TWDW Ficathon Fic #2: After and Between
Title: After and Between
Author: reina_isabella
Gift for: Scap3goat
Rating: 15 / pg-13
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ten, Tardis
Word count: 1621
Summary: The Doctor and Jack find each other again.
Spoilers: Odds & sods up to "Doomsday" and "End of Days".
Author's Notes: Written for the twdw_ficathon as a gift for Scap3goat, who requested: a secret Jack Harkness harbours (bonus for Jack's pregnancy), some kind of voyeurism, and the clicking noise of a keyboard. One of 3 totally unconnected fics that came from that - this one is sort of the satsuma in the stocking, gift-wise.
• Also a part of the doctorwho_100 challenge (prompt #71: "Broken", and my table is here).
• Well. It's a bit odd and very stream-of-consciousness-y and not too too off-putting, I hope.
• And endless thanks and Mexican takeaway to Kimchi the betagoddess, who diligently sorted through nameless pronouns, confusing pov shifts, and piles of angst.
AFTER AND BETWEEN
What is there to say?
(Too much.)
The two men regard each other silently.
There is too much to say.
*
Her room is empty. No help there.
A room full of things that haven't been touched. Of course he thinks, of course he just left them here, why wouldn't he? There must be dozens of rooms like this.
A museum of lives.
He leaves. He doesn't open his own door. He finds a new room and moves in.
*
Tea. Vodka. Silence. They talk to the ship but not to each other. Coffee, gestures. There must have been words but they don't mean enough yet and they're forgotten, barely spoken: just "Fix me," and no more.
*
He's the one with the same face: why don't I recognise him?
*
He has to tell Jack about Rose. He's shy suddenly about the tears and knows he sounds heartless instead, dead or cold, but somehow this man he might have said anything to, done anything to, for, with, is different and suddenly he's shy about tears in front of him.
"Alive?"
He nods. "Gone. Protected. Happy." (He doesn't know that, how can he know that, but it's all he could hope for and he gives it to her. To all of them.) "She knew - "
But the room is empty.
*
The body is different. The man is different. They're both different, he knows that, he's different too. He's re-learned distrust.
Without meaning to.
So he watches him. The ship knows him, remembers him, lets him in where he wants to go, and he watches. So much of his life lately has been spent watching on monitors and screens, fingers tapping over the keys; it's a way of living without living, which is what he's good at now. It's absurd, childish almost, but he wants to catch him off-guard, alone, figure out just who and what he's become. So Jack watches him.
The man is taller. Thinner. Older and younger. The eyes are different, the hair, the voice. He can't help thinking in comparisons.
He works and Jack watches. Sleeps and he watches. Sits and Jack sees him on the screen.
*
Of course it goes both ways. Stupid of him not to realise that, he thinks, that I don't know, that my ship doesn't tell me. He works hard to keep the knowledge of Jack watching him off of his face. Wonders what he could do, what he could say - Stupid bloody ape, don't you recognise me? all it would take, maybe, just put his arms around him and force Jack to know him, you humans, you have eight senses, why don't you use them - but here they are, circling each other, Jack watching him and he sits, being watched.
*
Tea. Coffee. Fix me. He finally has to ask:
How are you broken?
*
"Doctor."
Is it a question? he thinks, almost before he's registered the word. But how good to hear Jack finally say it. He turns.
"Yes."
He wants to know how he got here, where the Doctor has been. Which means a lot of stories and the Doctor is glad to tell them: words are easy for him and as he talks he can watch Jack watching him.
"... actually met Queen Victoria, she was quite pleased at that until ... against the Cybermen but they were ... planet on the edge which ... "
Jack isn't listening to the words but looking behind them, and when the Doctor - the Doctor - gets to the end of the story and says, quietly, "Dårlig Ulv Stranden," stops suddenly and just looks at him, Jack reaches out.
The hand he touches is not the same.
But.
*
Jack smells of time. It is something the Doctor knows well and the scent has grown on him. He tastes human.
But.
The Doctor has to slow himself: wants to know, now, every inch of this body but contents himself with the taste of the skin at the base of his throat, the swift pulse under his tongue, the taste of him warm and here, and real and human but -
something else.
