Fic: Running 1/1
Story: Running
Author: wmr
wendymr
Rated: G
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness
Disclaimer: All RTD's. Unfortunately, as it means they're not really available to play when I might want them to ;)
Summary: "Stands to reason. I’ve been coming back here, regular as clockwork, every twenty years for the last hundred and twenty years of your time, and every time you’ve said no when I asked you to come with me. You’re chicken ."
Written for the 'chicken challenge' between
christn7and me; his contribution is here.
Running
“You’re chicken.”
Leaning against the railing at the edge of the Plass, the Doctor quirks an eyebrow at Jack and waits for the denial he knows is coming.
“Me? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you are.” He grins, shielding his eyes against the late-afternoon sunlight.
“So how’d you figure that, then?” Hands on hips, Jack’s giving him an irritated glare.
“Stands to reason. I’ve been coming back here, regular as clockwork, every twenty years for the last hundred and twenty years of your time, and every time you’ve said no when I asked you to come with me. You’re chicken.”
By the way Jack’s head dips and he stares at the ground for a second or two before answering, the Doctor knows he’s scored a hit. But then Jack meets his gaze again. “And you think that’s the only possible reason why I’m saying no?”
“First time, you wanted to get back to your team. And I could understand that. Responsibility. Loyalty. All very human things. All very you, Jack. And, well, after what we’d just been through...” He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, simultaneously tugging at one ear. “And I admit it: I deserved it. I ran away from you; only fair that you get to run away from me. But it’s been years, Jack. And you’re still running.”
Jack blinks. “Think I’m the one who’s standing still, don’t you? Living through linear time, while you’re racing around through the universe and time. A hundred and twenty years for me - how long’s it been for you? Five? Five hundred?”
It’s been three, but he’s not going to admit that. “You’re running out of excuses, Jack. I know you miss it. I see the way you look at the TARDIS whenever I come.” More than that; on the few occasions Jack’s come inside the ship, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the console, staring as if she’s an old friend he’s been starved of the sight of.
“Okay,” Jack says abruptly. “You want plain speaking: you’ll get it. Just remember that you asked for it.”
“Ooh, now that sounds a bit worrying.” He flashes one of the smiles he knows is endearing. At least, Rose always relented when he tried that one on her. “Plain speaking. Odd expression, that, don’t you think? As if we don’t speak plainly normally. What’s the opposite of plain speaking, do you think, Jack? Pretty speaking? Flowery words? Complicated words? Patterned -”
“Shut it, Doctor.” Jack shakes his head, his expression all amused impatience. “Plain speaking. If anyone’s chicken here, you are.”
“What?” He stares, and for once actually feels speechless.
“You are. Point: you ran away from me after Satellite Five. Point: you ignored me for a hundred and forty years of my life, and probably two years of yours, and then when I finally found you you ran away again. Point: you lost Martha because you were too scared to let her get close to you after Rose. Point: you nearly went crazy with missing Rose, but did you once try to find a way to get her back? Point: you clung to the Master even after everything he did because you were scared of being alone again -”
“Stop it. Just stop it.”
This isn’t fair. And it’s not only not fair, it’s not -
“It’s all true, Doctor. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but the truth sometimes hurts.”
Much as he wants to walk - run - straight back to the TARDIS that’s parked just a few short yards from here, something keeps him pinned to the spot. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the anguished look in Jack’s eyes now, the impression he’s getting that this is hurting Jack even more than it’s hurting him.
And anyway, Jack’s already accused him of running away.
“Go on, then. If you’ve got things to say - and it’s obvious you do if you’ve been storing them up for over a hundred years - let’s get them out. Let’s deal with them once and for all.” Hands thrust deep in his pockets, rocking on his heels, he forces himself to meet Jack’s gaze. “So I’m a coward? Nothing new about that. You travelled with me, Jack. You know it. You know I ran away from you. Did you know I was too much of a coward to set off the Delta wave, too? But there’s more, isn’t there? So let’s have it.”
Jack meets his gaze without blinking. “Yeah, there’s more. I said earlier I didn’t know how long it’s been for you since the year that never was, but I lied. I know exactly how long it’s been. I’ve seen the people you’ve had travelling with you, remember? Martha, after she left us here. Donna was with you three times. Then you had Paul and Christine for two visits. They told me it’d only been a couple of months for them. Not sensible, Doctor, letting humans cross their own timelines when you know they’ll go back to their normal lives sooner or later.”
Jack’s right, of course, but since when has he done sensible? “So? So it’s only been a few years for me. And that’s a problem?”
