Fic: Five Ways Jack Didn't Meet the Doctor's Wife. Part 2: Eight For You, Honey
So, about 1 1/2 years ago I posted part one of this... Like all Five Times fics these stories are connected by theme, not story, although if anyone wants to read the first story, you can find it here: It’s Called Marriage.
(I do have bunnies for the other three stories, but considering how long it took for me to find an ending for this that I was happy with... Well. Who knows.)
Also,
owlboy, this is for you! Very late, but at least I did finish it.
Summary: The Doctor is wounded, Jack is out of bullets, the TARDIS is out of reach, and there's an angry mob... Whoever will save them?
Setting: Post-The Angels Take Manhattan.
Characters: The Doctor, Jack, River.
Rating: PG-13?
Wordcount: 2281
Feedback: Oooh, you know you want to.
Eight For You, Honey
Somewhere deep down in Jack’s stomach a very familiar feeling was asserting itself. An immobilising feeling of dread and failure and guilt... This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. But then the serendipity of running into the Doctor when he’d lost his vortex manipulator had seemed too good to be true...
'Lost' wasn't quite the right word - getting drugged and waking up to the realisation that not only had he been robbed, they'd also cut off his hand, had not been a particularly brilliant start to an otherwise promising evening. He'd had to kill himself just to grow it back. So transport and a friendly face had seemed like a god-send.
Although if he was honest, then there had been moments when he’d wondered if he’d made the right choice. This Doctor was old in ways he had never seen, quiet and sombre and bowed by a loss he wouldn’t explain - his invitation to travel had been more of a ‘Well, I could give you a lift, I suppose’. He didn’t seem to mind Jack still being there weeks later, but then that wasn’t saying much, as he didn’t seem to engage with anything they came across. So Jack stayed, mostly because he knew grief when he saw it, and the least he could do was look after his old friend.
Now, however, as he peered out of the doorway of the ancient temple at the furious mob outside, the Doctor’s deceptively young face white and drawn with pain beside him, he felt he should have seen this coming. He was Jack, he was bound to screw things up. ‘Look after the Doctor’ - yeah right. Getting him killed, that was more his style...
Trying to work out what to do he hit a wall. The TARDIS was out of reach, his gun out of bullets (and probably wouldn’t do much to these heavily armed warriors) - even the Doctor’s screwdriver had been lost in the desperate scramble for sanctuary, and he could feel near-despair set in as he watched the Doctor slowly sink down to a sitting position against the wall, the red stain on his shirt spreading still further.
“Doctor,” he said slowly. “Please let me have a look...”
The Doctor (of course), shook his head, eyes still closed. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”
“Look, I-” Jack rubbed his face. “I could probably get past them. They’d kill me a few dozen times, but-”
“No.”
There was authority behind the words despite the quietness of the voice, and he recognised the bitterness of the tone - ‘No one else is getting hurt on my behalf’, and he swallowed in painful recognition. Still, they couldn’t stay where they were for long. The temple was empty apart from statues and altars - they needed some kind of plan.
“Sorry, but... what do we do? You’re in no fit state to go anywhere-”
The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at him with a look somewhere between exhaustion and annoyance - as if he was explaining something too obvious for words.
“We wait to be rescued. Shouldn’t be long.”
Then his eyes seemed to unfocus.
“Must make sure the message is...”
He stopped, head falling back against the wall, eyes closing once more. “And a good first aid kit. Not regeneration energy. Too depleted, mustn’t...”
His voice drifted off, and Jack’s apprehension levels increased tenfold. If the Doctor died on his watch...
Deep breath. He’d been through worse. (And wasn’t that a cheerful thought?) What had the Doctor said? Something about sending a message and being rescued - well, it was worth a shot.
Pulling out his barely-functioning communicator he hastily composed a SOS, sending it as far and wide as possible. It seemed mad, yet who knew - it might just work.
As he checked the settings, trying to make sure that the message had actually transmitted properly, the Doctor’s eyes snapped open again.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, as Jack almost jumped at the tone.