When Jack steps away, kisses him quietly, leaves the room, the Doctor doesn't follow, doesn't ask.
How are you broken.
*
Rose's empty room.
Was it hard? Jack asks her. Did you know? Did he put his hand out and say Rose, it's me? Did you believe him?
Were you scared?
Yeah. Me too.
These fucking aliens. He sighs. Doesn't mean that, not really. He wants to tell her: After you left. He wants to say it to her, to him: After you left me. He's in an empty room and she's a universe away, the Doctor is hardly closer, he can't say it, after you left he wants to tell them, something happened to me. Wants them to answer, explain, one of them, wants to let the Doctor hold him and tell him.
Why.
Doesn't say any of it, really. He falls asleep in Rose's empty room.
*
But they can talk more. They can touch more. They can dance - finally, again.
And it's good.
*
And the Doctor is slow and gentle and Jack thinks he should be grateful, is grateful, that the Doctor is giving him (he laughs) time and space.
The Doctor regards him from a distance because, human though Jack is, what is that something else? and he only knows to slow down as he gets closer: time and space are relative.
The Doctor is cautious and gentle and Jack is grateful but one night.
It starts late, gets later. Slow gentle kisses and his tongue hot on Jack's sweet skin and Jack puts his hands against the twin heartbeats and kisses harder. Wants, "I want," he says, want he thinks, and the Doctor kisses harder. Their hands are in each other's hair, Jack's tongue is in his mouth, tasting his air, his words. He kisses harder. Their hands are on each other's skin, their tongues, the Doctor tastes him everywhere and barely has time to think but "I want" Jack breathes again and "I know" he answers. Wants, too. It is later and Jack pulls him closer, no space between them but pushes against him even as he does because time and space he thinks are not what I want. You fucking alien, but he doesn't really mean that (really? does he?) what he wants is the Doctor inside him, no room for anything else, what he wants is to know why, what he wants Jack reeks of time the Doctor thinks suddenly, so much time too much "Kiss me," Jack tells him, kill me fix me How? Are you broken?
Jack walks away.
*
It gets later.
*
It becomes quiet.
*
He knows. He knows I'm watching.
Jack sits and barely moves and the knowledge of it is clear on his face. The Doctor thinks, He knows I'm watching him. Let him do what he wants. Doesn't know what to do but watch. Nine hundred years, more than that - all this time and I don't know what to -
All this time.
Jack, he thinks, watching him on the screen, smells of too much time. He shudders for a moment, wants to lean closer, taste the heat of him again - can't, on the screen, just watching: watch him - and thinks instead of the smell of him. Like time. Like light and distance and time and like, he thinks suddenly, my ship.
Jack smells of time and my ship; my ship, which is time.
Jack knows I'm watching him.
He knows.
Which is why when he stands suddenly with the gun antique revolver pistol and looks at me but he knows I'm watching pulls the trigger, the Doctor sees him fall see him fall and watches stopped stunned for long moments before he can turn and run out of the room to him.
*
The blood is wet but he's standing again. For long moments before he pulled the trigger he wondered if this time it wouldn't hurt; if this time it would be the last time; if the Doctor would come to him, before, or after.
It does. It isn't. He does, running after.
The two men regard each other. There is so much to say.
*
The Doctor touches the blood on him to taste its heat and salt and time. Wipes it away. Holds him and explains.
Rose. The TARDIS.
The heart of the TARDIS, open; the power in her - through her - it changed all of them. Little bad wolf, she saved them all and he had to save her, she was (is) only human. She saved them, even him, even Jack.
And the Doctor died. Again.
And so did Jack. The first time.
*
"Can you fix me?"
"I don't know." Do I want to? But: "I can try. If you want."
Want, Jack thinks, what do I want? "I want there to be something after, something between. Something else. I want it not to hurt."
"It does hurt, Jack. Every time."
Time. Yes. And I want this Jack thinks. Reaches, finds him. Closer. "I want - " kisses him, eyes open, and the Doctor thinks yes, for now and doesn't look any further, not this time. Jack kisses him and "You are not broken," the Doctor tells him, and there is nothing after or between. The Doctor kisses him back, they breathe each other in, reach further and closer and there is all that was and there is all that ever could be but there is also this and what is there to say?