“Says you’re scared of being alone. What’s your track record on companions lately? Six months? A year? Heard you had one who left after a week. And me - well, I’m the one person who can’t die on you, aren’t I? Yet you can’t even tell me that’s the reason you want me around. You just drop back into my life, insult me, criticise Torchwood, and then, like it’s a complete afterthought, you say ‘Oh, by the way, wanna come with me?’ And if you want the truth, that’s why I’ve kept saying no to you.”
When Jack sets out to wound, he doesn’t hold back. Knife after knife. “What, you’ve said no just because I won’t give you any of that... that... that human stuff about needing you or missing you? Because if that’s what you want -”
“Course it’s not, and you know it. You want to know what I want, Doctor?”
He straightens, hands still in his pockets, and meets Jack with a glare that’s had leaders and presidents quailing. “Yes, why don’t you tell me what you want, Jack?”
Jack laughs. “You should know that look doesn’t work on me, Doctor. What do I want? I want you to work out what it is that you want. Cause from what I’ve seen you’ve spent the last three years running from things and avoiding facing up to the truth.”
Sobering suddenly, he comes to lean his arms against the rail again. “Gallifrey’s gone. The Time Lords are gone. And you’ve got to live with that, just like I’ve got to live with what’s happened to me. Rose is gone, and you either have to accept that and move on and let yourself care about other people, or if you decide you can’t do that then you need to do something about getting her back. Or at least find out if she wants to come back.”
“And if I do all that, you’ll travel with me again? That’s your price?” There’s an edge to his voice now that should have Jack cowering. Yet, somehow, he suspects that Jack’s probably the one person left in the universe he just can’t intimidate.
“If you do all that, Doctor, there’s at least a chance you might be happy. You might not keep pushing people away. You might stop going all Oncoming Storm on some bad guys and forgiving others with no consistency. You might... heal. And if, after all that, you still want me to come with you, then I will. But I’m guessing you won’t need me then.”
Jack flashes a grin in his direction, dimples showing, and then salutes, the now-familiar farewell. “Sir.”
This time, the first time since that little ritual began, the Doctor doesn’t salute back. He stands by the rail, watching as Jack walks back to the perception filter, not moving until the Captain’s disappeared from sight. Only then he turns to head back to the TARDIS.
Chicken, Jack said. He’s chicken. The Oncoming Storm, Destroyer of Worlds, last Time Lord in the universe, who went down alone into the pit to face the Beast, chicken?
Ludicrous.
He shakes his head, dismissing the conversation, and moves to the console. Busy life, moving on.
***
Paperwork, still the bane of his life even though they’re well into the twenty-second century. Well, these days it’s all electronic, but it still has to be done. Reports written, forms completed, boxes ticked. Torchwood may be above the government, beyond the police, but it still has to justify its funding. Just as well he doesn’t need to sleep; the only chance he gets to deal with all this crap is late at night.
A familiar, unearthly sound fills the air, and his head shoots up. What’s he doing back? Got the timing wrong again, probably. He’ll be embarrassed as hell when he realises he’s come back the same day as his last visit instead of in twenty years’ time. Though he’ll pretend he intended it, or the TARDIS got it wrong, or his companion distracted him, or some other excuse.
The door opens and the Doctor emerges, wearing exactly the same suit, shirt and tie as he was earlier. But then, since he only seems to have two suits and about four shirts, that’s not really a surprise.
He closes the TARDIS door firmly and leans casually against it, tie askew and top shirt buttons open, smirking in that way Jack really wishes he wouldn’t, all flirty and challenging and too damn sexy for words, even if the guy does like to pretend that he’s above all that. He’s not, of course; Jack’s met a couple of people who can tell him otherwise.
“This is a surprise, Doctor.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice level. Even after all this time, he’s still every bit as bad as Martha was all those years ago - still probably is, given she’s still in the Doctor’s timeline, even though in his she’s long dead.
“Thought it might be.” The Doctor’s smirk gets wider. “Twice in one day, Captain. We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”
“Don’t stop on my account.” The words are out, and said in a flirtatious tone, before he can stop himself.
Though, at the same time, the import of the Doctor’s comment sinks in. The Doctor knows it’s the same day?
“Well, aren’t you going to ask why I came back?”
“Oh, go on, then. Why did you come back?”
“Aww, can’t you guess?” The smirk turns to a wide-eyed look. God, the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. “Well, if I have to explain...” Suddenly, all the amusement is gone, and the Doctor’s straightening, walking away from the TARDIS and towards his desk.
