FIC: Regeneration 2/3 - Intersections (Doctor Who: Ganger!Twelve/Jack) [R]
2012 Fandom Stocking fic #1. Let's start with this: Once upon a time, a long, long time ago - for last year's fandom_stocking, in fact - I wrote the first part of a story about the ganger!Doctor from The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People regenerating after he's dissolved.
Then life happened, and writing didn't happen, and it took me until now to get back to it. So here we are, the further adventures of ganger!Twelve! (I promise the final part won’t take another year ...)
Title: Regeneration, Part 2 of 3: Intersections
Pairing: Ganger!Twelfth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Rating: R
Story summary: At the end of The Almost People, the Doctor's ganger dissolves. This is what happens after.
Chapter summary: The universe is large and beautiful, and he can be anywhere.
A/N: For navaan, as part of fandom_stocking 2012.
Also posted here at AO3.
« Regeneration, Part 1 of 3: Divergence
~*~
57th century Rome smells of sun and old stone. The Doctor turns a corner and strides straight up to the quaint old shop in the alley, and through its outdated two-phase door. It's set to permeable during opening hours, of course, though the Doctor knows well there are people who would find it closed to them no matter the time. The being behind the counter looks up, then stands and straightens its apron, pushes its microgoggles up above its faceted eyes and breaks into a series of clicks and rustles, its antennae quivering with affable excitement.
The Doctor feels a corner of his mouth turn down. Mandibles clicking, membranes rustling: without the TARDIS's translation field, all he can hear is Hrsfl's real voice; all Hrsfl will hear is his. No convenient translation here. He misses the TARDIS's presence in his mind more than anything.
"I'm sorry, old friend," the Doctor says in local Anglish, which he knows Hrsfl understands, and tells himself firmly this is no time to be maudlin. A bit of bilingual conversation never hurt anyone. "I'm afraid the old telepathic field isn't around right now, and my vocal apparatus isn't suited for your language."
Hrsfl tilts its head. Like eighty percent of its species, it's a neuter - what less enlightened beings might call a work drone, and among the Ssdtk is called a culture-maker. It clicks a few rapid-fire questions at him, until the Doctor holds up his hands, not blocking but wide open, inviting. "One thing at a time! What say we do business first, and I'll tell you a bit of a story afterwards?"
~*~
When he leaves Hrsfl's shop later - much later; they've managed to drift from the Doctor's own news to Hrsfl's clutchmates to a dozen other things - he is wearing a wide smile and a shiny new silver band around his right wrist, right below Jack's trusty leather.
A 56th century Kalidian Vortex Manipulator - much more advanced than the Time Agency's clunky 51st century models. It does pay to know people.
The Doctor looks at the two bands around his wrist, and his smile contracts. He runs a hand over the leather. He really should ...
Well. Maybe one trip first.
He sets his new Vortex Manipulator at random and slips smoothly into the Vortex.
~*~
Anywhere, any time. The universe is large, and most of it is empty. He trudges through sand dunes under a burning blue sun, looks at the brilliantly lit sky on a planet in the M13 globular cluster - thousands of suns, almost as bright as day even in planetary night. He strolls through the dark red grass of Hanidia IV and the wide avenues of the orbital cities of Thrun. He quickly vortexes out of some place with gravity too high for comfort, finds an underwater dome populated by plant intelligences - whose name is a chemical released into the air, untranslatable perhaps even for the TARDIS.
The universe is large and beautiful, and he can be anywhere.
It's boring as hell.
The Doctor knows the places where there's always something going on, of course, but he keeps going without aim, a morning here, an evening there. On Paa'alliy, he follows the twin sunsets, watching them all the way around the globe.
If he tries, he always knows where he is, when he is. The universe is vast, and even a Time Lord can't know the half of it, but there's a fixed point at its centre and its heart, something so absolute his mind still shies away from it. Something that will never not be. The Doctor tries not to think about it too much, but when he does, more and more often he thinks not "wrong", but simply "Jack".