“Sending a message for help as you suggested,” he replied, feeling a little defensive at the tone of the Doctor’s voice, which wasn’t helped when the Doctor held out his hand, snatching the communicator out of Jack’s hands with the closest Jack had ever seen him to panic and then scanning the message, eyes widening.
“You sent this?” he asked, incredulous, and - as Jack nodded - waved the small metal rectangle around in great frustration.
“We were obviously going to send a message after we’d been rescued! This-” he scanned the lines again, and seemed to grow paler still, before slowly lifting his eyes and Jack wondered how he could ever have thought this Doctor young.
“There’ll be a massacre,” the Doctor said slowly, almost to himself. Handing the communicator back he carefully got to his feet, as Jack watched, confused and alarmed.
The Doctor walked over to the entrance and looked out, and Jack could hear the scream of derision that went up from the gathered crowd. Why oh why had the TARDIS chosen to land in the middle of a sacred spot, causing the locals to be incited to furious anger...
But the Doctor lifted his hand (the other still held to the wound in his side), and when a semblance of silence fell over the crowd, he spoke - voice rich and commanding, and oddly more alive than Jack had heard since they met again.
“Listen to me. Let us go. If you don’t, you will die. Please, trust me.”
The answer from outside the temple was uncompromising. The Doctor lowered his head for a moment, and Jack could tell he was fighting to keep standing. Yet he once more looked out from the arched doorway, and - although his voice was quiet, it carried, and the words he spoke chilled Jack to the bone.
“Very well then. I tried to warn you.”
A beat, then he continued.
“Make peace with your gods.”
At this he turned, once more collapsing against the wall next to the archway, swallowing in pain as he found Jack’s face again, looking at something Jack couldn’t guess at.
“Time was, my name alone would have sent them running... Ah well, that’s all gone. For better or worse.”
Kneeling down by him, Jack tried to work out what on earth the Doctor was talking about and how to respond, when a hand was laid on his arm.
“Stay away from the door - no idea what’ll happen, but the equivalent of an army is about to descend...”
And Jack had thought he knew how to be cryptic.
“Doctor... Are you going to explain what the hell you are talking about?”
A sudden smile - as devious as it was unexpected - lit up the Doctor’s features.
“Didn’t I tell you I got married?”
Jack could feel his jaw dropping, even as there was a sudden loud crackle outside. Cautiously he peered out of the door, and faltered at what he saw.
Hanging in the air was a spaceship - not large, and quite old fashioned, with outdated photon engines, the kind that lit up the air as they took off...
The ship had turned them into a weapon, causing the very ground to be smothered in vicious, all-consuming flames. It only took seconds, but the multitudinous soldiers, so recently braying for blood, were reduced to black slick ashes.
As the flames died down, nothing to sustain them, the ship gently landed, its underside revealing an entrance hatch which opened to let a single female figure descend, and Jack found himself swallowing involuntarily.
Her curly hair surrounded her head like a golden halo, and she was dressed in a long, figure-hugging lustrous blood-red dress. Black, high heeled shoes matched the black laser gun she held in her right hand. Over her left shoulder a satchel was slung, and she made her way through the still smouldering devastation with deadly calm, as Jack slowly detached himself from the side of the door and moved forwards to greet her.
She stopped in front of him and looked him over cooly. She was older than he’d thought - 40 at least - and her eyes were grey and uncompromising.
“Captain,” she said, inclining her head, before holding out the gun. “Anything moves - shoot to kill.”
For a moment he could only stare, wondering if maybe he was dreaming, if he’d been shot himself and was hallucinating, if he’d just imagined the Doctor talking about marriage, because surely-
But then the brighter side of his brain told him to shut up and do as he was told.
“Yes Ma’am,” he saluted before taking the gun, and a ghost of a smile crossed her face as she stepped past him, obviously forgetting him the moment he was out of sight.
Despite her order, he found the tableaux inside far more compelling than the one outside, and watched (barely able to breathe) as she fell to her knees beside the Doctor, touching his face with utmost gentleness.