“Point: I’m the last of the Time Lords. Gallifrey is gone, the Master is gone, and I have to live with that. Point: I’m not good on my own. I don’t like being alone. Point: I should give people I invite to come with me a proper chance. Point: I’ve gone too far sometimes. Someone I know once told me that I need someone to stop me. She’s right. I do.” He pauses, giving Jack a look he can only describe as meaningful.
“Point: I haven’t tried to find a way back to the parallel universe. Not because I don’t want Rose back, but because I’m afraid she won’t want me back. And also because I’m afraid of losing her again. Point: you are the only companion I can have who I’ll never lose. And final point - here’s one for free, Jack because you didn’t guess it - I haven’t even tried to find out whether there’s a cure for your immortality, because I don’t want you to die and leave me too.”
It’s a good job he’s sitting down, because the way the breath’s just whooshed from his body he’d have fallen down. Not just because the Doctor lied when he said there was nothing he could do about Jack’s immortality, but because he’s admitted it. That’s... well, saying he’s speechless is about as much an understatement as to say the TARDIS is a little spaceship.
“Still chicken, am I?” the Doctor enquires lightly.
He blows out a breath. “No. Not a feather in sight.”
“Course, just saying it isn’t fixing it all. Might still end up not doing things because I’m afraid. I’ll still make mistakes - that’s a given. I’m still gonna hurt people I care about. But it’s a start, isn’t it?”
He nods. “It’s definitely a start.”
“Come, then? Come and help me try to get to Rose. And if we don’t... well, travel with me anyway. Trust me to help you, too. Because I do need you, Jack. Oh, I could give you all sorts of reasons: you can keep up with me the way few other people can, I don’t have to worry about you getting killed, the TARDIS likes you - yep, I lied about that too, but you already know that; with you I won’t have all the questions that every new companion has and that drive me crazy. And, yes, that you’ll live longer than I will, unless we do something about that, so you’re one companion I don’t have to worry about losing. But none of them are the real reason.”
“What is?” Shock’s rendered his voice almost non-existent.
“Because you’re right. Simple as that, Jack: you’re right.”
The Doctor stands then, legs a little apart, hands deep in his trouser pockets, one eyebrow raised. “Coming, then? Or are you... well... chicken?”
END
Author: wmr
wendymr
Rated: G
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness
Disclaimer: All RTD's. Unfortunately, as it means they're not really available to play when I might want them to ;)
Summary: "Stands to reason. I’ve been coming back here, regular as clockwork, every twenty years for the last hundred and twenty years of your time, and every time you’ve said no when I asked you to come with me. You’re chicken ."
Written for the 'chicken challenge' between
christn7and me; his contribution is here.
Running
“You’re chicken.”
Leaning against the railing at the edge of the Plass, the Doctor quirks an eyebrow at Jack and waits for the denial he knows is coming.
“Me? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you are.” He grins, shielding his eyes against the late-afternoon sunlight.
“So how’d you figure that, then?” Hands on hips, Jack’s giving him an irritated glare.
“Stands to reason. I’ve been coming back here, regular as clockwork, every twenty years for the last hundred and twenty years of your time, and every time you’ve said no when I asked you to come with me. You’re chicken.”
By the way Jack’s head dips and he stares at the ground for a second or two before answering, the Doctor knows he’s scored a hit. But then Jack meets his gaze again. “And you think that’s the only possible reason why I’m saying no?”
“First time, you wanted to get back to your team. And I could understand that. Responsibility. Loyalty. All very human things. All very you, Jack. And, well, after what we’d just been through...” He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, simultaneously tugging at one ear. “And I admit it: I deserved it. I ran away from you; only fair that you get to run away from me. But it’s been years, Jack. And you’re still running.”
Jack blinks. “Think I’m the one who’s standing still, don’t you? Living through linear time, while you’re racing around through the universe and time. A hundred and twenty years for me - how long’s it been for you? Five? Five hundred?”
It’s been three, but he’s not going to admit that. “You’re running out of excuses, Jack. I know you miss it. I see the way you look at the TARDIS whenever I come.” More than that; on the few occasions Jack’s come inside the ship, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the console, staring as if she’s an old friend he’s been starved of the sight of.
“Okay,” Jack says abruptly. “You want plain speaking: you’ll get it. Just remember that you asked for it.”