He's not surprised when he ends up in the Gamma Forests - nothing ever happens there. He looks up into the trees - long, long trunks with no branches and no leaves; they'd look dead to someone who couldn't feel the life in them - and doesn't admit to himself how weary he feels.
He misses the TARDIS like a missing limb, phantom pain included. She's been a part of his life, a part of him, for so long - does he even still know how to be without her? Without her taking him wherever he's needed? He's not had to do without her since his first incarnation, since they took one look at each other and fell in love, ran away together. Since he stole her, and she stole him.
There's only the one river here, of course, and he strolls along, fingering the leather band around his wrist. He's been using the Kalidian, naturally, but it's always the leather band he touches first.
No, he won't seek her out, his TARDIS - though she's his as much as the other's, that much he knows in his bones. He won't. There's already a Doctor in the TARDIS, and that's quite enough. Besides, his other self has enough on hand with Amy's kidnapping. Maybe he could ... No. He puts the thought aside. That's not for him to take care of, now. He has a good idea what his other self is planning, and they can't be getting in each other's way.
He's so lost in his thoughts, he doesn't see the girl until he nearly trips over her. She's perhaps ten, short-haired and wide-eyed, and she lowers the hyperspanner in her hand with suspicion on her face. She's been sitting by the river repairing her broken hovermodule, it seems.
"Hello!" he says brightly and crouches down so he's not quite so much looming over her. "Did your hover break down? Maybe I can help."
She pulls the module closer to her. "Who are you? I've never seen you before." And of course the Gamma Forests don't exactly get strangers visiting all that often.
"Just passing through," the Doctor says, with a smile he doesn't entirely feel. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver and quickly passes it over the hover. Ah, right. Just slipped out of phase, not really broken. "I can tune this for you," he says, and does before she can object.
She quickly checks it over, and her eyes widen when she realises it's perfectly attuned to the local gravity field again. It earns him a cautious smile as she reattaches the module to her belt.
"Thank you," she says solemnly and gets to her feet.
He rises as well. "Your settlement's that-a-way, yes?" He gestures along the river, and she nods. "I'll visit, I think. What say you travel ahead and let them know?"
She nods. "I'm Lorna. What is your name?"
"I'm -" Some metres away, one of the trunk-trees explodes, and for a moment he's stunned. Then a genuine smile breaks out on his face, and he looks down at the girl. "Lorna?" He holds out his hand. "Run!"
~*~
One thwarted attempt to terrify the Gamma Forests out of their Heaven-neutral stance later - bioterrorism, really? the Doctor doesn't regret at all that some of the last explosions took rather a chunk out of certain individuals - the Doctor stands on the observation deck of a Judoon ship, watching the Gamma Forests grow smaller in the distance.
Little Lorna had proved pretty resourceful, and taken to the crisis with boundless energy - she'd have enjoyed travelling. Seeing the universe. Through her eyes, even the rather pedestrian exploding trees were an adventure. But he couldn't have taken her with him.
He couldn't. There's no TARDIS, no safe place - this is no life to be pulling someone else into. The Doctor rubs his fingers against the leather around his wrist, unsettled. He has always been drifting, one destination as good as the next, but then, he's always taken his true home with him. Now, there's no home and nowhere to go.
Nowhere save one place, one debt he owes. But when that's done ... He pushes the thought away.
~*~
The Doctor waits a moment for the vortex opening to fully disperse, then tunes in to the local infonet just to be certain, checks the date. So close to the centre of the universe, everything feels slightly out of tune. But: Yes.
Outside Jack's door, he can hear music - some awful late twenty-first century oldies, by the sound of it - and his trusty sonic tells him there are five people inside.
Of course. Jack would hardly be waiting for him - or if waiting, certainly not putting anything else on hold. An uncomfortable smile forces itself onto his lips. Waiting for the Doctor? May the Void have mercy on those who do.