“Hello Sweetie,” she whispered, and the Doctor’s eyes slowly opened again.
“Knew you’d come... My Melody.”
Trying to focus on Jack, he smiled again. A soft and gentle smile, so achingly sad Jack felt like he’d been punched... except the words that followed didn’t make much sense.
“She’s a Pond, you see. Bespoke. Made just for me...”
Jack could see the woman’s nostrils briefly flaring, as if containing some strong emotion or other, before she busied herself with the first aid kit, patching up the wound and administering painkillers.
Eventually the Doctor succumbed to the combination of drugs and injury, his breathing evening out and the tenseness leaving his limbs. Jack could see the way the woman seemed to relax too, before taking a deep breath and standing up, turning to face him.
“Where is the TARDIS?”
In response he pointed out the door, towards the centre of the town.
“We accidentally landed on top of the statue of their local deity. Which is why they chased us...”
She pulled a face, half-resigned, half-exasperated.
“Well it would automatically have incurred the death penalty,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Which he would know. Oh my Love, whatever shall I do with you...”
Picking up her satchel she extracted a vortex manipulator and wrapped it round her wrist automatically, her eyes on the Doctor’s face, harbouring feelings Jack didn’t dare guess at.
“Mother told me to look after him. But I was never really the nurturing kind. And when he insists on being self-destructive...”
She sighed, then gave Jack a nod.
“See you in a moment. Don’t move.”
Before Jack could ask what she was planning she disappeared in a flash, and seconds later he heard the cranking of the TARDIS engines, before the ship materialised around himself and the Doctor.
The woman - Melody? - was already on her way down the steps from the console, and with Jack’s help she got the Doctor up the two flights of stairs to the main corridor, except she then stopped and laid a hand against the wall.
“Dearest, please move the bedroom closer? I’m sure you can tell how hurt he is.”
And before Jack’s disbelieving eyes a door appeared in the wall in front of them.
“Thank you,” she breathed, and together they managed to make the Doctor comfortable in the amply sized bedroom behind the door.
(The Doctor’s bedroom - Jack might have often wondered, but this was not how he’d wanted to find it. If it even was his, and not… theirs. The bed was certainly more than big enough for two.)
Once they’d closed the door, the Doctor asleep - or unconscious, Jack wasn’t quite sure which, except he was resting and that was good - the woman took a deep breath, then turned to Jack and held out her hand.
“Thank you Captain. Have we met yet?”
“No, I’ve not had the pleasure,” he replied, taking her hand and almost forgetting himself, before belatedly kissing it.
A shadow of a smile crossed her face.
“Same as always, I see. I’m Professor River Song, the Doctor’s wife. It was good to meet you. Please make sure he doesn’t go exerting himself. If he gets petulant, tell him I said so.”
With that she set off back down the stairs, Jack following, bewildered.
“Sorry - are you leaving?”
She stopped, and half-turned to watch him.
“I was rather in the middle of something when I received your message, in case that wasn’t obvious. And I only…” she hesitated, eyes suddenly dangerous with a hint of mischief, “borrowed the spaceship, as it was the nearest thing that could be turned into an effective weapon. I should probably return it - my criminal record is long enough as it is.”
“But-”
As he tried to find any sort of adequate reply, she turned pensive, smile cooling.
“Besides, as I told him once - one psychopath per TARDIS. Three is quite frankly unacceptable.”
Staring at her, Jack could feel his jaw drop.
“I’m not a... a psychopath!”
“Close enough as makes no difference,” River said coldly, her eyes flickering over him, somehow equally dismissive and appreciative. “See you around Captain.”
And with that she walked down the stairs and out the door. Slowly following, as if in a dream, Jack saw her return to the spaceship and take off.
Sinking down into a seat, he tried to make any sort of sense of what had just happened. When that proved impossible, he set off to find a bottle of alcohol.
~
Several days later, the Doctor suddenly turned to him and said: “So, how do you like my wife?”
Jack hesitated.
“Well, she called me psychopath…”
The Doctor smiled; eyes shimmering with something Jack daren’t guess at.