“Ooh, now that sounds a bit worrying.” He flashes one of the smiles he knows is endearing. At least, Rose always relented when he tried that one on her. “Plain speaking. Odd expression, that, don’t you think? As if we don’t speak plainly normally. What’s the opposite of plain speaking, do you think, Jack? Pretty speaking? Flowery words? Complicated words? Patterned -”
“Shut it, Doctor.” Jack shakes his head, his expression all amused impatience. “Plain speaking. If anyone’s chicken here, you are.”
“What?” He stares, and for once actually feels speechless.
“You are. Point: you ran away from me after Satellite Five. Point: you ignored me for a hundred and forty years of my life, and probably two years of yours, and then when I finally found you you ran away again. Point: you lost Martha because you were too scared to let her get close to you after Rose. Point: you nearly went crazy with missing Rose, but did you once try to find a way to get her back? Point: you clung to the Master even after everything he did because you were scared of being alone again -”
“Stop it. Just stop it.”
This isn’t fair. And it’s not only not fair, it’s not -
“It’s all true, Doctor. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but the truth sometimes hurts.”
Much as he wants to walk - run - straight back to the TARDIS that’s parked just a few short yards from here, something keeps him pinned to the spot. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the anguished look in Jack’s eyes now, the impression he’s getting that this is hurting Jack even more than it’s hurting him.
And anyway, Jack’s already accused him of running away.
“Go on, then. If you’ve got things to say - and it’s obvious you do if you’ve been storing them up for over a hundred years - let’s get them out. Let’s deal with them once and for all.” Hands thrust deep in his pockets, rocking on his heels, he forces himself to meet Jack’s gaze. “So I’m a coward? Nothing new about that. You travelled with me, Jack. You know it. You know I ran away from you. Did you know I was too much of a coward to set off the Delta wave, too? But there’s more, isn’t there? So let’s have it.”
Jack meets his gaze without blinking. “Yeah, there’s more. I said earlier I didn’t know how long it’s been for you since the year that never was, but I lied. I know exactly how long it’s been. I’ve seen the people you’ve had travelling with you, remember? Martha, after she left us here. Donna was with you three times. Then you had Paul and Christine for two visits. They told me it’d only been a couple of months for them. Not sensible, Doctor, letting humans cross their own timelines when you know they’ll go back to their normal lives sooner or later.”
Jack’s right, of course, but since when has he done sensible? “So? So it’s only been a few years for me. And that’s a problem?”
“Says you’re scared of being alone. What’s your track record on companions lately? Six months? A year? Heard you had one who left after a week. And me - well, I’m the one person who can’t die on you, aren’t I? Yet you can’t even tell me that’s the reason you want me around. You just drop back into my life, insult me, criticise Torchwood, and then, like it’s a complete afterthought, you say ‘Oh, by the way, wanna come with me?’ And if you want the truth, that’s why I’ve kept saying no to you.”
When Jack sets out to wound, he doesn’t hold back. Knife after knife. “What, you’ve said no just because I won’t give you any of that... that... that human stuff about needing you or missing you? Because if that’s what you want -”
“Course it’s not, and you know it. You want to know what I want, Doctor?”
He straightens, hands still in his pockets, and meets Jack with a glare that’s had leaders and presidents quailing. “Yes, why don’t you tell me what you want, Jack?”
Jack laughs. “You should know that look doesn’t work on me, Doctor. What do I want? I want you to work out what it is that you want. Cause from what I’ve seen you’ve spent the last three years running from things and avoiding facing up to the truth.”
Sobering suddenly, he comes to lean his arms against the rail again. “Gallifrey’s gone. The Time Lords are gone. And you’ve got to live with that, just like I’ve got to live with what’s happened to me. Rose is gone, and you either have to accept that and move on and let yourself care about other people, or if you decide you can’t do that then you need to do something about getting her back. Or at least find out if she wants to come back.”
“And if I do all that, you’ll travel with me again? That’s your price?” There’s an edge to his voice now that should have Jack cowering. Yet, somehow, he suspects that Jack’s probably the one person left in the universe he just can’t intimidate.
“If you do all that, Doctor, there’s at least a chance you might be happy. You might not keep pushing people away. You might stop going all Oncoming Storm on some bad guys and forgiving others with no consistency. You might... heal. And if, after all that, you still want me to come with you, then I will. But I’m guessing you won’t need me then.”
Jack flashes a grin in his direction, dimples showing, and then salutes, the now-familiar farewell. “Sir.”
This time, the first time since that little ritual began, the Doctor doesn’t salute back. He stands by the rail, watching as Jack walks back to the perception filter, not moving until the Captain’s disappeared from sight. Only then he turns to head back to the TARDIS.