He lingers at the door for a moment, undecided, then reaches for his wrist again. A quick shift forward, and it's late at night, or early morning perhaps.
Is Jack even alone now? The Doctor looks at his screwdriver and hesitates, almost not wanting to know.
~*~
"Rise and shine, Jack!"
Jack jerks upright, his paralyser pointed at the Doctor almost before his eyes are open. Then he lets out a relieved breath and sinks back into the cushions, looking up at the Doctor in the dim light from the undarkened bedroom window. He seems to take everything in, everything that's changed since last they'd seen each other: the vest with the sonic screwdriver poking out of a breast pocket, the painted fingernails - nanotranslators embedded, of course -, the silver band around his wrist, above the leather strap of Jack's own Vortex Manipulator. Probably the tired creases around his eyes, his mouth.
The Doctor very carefully doesn't fidget.
"Doctor." Jack smiles suddenly. "How is it, using a 'space hopper'?" Much as he's willing to acknowledge the TARDIS beats any other method of temporal travel, he obviously isn't above throwing the Doctor's contemptuous insult from long ago back at him now.
"Ahem." The Doctor scowls. "Rub it in, why don't you?"
"Always happy to oblige."
When that doesn't draw a response, Jack tilts his head, thoughtfully. "How long's it been for you?"
It's unpleasant and hard, this. He shouldn't have come, not yet. Once he leaves ...
Jack may be forever, but he's not the Doctor's, can't be his lifeline.
No use having regrets now. He's here. After a moment, the Doctor settles for telling him the truth. "A year and a half, subjective time, just about." He undoes the leather strap, holds the Vortex Manipulator out.
Jack takes it and nods, his smile wistful. "Thanks for that." A brief hesitation. "Do I want to know what kept you?"
The Doctor narrows his eyes at him. "Are you complaining? I came back almost on the spot, didn't I? Same week, even." Or ... he didn't lose time again between earlier and later this evening, did he? "This is the same week, isn't it? If it's not -"
"It is," Jack interrupts his impending ramble, his smile turning fond. "No complaints on that end, Doc." He looks to the side for a moment. "I do appreciate it."
The Doctor nods, grimacing. "Me too. Thanks." It comes out clumsily, awkwardly, as if he'd never thanked anyone before.
Jack grins and winks at him. "Want to thank me properly?" It's Jack's old, tried-and-true strategy. When in doubt, flirt. When in danger, seduce.
It's then that the Doctor realises that Jack no more knows what to say, where to go from here, than he does. So this it is, Jack's usual flirtation, quite sincerely meant but not expecting a reply. For all that they've slept together several times, Jack still knows better than to expect anything. Something in the Doctor's gut is tensing uncomfortably at that thought.
Their few encounters have all been under rather extreme circumstances. The first time after the Year-That-Never-Was, after the Master's death, when the Doctor had turned to Jack in grief and frustration, and Jack had let him pile it all on him. The second, frantic and more than a little insane, after Adelaide Brooke and before he could bring himself to answer the Ood's call. The third in a post-regeneration craze, during those five minutes that turned into two years. The fourth ...
Wait, no, the fourth time he'd already been in this incarnation. And for all that it must have looked the same, new regeneration again and no TARDIS on top, it hadn't really been. The Doctor isn't sure exactly what it was, exactly what's changed, but something has.
Something he's not ready to acknowledge, not quite. But he can't leave it at that either.
Jack is batting his eyelashes now, playing for time. Well, two can play at that game.
"Hmm," the Doctor says and tilts his head, pretending to consider. "How should I thank you, then?" He lets his gaze glide over Jack, the exposed skin of his upper body, the shape of him under the sheets. On impulse, he meets Jack's gaze and allows a wide, dangerous grin to spread on his face. "Ah, yes. I could let you suck me off. What say you?"
