for quitehomoerotic: Interlude, 100 years

[rude_not_ginger]

It was the way of things. He traveled with someone. He traveled alone. He traveled with someone. He traveled alone. This, the eve of his 1,600th birthday (though, if prodded, it was definitely his 914th birthday), was one of those times where he was alone

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[quitehomoerotic]

100 years. It was lifetimes to most; an unimaginable margin of time. But to Jack Harkness it was merely a chapter of a too long life

[rude_not_ginger]

The Doctor placed the empty glass on the bar and sucked idly on the peppermint stick.

"Do you have anything made with cake?" he asked the bartender. The bartender gave him a grunt, and pointed at the glass.

"Birthday cake?" the bartender asked.

Several of the hosts and servers looked at him excitedly, and the Doctor had the most terrifying feeling that they might start singing to him if he admitted that.

"No. Just...cake."

They deflated. The bartender poured him another pink drink and gave him a shot glass with a piece of bright yellow cake drizzled in something alcoholic. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

He picked them up to head back to his table, when he spotted someone sitting at the bar, looking into his glass. Jack? No, no, of course it wasn't. He'd thought he saw Jack dozens of times during the last hundred years, but he was always wrong, or not quick enough or too busy to check.

[quitehomoerotic]

The barman was trying to flirt with him. Jack was sure of it (strange, for some reason, he was thinking of himself as Jack, maybe it was the reminiscing). He wasn't interested though. Not as Jack or whoever he was being that day. He didn't want anything or anyone. Not that day. He was too fixated on lost histories to pretend he could hide in would-be futures.

It wasn't always bad, of course. In fact some of those memories were just wonderful. Many of them. And it was nice to sit in them, imagine the TARDIS and the two of them, saving worlds.

It made him smile.

The flirting barman pressed another glass towards him and he took it with a nod. Something pink. Ridiculous looking drink, but apparently he'd just made one up for that guy over there.

Jack turned his head to follow the direction on the barman's gestures.

He saw the back of a head. The back of his head. And his heart was in his throat

[rude_not_ginger]

The Doctor had been fumbling in his pockets, trying to find a candle. He thought he had one that read something like 807, which would be a really, really generous candle to stick on his little cake, but it might boost his ego. And, well, it had to have one more wish left in it, didn't it?

Then, he froze and straightened up. That voice.

"What are you doing here?" he said, not turning around. "I haven't even made my wish yet."