“Oh, she must have liked you then…”
~fin~
Post has been cloned from dreamwidth. Comments welcome everywhere.
(I do have bunnies for the other three stories, but considering how long it took for me to find an ending for this that I was happy with... Well. Who knows.)
Also,
owlboy, this is for you! Very late, but at least I did finish it.
Summary: The Doctor is wounded, Jack is out of bullets, the TARDIS is out of reach, and there's an angry mob... Whoever will save them?
Setting: Post-The Angels Take Manhattan.
Characters: The Doctor, Jack, River.
Rating: PG-13?
Wordcount: 2281
Feedback: Oooh, you know you want to.
Eight For You, Honey
Somewhere deep down in Jack’s stomach a very familiar feeling was asserting itself. An immobilising feeling of dread and failure and guilt... This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. But then the serendipity of running into the Doctor when he’d lost his vortex manipulator had seemed too good to be true...
'Lost' wasn't quite the right word - getting drugged and waking up to the realisation that not only had he been robbed, they'd also cut off his hand, had not been a particularly brilliant start to an otherwise promising evening. He'd had to kill himself just to grow it back. So transport and a friendly face had seemed like a god-send.
Although if he was honest, then there had been moments when he’d wondered if he’d made the right choice. This Doctor was old in ways he had never seen, quiet and sombre and bowed by a loss he wouldn’t explain - his invitation to travel had been more of a ‘Well, I could give you a lift, I suppose’. He didn’t seem to mind Jack still being there weeks later, but then that wasn’t saying much, as he didn’t seem to engage with anything they came across. So Jack stayed, mostly because he knew grief when he saw it, and the least he could do was look after his old friend.
Now, however, as he peered out of the doorway of the ancient temple at the furious mob outside, the Doctor’s deceptively young face white and drawn with pain beside him, he felt he should have seen this coming. He was Jack, he was bound to screw things up. ‘Look after the Doctor’ - yeah right. Getting him killed, that was more his style...
Trying to work out what to do he hit a wall. The TARDIS was out of reach, his gun out of bullets (and probably wouldn’t do much to these heavily armed warriors) - even the Doctor’s screwdriver had been lost in the desperate scramble for sanctuary, and he could feel near-despair set in as he watched the Doctor slowly sink down to a sitting position against the wall, the red stain on his shirt spreading still further.
“Doctor,” he said slowly. “Please let me have a look...”
The Doctor (of course), shook his head, eyes still closed. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”
“Look, I-” Jack rubbed his face. “I could probably get past them. They’d kill me a few dozen times, but-”
“No.”
There was authority behind the words despite the quietness of the voice, and he recognised the bitterness of the tone - ‘No one else is getting hurt on my behalf’, and he swallowed in painful recognition. Still, they couldn’t stay where they were for long. The temple was empty apart from statues and altars - they needed some kind of plan.
“Sorry, but... what do we do? You’re in no fit state to go anywhere-”
The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at him with a look somewhere between exhaustion and annoyance - as if he was explaining something too obvious for words.
“We wait to be rescued. Shouldn’t be long.”
Then his eyes seemed to unfocus.
“Must make sure the message is...”
He stopped, head falling back against the wall, eyes closing once more. “And a good first aid kit. Not regeneration energy. Too depleted, mustn’t...”
His voice drifted off, and Jack’s apprehension levels increased tenfold. If the Doctor died on his watch...
Deep breath. He’d been through worse. (And wasn’t that a cheerful thought?) What had the Doctor said? Something about sending a message and being rescued - well, it was worth a shot.
Pulling out his barely-functioning communicator he hastily composed a SOS, sending it as far and wide as possible. It seemed mad, yet who knew - it might just work.
As he checked the settings, trying to make sure that the message had actually transmitted properly, the Doctor’s eyes snapped open again.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, as Jack almost jumped at the tone.
“Sending a message for help as you suggested,” he replied, feeling a little defensive at the tone of the Doctor’s voice, which wasn’t helped when the Doctor held out his hand, snatching the communicator out of Jack’s hands with the closest Jack had ever seen him to panic and then scanning the message, eyes widening.