Jack rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, but beneath the humour there's something burning. His lips come apart a little, and he reaches out, settles a hand on the Doctor's hip. His thumb strokes lightly over the hipbone. When there is no protest, no withdrawal - not this time, the Doctor thinks, not now -, Jack lets out a small, surprised and delighted laugh. "Who am I to turn down such a gracious offer?" And he bends forward, rubbing his cheek against the Doctor's crotch.
After that, everything is easy. Lips and tongue and teeth, and Jack here and now, and all he has to do is feel. He lets himself fall into it for once, the physical pleasure grounding the disorienting eternity of it.
He doesn't let himself feel guilty.
Finally he spills himself down Jack's throat, and the moment ends, all the tension in his body spilling itself as well. He slumps, empty and tired, a hand curled around Jack's neck and the other on Jack's shoulder, and simply holds on for a long moment. Jack holds with him, his mouth warm around the Doctor's now-soft cock, his shoulders steady support for the Doctor's tired slump. His Factness, undeniable and immutable, a calm and safe harbour in the vastness of time.
Then, slowly, the Doctor pulls back. Jack's head turns up, and they look at each other, wordless, unsmiling.
This is still easy. Smoothly, the Doctor lets himself sink to his own knees. He slides his hand up from Jack's neck and cups his cheek. Jack's lips are wet and glistening. The Doctor leans forward, and their lips meet.
The Doctor slides his free hand down Jack's chest, under the sheets to his crotch, curls it around Jack's spent cock and elicits a low moan. His fingers gather a few drops of come, and lift them to his mouth. Jack's eyes are wide, almost incredulous as the Doctor deliberately, provocatively licks his fingers. The Doctor isn't ready for this to end. He bends forward a little and licks Jack's earlobe, his hearts clenching, "I suppose I'm going to have to owe you one," he feels more than hears himself breathe into Jack's ear.
He's a coward, after all.
~*~
No more random skipping through the universe after that, not for the next little while. Instead, he goes to all the familiar places. Kembel and Delta Magna and Krillia, Raxacoricofallapatorius and Ruta 3. Even Skaro, past and future. (Not Barcelona; he avoids Barcelona.) Earth, in many places, many times.
He watches himself watch the Kennedy assassination, visits Madame Pompadour's funeral. He watches Leela take down a group of thugs and ignore the Doctor's complaints. In Chiswick, he is particularly careful, and he leaves after only a moment's glimpse of Donna and Wilf. He looks on as Sarah Jane leaves the TARDIS in Aberdeen. In Kyoto in 1336, he watches himself tumble into the TARDIS with Jack and Rose, laughing, and rubs his fingers against his wrist where a leather band isn't.
He never approaches, never interferes. Timelines, he tells himself. Temporal integrity, he tells himself. He only watches for a little, and moves on.
He never seeks out the TARDIS after his own time, never lets himself look for a version of her he could approach.
He's the Doctor. But the Doctor in the TARDIS is someone else now. There is no place to rest.
Only one of them notices him. In Victorian London, Vastra - who apparently has Strax with her now, however that came about - throws him a sharp look from beneath her concealing veil. He shakes his head slightly, and she nods in acknowledgment, drawing away her companions.
~*~
Everything else is temporary, even a Time Lord. Jack Harkness is not.
If there's no home left for the Doctor, there's still this, a safe harbour, a ready port of call. A still point he can't ever lose, even unto the end of the universe itself. No wonder he's drawn back to Jack. No wonder he can't seem to quite let go.
It's why he has to stop.
The Doctor clenches his fingers into a fist against the urge to rub his wrist again.
Look at all that Jack's already done for him, unbidden. The Doctor is more than a little terrified of just how much Jack might do for him if ever he actually bothered to ask. The centre of the universe, at his command.
(He remembers being a withered old man in a wheelchair, looking at the Master playing with Jack Harkness, and thinking: He isn't afraid. He isn't afraid at all.)
But even that is still an excuse. In the end, everything's an excuse. That's not why it was foolish, that half-promise whispered into Jack's ear. That's not why he has to stop.