Author: reina_isabella
Gift for: Scap3goat
Rating: 15 / pg-13
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ten, Tardis
Word count: 1621
Summary: The Doctor and Jack find each other again.
Spoilers: Odds & sods up to "Doomsday" and "End of Days".
Author's Notes: Written for the twdw_ficathon as a gift for Scap3goat, who requested: a secret Jack Harkness harbours (bonus for Jack's pregnancy), some kind of voyeurism, and the clicking noise of a keyboard. One of 3 totally unconnected fics that came from that - this one is sort of the satsuma in the stocking, gift-wise.
• Also a part of the doctorwho_100 challenge (prompt #71: "Broken", and my table is here).
• Well. It's a bit odd and very stream-of-consciousness-y and not too too off-putting, I hope.
• And endless thanks and Mexican takeaway to Kimchi the betagoddess, who diligently sorted through nameless pronouns, confusing pov shifts, and piles of angst.
AFTER AND BETWEEN
What is there to say?
(Too much.)
The two men regard each other silently.
There is too much to say.
*
Her room is empty. No help there.
A room full of things that haven't been touched. Of course he thinks, of course he just left them here, why wouldn't he? There must be dozens of rooms like this.
A museum of lives.
He leaves. He doesn't open his own door. He finds a new room and moves in.
*
Tea. Vodka. Silence. They talk to the ship but not to each other. Coffee, gestures. There must have been words but they don't mean enough yet and they're forgotten, barely spoken: just "Fix me," and no more.
*
He's the one with the same face: why don't I recognise him?
*
He has to tell Jack about Rose. He's shy suddenly about the tears and knows he sounds heartless instead, dead or cold, but somehow this man he might have said anything to, done anything to, for, with, is different and suddenly he's shy about tears in front of him.
"Alive?"
He nods. "Gone. Protected. Happy." (He doesn't know that, how can he know that, but it's all he could hope for and he gives it to her. To all of them.) "She knew - "
But the room is empty.
*
The body is different. The man is different. They're both different, he knows that, he's different too. He's re-learned distrust.
Without meaning to.
So he watches him. The ship knows him, remembers him, lets him in where he wants to go, and he watches. So much of his life lately has been spent watching on monitors and screens, fingers tapping over the keys; it's a way of living without living, which is what he's good at now. It's absurd, childish almost, but he wants to catch him off-guard, alone, figure out just who and what he's become. So Jack watches him.
The man is taller. Thinner. Older and younger. The eyes are different, the hair, the voice. He can't help thinking in comparisons.
He works and Jack watches. Sleeps and he watches. Sits and Jack sees him on the screen.
*
Of course it goes both ways. Stupid of him not to realise that, he thinks, that I don't know, that my ship doesn't tell me. He works hard to keep the knowledge of Jack watching him off of his face. Wonders what he could do, what he could say - Stupid bloody ape, don't you recognise me? all it would take, maybe, just put his arms around him and force Jack to know him, you humans, you have eight senses, why don't you use them - but here they are, circling each other, Jack watching him and he sits, being watched.
*
Tea. Coffee. Fix me. He finally has to ask:
How are you broken?
*
"Doctor."
Is it a question? he thinks, almost before he's registered the word. But how good to hear Jack finally say it. He turns.
"Yes."
He wants to know how he got here, where the Doctor has been. Which means a lot of stories and the Doctor is glad to tell them: words are easy for him and as he talks he can watch Jack watching him.
"... actually met Queen Victoria, she was quite pleased at that until ... against the Cybermen but they were ... planet on the edge which ... "
Jack isn't listening to the words but looking behind them, and when the Doctor - the Doctor - gets to the end of the story and says, quietly, "Dårlig Ulv Stranden," stops suddenly and just looks at him, Jack reaches out.
The hand he touches is not the same.
But.
*
Jack smells of time. It is something the Doctor knows well and the scent has grown on him. He tastes human.
But.
The Doctor has to slow himself: wants to know, now, every inch of this body but contents himself with the taste of the skin at the base of his throat, the swift pulse under his tongue, the taste of him warm and here, and real and human but -
something else.