Chicken, Jack said. He’s chicken. The Oncoming Storm, Destroyer of Worlds, last Time Lord in the universe, who went down alone into the pit to face the Beast, chicken?
Ludicrous.
He shakes his head, dismissing the conversation, and moves to the console. Busy life, moving on.
***
Paperwork, still the bane of his life even though they’re well into the twenty-second century. Well, these days it’s all electronic, but it still has to be done. Reports written, forms completed, boxes ticked. Torchwood may be above the government, beyond the police, but it still has to justify its funding. Just as well he doesn’t need to sleep; the only chance he gets to deal with all this crap is late at night.
A familiar, unearthly sound fills the air, and his head shoots up. What’s he doing back? Got the timing wrong again, probably. He’ll be embarrassed as hell when he realises he’s come back the same day as his last visit instead of in twenty years’ time. Though he’ll pretend he intended it, or the TARDIS got it wrong, or his companion distracted him, or some other excuse.
The door opens and the Doctor emerges, wearing exactly the same suit, shirt and tie as he was earlier. But then, since he only seems to have two suits and about four shirts, that’s not really a surprise.
He closes the TARDIS door firmly and leans casually against it, tie askew and top shirt buttons open, smirking in that way Jack really wishes he wouldn’t, all flirty and challenging and too damn sexy for words, even if the guy does like to pretend that he’s above all that. He’s not, of course; Jack’s met a couple of people who can tell him otherwise.
“This is a surprise, Doctor.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice level. Even after all this time, he’s still every bit as bad as Martha was all those years ago - still probably is, given she’s still in the Doctor’s timeline, even though in his she’s long dead.
“Thought it might be.” The Doctor’s smirk gets wider. “Twice in one day, Captain. We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”
“Don’t stop on my account.” The words are out, and said in a flirtatious tone, before he can stop himself.
Though, at the same time, the import of the Doctor’s comment sinks in. The Doctor knows it’s the same day?
“Well, aren’t you going to ask why I came back?”
“Oh, go on, then. Why did you come back?”
“Aww, can’t you guess?” The smirk turns to a wide-eyed look. God, the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. “Well, if I have to explain...” Suddenly, all the amusement is gone, and the Doctor’s straightening, walking away from the TARDIS and towards his desk.
“Point: I’m the last of the Time Lords. Gallifrey is gone, the Master is gone, and I have to live with that. Point: I’m not good on my own. I don’t like being alone. Point: I should give people I invite to come with me a proper chance. Point: I’ve gone too far sometimes. Someone I know once told me that I need someone to stop me. She’s right. I do.” He pauses, giving Jack a look he can only describe as meaningful.
“Point: I haven’t tried to find a way back to the parallel universe. Not because I don’t want Rose back, but because I’m afraid she won’t want me back. And also because I’m afraid of losing her again. Point: you are the only companion I can have who I’ll never lose. And final point - here’s one for free, Jack because you didn’t guess it - I haven’t even tried to find out whether there’s a cure for your immortality, because I don’t want you to die and leave me too.”
It’s a good job he’s sitting down, because the way the breath’s just whooshed from his body he’d have fallen down. Not just because the Doctor lied when he said there was nothing he could do about Jack’s immortality, but because he’s admitted it. That’s... well, saying he’s speechless is about as much an understatement as to say the TARDIS is a little spaceship.
“Still chicken, am I?” the Doctor enquires lightly.
He blows out a breath. “No. Not a feather in sight.”
“Course, just saying it isn’t fixing it all. Might still end up not doing things because I’m afraid. I’ll still make mistakes - that’s a given. I’m still gonna hurt people I care about. But it’s a start, isn’t it?”
He nods. “It’s definitely a start.”
“Come, then? Come and help me try to get to Rose. And if we don’t... well, travel with me anyway. Trust me to help you, too. Because I do need you, Jack. Oh, I could give you all sorts of reasons: you can keep up with me the way few other people can, I don’t have to worry about you getting killed, the TARDIS likes you - yep, I lied about that too, but you already know that; with you I won’t have all the questions that every new companion has and that drive me crazy. And, yes, that you’ll live longer than I will, unless we do something about that, so you’re one companion I don’t have to worry about losing. But none of them are the real reason.”
“What is?” Shock’s rendered his voice almost non-existent.
“Because you’re right. Simple as that, Jack: you’re right.”
The Doctor stands then, legs a little apart, hands deep in his trouser pockets, one eyebrow raised. “Coming, then? Or are you... well... chicken?”
END