Never mind the universe: the truth is, he can't make Jack his lifeline, can't use him as a crutch. Can't depend on Jack, when Jack can't depend on him in turn.
He won't let himself go back. The truth is simple: Jack deserves better.
~*~
to be continued ...
Then life happened, and writing didn't happen, and it took me until now to get back to it. So here we are, the further adventures of ganger!Twelve! (I promise the final part won’t take another year ...)
Title: Regeneration, Part 2 of 3: Intersections
Pairing: Ganger!Twelfth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Rating: R
Story summary: At the end of The Almost People, the Doctor's ganger dissolves. This is what happens after.
Chapter summary: The universe is large and beautiful, and he can be anywhere.
A/N: For navaan, as part of fandom_stocking 2012.
Also posted here at AO3.
« Regeneration, Part 1 of 3: Divergence
~*~
57th century Rome smells of sun and old stone. The Doctor turns a corner and strides straight up to the quaint old shop in the alley, and through its outdated two-phase door. It's set to permeable during opening hours, of course, though the Doctor knows well there are people who would find it closed to them no matter the time. The being behind the counter looks up, then stands and straightens its apron, pushes its microgoggles up above its faceted eyes and breaks into a series of clicks and rustles, its antennae quivering with affable excitement.
The Doctor feels a corner of his mouth turn down. Mandibles clicking, membranes rustling: without the TARDIS's translation field, all he can hear is Hrsfl's real voice; all Hrsfl will hear is his. No convenient translation here. He misses the TARDIS's presence in his mind more than anything.
"I'm sorry, old friend," the Doctor says in local Anglish, which he knows Hrsfl understands, and tells himself firmly this is no time to be maudlin. A bit of bilingual conversation never hurt anyone. "I'm afraid the old telepathic field isn't around right now, and my vocal apparatus isn't suited for your language."
Hrsfl tilts its head. Like eighty percent of its species, it's a neuter - what less enlightened beings might call a work drone, and among the Ssdtk is called a culture-maker. It clicks a few rapid-fire questions at him, until the Doctor holds up his hands, not blocking but wide open, inviting. "One thing at a time! What say we do business first, and I'll tell you a bit of a story afterwards?"
~*~
When he leaves Hrsfl's shop later - much later; they've managed to drift from the Doctor's own news to Hrsfl's clutchmates to a dozen other things - he is wearing a wide smile and a shiny new silver band around his right wrist, right below Jack's trusty leather.
A 56th century Kalidian Vortex Manipulator - much more advanced than the Time Agency's clunky 51st century models. It does pay to know people.
The Doctor looks at the two bands around his wrist, and his smile contracts. He runs a hand over the leather. He really should ...
Well. Maybe one trip first.
He sets his new Vortex Manipulator at random and slips smoothly into the Vortex.
~*~
Anywhere, any time. The universe is large, and most of it is empty. He trudges through sand dunes under a burning blue sun, looks at the brilliantly lit sky on a planet in the M13 globular cluster - thousands of suns, almost as bright as day even in planetary night. He strolls through the dark red grass of Hanidia IV and the wide avenues of the orbital cities of Thrun. He quickly vortexes out of some place with gravity too high for comfort, finds an underwater dome populated by plant intelligences - whose name is a chemical released into the air, untranslatable perhaps even for the TARDIS.
The universe is large and beautiful, and he can be anywhere.
It's boring as hell.
The Doctor knows the places where there's always something going on, of course, but he keeps going without aim, a morning here, an evening there. On Paa'alliy, he follows the twin sunsets, watching them all the way around the globe.
If he tries, he always knows where he is, when he is. The universe is vast, and even a Time Lord can't know the half of it, but there's a fixed point at its centre and its heart, something so absolute his mind still shies away from it. Something that will never not be. The Doctor tries not to think about it too much, but when he does, more and more often he thinks not "wrong", but simply "Jack".
He's not surprised when he ends up in the Gamma Forests - nothing ever happens there. He looks up into the trees - long, long trunks with no branches and no leaves; they'd look dead to someone who couldn't feel the life in them - and doesn't admit to himself how weary he feels.
