Rose turns around and spots the Doctor, but that doesn’t stop her from bringing her story to its ridiculous conclusion. They're all laughing by the end.
When they calm down the Doctor touches her shoulder. "You two okay, then?"
Rose grins. "Yeah. No harm done. Not his fault, anyway."
The Doctor nods. "Yeah. Was mine. Should have kept a closer eye on him." His expression is chagrined. "I'm sorry about that." His gaze flicks from Rose to Jack, including him in the apology.
Jack sends him a smile and a shrug. When he said he forgave the Doctor earlier, he meant the whole night.
Rose just waves him off. "S okay. Not what I meant, though. I meant the wankers who drugged our drinks in the first place. We're gonna deal with them, yeah?" She looks at the Doctor expectantly; so does Jack.
The Time Lord's mouth curves into a feral smile.
Go to part 4.