When Jack steps away, kisses him quietly, leaves the room, the Doctor doesn't follow, doesn't ask.
How are you broken.
*
Rose's empty room.
Was it hard? Jack asks her. Did you know? Did he put his hand out and say Rose, it's me? Did you believe him?
Were you scared?
Yeah. Me too.
These fucking aliens. He sighs. Doesn't mean that, not really. He wants to tell her: After you left. He wants to say it to her, to him: After you left me. He's in an empty room and she's a universe away, the Doctor is hardly closer, he can't say it, after you left he wants to tell them, something happened to me. Wants them to answer, explain, one of them, wants to let the Doctor hold him and tell him.
Why.
Doesn't say any of it, really. He falls asleep in Rose's empty room.
*
But they can talk more. They can touch more. They can dance - finally, again.
And it's good.
*
And the Doctor is slow and gentle and Jack thinks he should be grateful, is grateful, that the Doctor is giving him (he laughs) time and space.
The Doctor regards him from a distance because, human though Jack is, what is that something else? and he only knows to slow down as he gets closer: time and space are relative.
The Doctor is cautious and gentle and Jack is grateful but one night.
It starts late, gets later. Slow gentle kisses and his tongue hot on Jack's sweet skin and Jack puts his hands against the twin heartbeats and kisses harder. Wants, "I want," he says, want he thinks, and the Doctor kisses harder. Their hands are in each other's hair, Jack's tongue is in his mouth, tasting his air, his words. He kisses harder. Their hands are on each other's skin, their tongues, the Doctor tastes him everywhere and barely has time to think but "I want" Jack breathes again and "I know" he answers. Wants, too. It is later and Jack pulls him closer, no space between them but pushes against him even as he does because time and space he thinks are not what I want. You fucking alien, but he doesn't really mean that (really? does he?) what he wants is the Doctor inside him, no room for anything else, what he wants is to know why, what he wants Jack reeks of time the Doctor thinks suddenly, so much time too much "Kiss me," Jack tells him, kill me fix me How? Are you broken?
Jack walks away.
*
It gets later.
*
It becomes quiet.
*
He knows. He knows I'm watching.
Jack sits and barely moves and the knowledge of it is clear on his face. The Doctor thinks, He knows I'm watching him. Let him do what he wants. Doesn't know what to do but watch. Nine hundred years, more than that - all this time and I don't know what to -
All this time.
Jack, he thinks, watching him on the screen, smells of too much time. He shudders for a moment, wants to lean closer, taste the heat of him again - can't, on the screen, just watching: watch him - and thinks instead of the smell of him. Like time. Like light and distance and time and like, he thinks suddenly, my ship.
Jack smells of time and my ship; my ship, which is time.
Jack knows I'm watching him.
He knows.
Which is why when he stands suddenly with the gun antique revolver pistol and looks at me but he knows I'm watching pulls the trigger, the Doctor sees him fall see him fall and watches stopped stunned for long moments before he can turn and run out of the room to him.
*
The blood is wet but he's standing again. For long moments before he pulled the trigger he wondered if this time it wouldn't hurt; if this time it would be the last time; if the Doctor would come to him, before, or after.
It does. It isn't. He does, running after.
The two men regard each other. There is so much to say.
*
The Doctor touches the blood on him to taste its heat and salt and time. Wipes it away. Holds him and explains.
Rose. The TARDIS.
The heart of the TARDIS, open; the power in her - through her - it changed all of them. Little bad wolf, she saved them all and he had to save her, she was (is) only human. She saved them, even him, even Jack.
And the Doctor died. Again.
And so did Jack. The first time.
*
"Can you fix me?"
"I don't know." Do I want to? But: "I can try. If you want."
Want, Jack thinks, what do I want? "I want there to be something after, something between. Something else. I want it not to hurt."
"It does hurt, Jack. Every time."
Time. Yes. And I want this Jack thinks. Reaches, finds him. Closer. "I want - " kisses him, eyes open, and the Doctor thinks yes, for now and doesn't look any further, not this time. Jack kisses him and "You are not broken," the Doctor tells him, and there is nothing after or between. The Doctor kisses him back, they breathe each other in, reach further and closer and there is all that was and there is all that ever could be but there is also this and what is there to say?