He misses the TARDIS like a missing limb, phantom pain included. She's been a part of his life, a part of him, for so long - does he even still know how to be without her? Without her taking him wherever he's needed? He's not had to do without her since his first incarnation, since they took one look at each other and fell in love, ran away together. Since he stole her, and she stole him.
There's only the one river here, of course, and he strolls along, fingering the leather band around his wrist. He's been using the Kalidian, naturally, but it's always the leather band he touches first.
No, he won't seek her out, his TARDIS - though she's his as much as the other's, that much he knows in his bones. He won't. There's already a Doctor in the TARDIS, and that's quite enough. Besides, his other self has enough on hand with Amy's kidnapping. Maybe he could ... No. He puts the thought aside. That's not for him to take care of, now. He has a good idea what his other self is planning, and they can't be getting in each other's way.
He's so lost in his thoughts, he doesn't see the girl until he nearly trips over her. She's perhaps ten, short-haired and wide-eyed, and she lowers the hyperspanner in her hand with suspicion on her face. She's been sitting by the river repairing her broken hovermodule, it seems.
"Hello!" he says brightly and crouches down so he's not quite so much looming over her. "Did your hover break down? Maybe I can help."
She pulls the module closer to her. "Who are you? I've never seen you before." And of course the Gamma Forests don't exactly get strangers visiting all that often.
"Just passing through," the Doctor says, with a smile he doesn't entirely feel. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver and quickly passes it over the hover. Ah, right. Just slipped out of phase, not really broken. "I can tune this for you," he says, and does before she can object.
She quickly checks it over, and her eyes widen when she realises it's perfectly attuned to the local gravity field again. It earns him a cautious smile as she reattaches the module to her belt.
"Thank you," she says solemnly and gets to her feet.
He rises as well. "Your settlement's that-a-way, yes?" He gestures along the river, and she nods. "I'll visit, I think. What say you travel ahead and let them know?"
She nods. "I'm Lorna. What is your name?"
"I'm -" Some metres away, one of the trunk-trees explodes, and for a moment he's stunned. Then a genuine smile breaks out on his face, and he looks down at the girl. "Lorna?" He holds out his hand. "Run!"
~*~
One thwarted attempt to terrify the Gamma Forests out of their Heaven-neutral stance later - bioterrorism, really? the Doctor doesn't regret at all that some of the last explosions took rather a chunk out of certain individuals - the Doctor stands on the observation deck of a Judoon ship, watching the Gamma Forests grow smaller in the distance.
Little Lorna had proved pretty resourceful, and taken to the crisis with boundless energy - she'd have enjoyed travelling. Seeing the universe. Through her eyes, even the rather pedestrian exploding trees were an adventure. But he couldn't have taken her with him.
He couldn't. There's no TARDIS, no safe place - this is no life to be pulling someone else into. The Doctor rubs his fingers against the leather around his wrist, unsettled. He has always been drifting, one destination as good as the next, but then, he's always taken his true home with him. Now, there's no home and nowhere to go.
Nowhere save one place, one debt he owes. But when that's done ... He pushes the thought away.
~*~
The Doctor waits a moment for the vortex opening to fully disperse, then tunes in to the local infonet just to be certain, checks the date. So close to the centre of the universe, everything feels slightly out of tune. But: Yes.
Outside Jack's door, he can hear music - some awful late twenty-first century oldies, by the sound of it - and his trusty sonic tells him there are five people inside.
Of course. Jack would hardly be waiting for him - or if waiting, certainly not putting anything else on hold. An uncomfortable smile forces itself onto his lips. Waiting for the Doctor? May the Void have mercy on those who do.
He lingers at the door for a moment, undecided, then reaches for his wrist again. A quick shift forward, and it's late at night, or early morning perhaps.
Is Jack even alone now? The Doctor looks at his screwdriver and hesitates, almost not wanting to know.