“You sent this?” he asked, incredulous, and - as Jack nodded - waved the small metal rectangle around in great frustration.
“We were obviously going to send a message after we’d been rescued! This-” he scanned the lines again, and seemed to grow paler still, before slowly lifting his eyes and Jack wondered how he could ever have thought this Doctor young.
“There’ll be a massacre,” the Doctor said slowly, almost to himself. Handing the communicator back he carefully got to his feet, as Jack watched, confused and alarmed.
The Doctor walked over to the entrance and looked out, and Jack could hear the scream of derision that went up from the gathered crowd. Why oh why had the TARDIS chosen to land in the middle of a sacred spot, causing the locals to be incited to furious anger...
But the Doctor lifted his hand (the other still held to the wound in his side), and when a semblance of silence fell over the crowd, he spoke - voice rich and commanding, and oddly more alive than Jack had heard since they met again.
“Listen to me. Let us go. If you don’t, you will die. Please, trust me.”
The answer from outside the temple was uncompromising. The Doctor lowered his head for a moment, and Jack could tell he was fighting to keep standing. Yet he once more looked out from the arched doorway, and - although his voice was quiet, it carried, and the words he spoke chilled Jack to the bone.
“Very well then. I tried to warn you.”
A beat, then he continued.
“Make peace with your gods.”
At this he turned, once more collapsing against the wall next to the archway, swallowing in pain as he found Jack’s face again, looking at something Jack couldn’t guess at.
“Time was, my name alone would have sent them running... Ah well, that’s all gone. For better or worse.”
Kneeling down by him, Jack tried to work out what on earth the Doctor was talking about and how to respond, when a hand was laid on his arm.
“Stay away from the door - no idea what’ll happen, but the equivalent of an army is about to descend...”
And Jack had thought he knew how to be cryptic.
“Doctor... Are you going to explain what the hell you are talking about?”
A sudden smile - as devious as it was unexpected - lit up the Doctor’s features.
“Didn’t I tell you I got married?”
Jack could feel his jaw dropping, even as there was a sudden loud crackle outside. Cautiously he peered out of the door, and faltered at what he saw.
Hanging in the air was a spaceship - not large, and quite old fashioned, with outdated photon engines, the kind that lit up the air as they took off...
The ship had turned them into a weapon, causing the very ground to be smothered in vicious, all-consuming flames. It only took seconds, but the multitudinous soldiers, so recently braying for blood, were reduced to black slick ashes.
As the flames died down, nothing to sustain them, the ship gently landed, its underside revealing an entrance hatch which opened to let a single female figure descend, and Jack found himself swallowing involuntarily.
Her curly hair surrounded her head like a golden halo, and she was dressed in a long, figure-hugging lustrous blood-red dress. Black, high heeled shoes matched the black laser gun she held in her right hand. Over her left shoulder a satchel was slung, and she made her way through the still smouldering devastation with deadly calm, as Jack slowly detached himself from the side of the door and moved forwards to greet her.
She stopped in front of him and looked him over cooly. She was older than he’d thought - 40 at least - and her eyes were grey and uncompromising.
“Captain,” she said, inclining her head, before holding out the gun. “Anything moves - shoot to kill.”
For a moment he could only stare, wondering if maybe he was dreaming, if he’d been shot himself and was hallucinating, if he’d just imagined the Doctor talking about marriage, because surely-
But then the brighter side of his brain told him to shut up and do as he was told.
“Yes Ma’am,” he saluted before taking the gun, and a ghost of a smile crossed her face as she stepped past him, obviously forgetting him the moment he was out of sight.
Despite her order, he found the tableaux inside far more compelling than the one outside, and watched (barely able to breathe) as she fell to her knees beside the Doctor, touching his face with utmost gentleness.
“Hello Sweetie,” she whispered, and the Doctor’s eyes slowly opened again.
“Knew you’d come... My Melody.”