~*~
"Rise and shine, Jack!"
Jack jerks upright, his paralyser pointed at the Doctor almost before his eyes are open. Then he lets out a relieved breath and sinks back into the cushions, looking up at the Doctor in the dim light from the undarkened bedroom window. He seems to take everything in, everything that's changed since last they'd seen each other: the vest with the sonic screwdriver poking out of a breast pocket, the painted fingernails - nanotranslators embedded, of course -, the silver band around his wrist, above the leather strap of Jack's own Vortex Manipulator. Probably the tired creases around his eyes, his mouth.
The Doctor very carefully doesn't fidget.
"Doctor." Jack smiles suddenly. "How is it, using a 'space hopper'?" Much as he's willing to acknowledge the TARDIS beats any other method of temporal travel, he obviously isn't above throwing the Doctor's contemptuous insult from long ago back at him now.
"Ahem." The Doctor scowls. "Rub it in, why don't you?"
"Always happy to oblige."
When that doesn't draw a response, Jack tilts his head, thoughtfully. "How long's it been for you?"
It's unpleasant and hard, this. He shouldn't have come, not yet. Once he leaves ...
Jack may be forever, but he's not the Doctor's, can't be his lifeline.
No use having regrets now. He's here. After a moment, the Doctor settles for telling him the truth. "A year and a half, subjective time, just about." He undoes the leather strap, holds the Vortex Manipulator out.
Jack takes it and nods, his smile wistful. "Thanks for that." A brief hesitation. "Do I want to know what kept you?"
The Doctor narrows his eyes at him. "Are you complaining? I came back almost on the spot, didn't I? Same week, even." Or ... he didn't lose time again between earlier and later this evening, did he? "This is the same week, isn't it? If it's not -"
"It is," Jack interrupts his impending ramble, his smile turning fond. "No complaints on that end, Doc." He looks to the side for a moment. "I do appreciate it."
The Doctor nods, grimacing. "Me too. Thanks." It comes out clumsily, awkwardly, as if he'd never thanked anyone before.
Jack grins and winks at him. "Want to thank me properly?" It's Jack's old, tried-and-true strategy. When in doubt, flirt. When in danger, seduce.
It's then that the Doctor realises that Jack no more knows what to say, where to go from here, than he does. So this it is, Jack's usual flirtation, quite sincerely meant but not expecting a reply. For all that they've slept together several times, Jack still knows better than to expect anything. Something in the Doctor's gut is tensing uncomfortably at that thought.
Their few encounters have all been under rather extreme circumstances. The first time after the Year-That-Never-Was, after the Master's death, when the Doctor had turned to Jack in grief and frustration, and Jack had let him pile it all on him. The second, frantic and more than a little insane, after Adelaide Brooke and before he could bring himself to answer the Ood's call. The third in a post-regeneration craze, during those five minutes that turned into two years. The fourth ...
Wait, no, the fourth time he'd already been in this incarnation. And for all that it must have looked the same, new regeneration again and no TARDIS on top, it hadn't really been. The Doctor isn't sure exactly what it was, exactly what's changed, but something has.
Something he's not ready to acknowledge, not quite. But he can't leave it at that either.
Jack is batting his eyelashes now, playing for time. Well, two can play at that game.
"Hmm," the Doctor says and tilts his head, pretending to consider. "How should I thank you, then?" He lets his gaze glide over Jack, the exposed skin of his upper body, the shape of him under the sheets. On impulse, he meets Jack's gaze and allows a wide, dangerous grin to spread on his face. "Ah, yes. I could let you suck me off. What say you?"
Jack rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, but beneath the humour there's something burning. His lips come apart a little, and he reaches out, settles a hand on the Doctor's hip. His thumb strokes lightly over the hipbone. When there is no protest, no withdrawal - not this time, the Doctor thinks, not now -, Jack lets out a small, surprised and delighted laugh. "Who am I to turn down such a gracious offer?" And he bends forward, rubbing his cheek against the Doctor's crotch.
After that, everything is easy. Lips and tongue and teeth, and Jack here and now, and all he has to do is feel. He lets himself fall into it for once, the physical pleasure grounding the disorienting eternity of it.
He doesn't let himself feel guilty.
Finally he spills himself down Jack's throat, and the moment ends, all the tension in his body spilling itself as well. He slumps, empty and tired, a hand curled around Jack's neck and the other on Jack's shoulder, and simply holds on for a long moment. Jack holds with him, his mouth warm around the Doctor's now-soft cock, his shoulders steady support for the Doctor's tired slump. His Factness, undeniable and immutable, a calm and safe harbour in the vastness of time.
Then, slowly, the Doctor pulls back. Jack's head turns up, and they look at each other, wordless, unsmiling.
This is still easy. Smoothly, the Doctor lets himself sink to his own knees. He slides his hand up from Jack's neck and cups his cheek. Jack's lips are wet and glistening. The Doctor leans forward, and their lips meet.
The Doctor slides his free hand down Jack's chest, under the sheets to his crotch, curls it around Jack's spent cock and elicits a low moan. His fingers gather a few drops of come, and lift them to his mouth. Jack's eyes are wide, almost incredulous as the Doctor deliberately, provocatively licks his fingers. The Doctor isn't ready for this to end. He bends forward a little and licks Jack's earlobe, his hearts clenching, "I suppose I'm going to have to owe you one," he feels more than hears himself breathe into Jack's ear.
He's a coward, after all.
~*~
No more random skipping through the universe after that, not for the next little while. Instead, he goes to all the familiar places. Kembel and Delta Magna and Krillia, Raxacoricofallapatorius and Ruta 3. Even Skaro, past and future. (Not Barcelona; he avoids Barcelona.) Earth, in many places, many times.
He watches himself watch the Kennedy assassination, visits Madame Pompadour's funeral. He watches Leela take down a group of thugs and ignore the Doctor's complaints. In Chiswick, he is particularly careful, and he leaves after only a moment's glimpse of Donna and Wilf. He looks on as Sarah Jane leaves the TARDIS in Aberdeen. In Kyoto in 1336, he watches himself tumble into the TARDIS with Jack and Rose, laughing, and rubs his fingers against his wrist where a leather band isn't.
He never approaches, never interferes. Timelines, he tells himself. Temporal integrity, he tells himself. He only watches for a little, and moves on.
He never seeks out the TARDIS after his own time, never lets himself look for a version of her he could approach.
He's the Doctor. But the Doctor in the TARDIS is someone else now. There is no place to rest.
Only one of them notices him. In Victorian London, Vastra - who apparently has Strax with her now, however that came about - throws him a sharp look from beneath her concealing veil. He shakes his head slightly, and she nods in acknowledgment, drawing away her companions.
~*~
Everything else is temporary, even a Time Lord. Jack Harkness is not.
If there's no home left for the Doctor, there's still this, a safe harbour, a ready port of call. A still point he can't ever lose, even unto the end of the universe itself. No wonder he's drawn back to Jack. No wonder he can't seem to quite let go.
It's why he has to stop.
The Doctor clenches his fingers into a fist against the urge to rub his wrist again.
Look at all that Jack's already done for him, unbidden. The Doctor is more than a little terrified of just how much Jack might do for him if ever he actually bothered to ask. The centre of the universe, at his command.
(He remembers being a withered old man in a wheelchair, looking at the Master playing with Jack Harkness, and thinking: He isn't afraid. He isn't afraid at all.)
But even that is still an excuse. In the end, everything's an excuse. That's not why it was foolish, that half-promise whispered into Jack's ear. That's not why he has to stop.
Never mind the universe: the truth is, he can't make Jack his lifeline, can't use him as a crutch. Can't depend on Jack, when Jack can't depend on him in turn.
He won't let himself go back. The truth is simple: Jack deserves better.
~*~
to be continued ...