Trying to focus on Jack, he smiled again. A soft and gentle smile, so achingly sad Jack felt like he’d been punched... except the words that followed didn’t make much sense.
“She’s a Pond, you see. Bespoke. Made just for me...”
Jack could see the woman’s nostrils briefly flaring, as if containing some strong emotion or other, before she busied herself with the first aid kit, patching up the wound and administering painkillers.
Eventually the Doctor succumbed to the combination of drugs and injury, his breathing evening out and the tenseness leaving his limbs. Jack could see the way the woman seemed to relax too, before taking a deep breath and standing up, turning to face him.
“Where is the TARDIS?”
In response he pointed out the door, towards the centre of the town.
“We accidentally landed on top of the statue of their local deity. Which is why they chased us...”
She pulled a face, half-resigned, half-exasperated.
“Well it would automatically have incurred the death penalty,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Which he would know. Oh my Love, whatever shall I do with you...”
Picking up her satchel she extracted a vortex manipulator and wrapped it round her wrist automatically, her eyes on the Doctor’s face, harbouring feelings Jack didn’t dare guess at.
“Mother told me to look after him. But I was never really the nurturing kind. And when he insists on being self-destructive...”
She sighed, then gave Jack a nod.
“See you in a moment. Don’t move.”
Before Jack could ask what she was planning she disappeared in a flash, and seconds later he heard the cranking of the TARDIS engines, before the ship materialised around himself and the Doctor.
The woman - Melody? - was already on her way down the steps from the console, and with Jack’s help she got the Doctor up the two flights of stairs to the main corridor, except she then stopped and laid a hand against the wall.
“Dearest, please move the bedroom closer? I’m sure you can tell how hurt he is.”
And before Jack’s disbelieving eyes a door appeared in the wall in front of them.
“Thank you,” she breathed, and together they managed to make the Doctor comfortable in the amply sized bedroom behind the door.
(The Doctor’s bedroom - Jack might have often wondered, but this was not how he’d wanted to find it. If it even was his, and not… theirs. The bed was certainly more than big enough for two.)
Once they’d closed the door, the Doctor asleep - or unconscious, Jack wasn’t quite sure which, except he was resting and that was good - the woman took a deep breath, then turned to Jack and held out her hand.
“Thank you Captain. Have we met yet?”
“No, I’ve not had the pleasure,” he replied, taking her hand and almost forgetting himself, before belatedly kissing it.
A shadow of a smile crossed her face.
“Same as always, I see. I’m Professor River Song, the Doctor’s wife. It was good to meet you. Please make sure he doesn’t go exerting himself. If he gets petulant, tell him I said so.”
With that she set off back down the stairs, Jack following, bewildered.
“Sorry - are you leaving?”
She stopped, and half-turned to watch him.
“I was rather in the middle of something when I received your message, in case that wasn’t obvious. And I only…” she hesitated, eyes suddenly dangerous with a hint of mischief, “borrowed the spaceship, as it was the nearest thing that could be turned into an effective weapon. I should probably return it - my criminal record is long enough as it is.”
“But-”
As he tried to find any sort of adequate reply, she turned pensive, smile cooling.
“Besides, as I told him once - one psychopath per TARDIS. Three is quite frankly unacceptable.”
Staring at her, Jack could feel his jaw drop.
“I’m not a... a psychopath!”
“Close enough as makes no difference,” River said coldly, her eyes flickering over him, somehow equally dismissive and appreciative. “See you around Captain.”
And with that she walked down the stairs and out the door. Slowly following, as if in a dream, Jack saw her return to the spaceship and take off.
Sinking down into a seat, he tried to make any sort of sense of what had just happened. When that proved impossible, he set off to find a bottle of alcohol.
~
Several days later, the Doctor suddenly turned to him and said: “So, how do you like my wife?”
Jack hesitated.
“Well, she called me psychopath…”
The Doctor smiled; eyes shimmering with something Jack daren’t guess at.
“Oh, she must have liked you then…”
~fin~
Post has been cloned from dreamwidth. Comments welcome everywhere.