Relict, 6/12(?) (DW, 9/J/R, Teen - but rising in intensity)
Thanks again, very much, to wendymr for beta services, particularly as this chapter and the next one have gotten a little tangled up together and we've been hacking through the undergrowth, trying to find a path!
Chapter 1 - Bazaar | Chapter 2 - Maintenance | Chapter 3 - Off-Balance | Chapter Four - Whirl | Chapter Five - Shadows
Chapter Six - Latency
“Good morning!”
Jack breezed into the console room with a bright smile and an eager “let’s get started” clap of the hands, then stopped and circled the central pillar curiously. All the gratings and panels were still in place, no mallets or odd bits of machinery were lying around, but most importantly, there were no long legs sticking out from underneath.
This was a rare occurrence. Remembering the Doctor’s tiredness the night before - not to mention the brief but disturbing drama of his seizure earlier in the day - Jack was a bit concerned. He decided to make his way to the galley, where they all tended to congregate when Rose crawled out of bed, usually several hours after he was up and about.
It had been those morning hours spent together when he had built his rapport with the Doctor. Jack knew from the beginning that the Doctor had been warning him off Rose, even though he never came out and said it - that challenging gaze over her shoulder as he brought her back up from the dip in that first, exhilarating dance said it clearly enough. At the same time, it had also said, “You next?” The signals weren’t so much mixed as complicated. But Jack enjoyed untangling wires, even when they sometimes sparked at him.
Almost as much as he enjoyed flirting with the Doctor, and his TARDIS, which to some extent was the same thing. Praise for the magnificent timeship caused the TARDIS to purr and the Doctor to glow and bluster in equal measure.
The corridor to the galley seemed unusually long, and he was surprised when an unfamiliar door opened to reveal a sleep-disheveled Rose. Her hair was a ratty mess on one side, her feet were bare, and her pink t-shirt was wrinkled, gapping from the red yoga pants riding low on her hips. She looked almost fragile without the mascara and eyeliner she normally overused.
She was closing the door so carefully, as if not to be heard, and when he said her name, even in a stage whisper, she jumped and turned immediately to block the door. When she saw it was him, she relaxed in relief, but crossed her arms protectively across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe with studied casualness.
Jack’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “So, that’s his room, is it?” he asked softly, eyes noting the door carefully. The TARDIS liked to shuffle rooms, and this one with the plain wooden door wasn’t one he’d seen before. Then he looked at her, noting the pinkening of her cheeks. “So he used his energy to dance with you. Good for you!” He was sincere as he reached out to pinch her cheek playfully, and it was true - almost from the first moment he’d met them, although he’d been interested in both individually, there was something so immensely appealing about the two of them together that even the Doctor had realized that Jack had no intention of disrupting that.
But he noticed that her cheeks bore the traces of tears, and the teasing melted away quickly. “Rose? Are you all right? Is he?”
“Fine, fine,” she said softly, her hands on his arms and chest shushing him with soft little pats as she pushed him away from the door. “Just-shh.”
He let her hustle him down the corridor to the suddenly nearby galley, where she shoved him toward the kettle and got two mugs out of the cupboard. He filled the kettle from the tap, watching her root through the transdimensional tea chest before coming up with a couple of rosehip and bramble tea bags. Her movements were tired, and he noticed a new bruise on one bare arm, just beneath the edge of the t-shirt.
“Do you want to go wash your face and brush your hair while this is steeping?” he asked, and instead of the expected saucy reply (“What? This hairstyle is the latest fashion!”), she just looked at him gratefully and handed him the tea as she left the room.
Jack opened the packets and placed each bag in a mug thoughtfully. His curiosity was about to eat him alive, but his concern was greater.
***
The cold water splashing on her face was bracing and, after the first shock, felt remarkably good. Rose picked up a fluffy handtowel and patted the water away, leaning forward to examine her face carefully in the mirror. The cold water reduced the puffiness and unglued her eyelashes; faint circles remained beneath her eyes, but all in all, not too bad, considering that she had only had four or five uninterrupted hours of sleep, followed by several more fitful hours during which tears had slipped intermittently through gritty eyelids.
She had fallen asleep almost immediately upon crawling into bed with the Doctor, but she had been jolted awake too few hours later by his screams. Hoarse, high… She was never more aware that he was alien than when she heard those cries.
She had nudged him gently, easing him into another level of sleep, curling around him while he gathered a few more precious moments of respite.
Until the dreams seized him again, and the routine repeated…
She sighed and reached for her hairbrush. It was truly amazing how much better little things like washing her face and brushing her hair made her feel, and she sent Jack a little warm burst of gratitude.
“Ow!” The protest was instinctive as the brush caught in the snarl on the side of her head, and she reached up to grasp her hair close to the scalp so she could work out the knots without tearing her hair out. As she did, she noticed a shadow under her right arm and lifted her elbow, using her left forefinger to pull back the sleeve of her t-shirt. Three small, blurry bruises were developing, and she had a sudden, sharp memory of his hand gripping her upper arm as a shriek awakened her. At the time, she hadn’t noticed, her hand moving soothingly over his short-cropped hair in a motion that seemed to calm him. It calmed her, at least, and he had eventually settled against her into stillness once more. Nothing unusual. Not anymore. And that bothered her most of all.
The first time she had slept with him was the night they had left the Powell Estate after 10 Downing Street had been blown up. He had been so skittish about staying for dinner, and she should have been furious about him seducing her away with promises of pretty bright lights, but she had also come to understand, some indefinite time later, that he was afraid of staying, afraid of her staying. Afraid she wouldn’t want to leave her mother again, afraid perhaps that he would enjoy that touch of domesticity.
And he hadn’t been stinting on his description of the firestorm in the nebula. The TARDIS had ridden the turbulence like a roller coaster, and they had lain on the soft surface of the floor of the observation room, looking up at the display on the ceiling as if they were watching fireworks from a hillside, laughing like children, gasping in awe. She had even squealed with delight, grabbing his arm in excitement as a shower of gold particles spun at them from the center of an exquisite nebula that looked like the eye of a peacock feather.
As the intensity of the display had waned, they had quietened. The TARDIS showed them drifting into the Eagle Nebula, past the Fairy toward the Pillars of Creation. “I saw pictures of this when I was at school,” she had said softly. “I thought it was beautiful then, but this is amazing.”
She had turned toward him, seen the way he was looking up at the magnificent towers of dust and gas, and her throat had tightened as he lifted his arm to point, a long forefinger tracing the tip of one pillar. “There are stars and planets being born there,” he had murmured, and she had finally torn her eyes away from his haunting face to the view above. He had reached out to pull her closer, guiding her to rest her head and shoulders on his chest so that she could follow his finger as it traced out the new worlds.
The slow steady rhythm of his breathing had lulled her to sleep. And although the sky above her was still the eternal night of outer space, she had known that it was hours later when she had awakened. But he was still lying perfectly still, while she had wrapped around him for warmth and comfort. She had been embarrassed, but he had been watching her with a curious tenderness.
“Good morning.” His soft voice had slithered through her with an intensity that astonished her, and she had blushed, highly aware of her hips pressed tightly into the side of his. She had remembered him gazing at her and musing - I could save the world, but lose you - and a shiver slid down her spine.
“Are you cold?” he had asked, checking on her - Is that okay? Are you all right? - in that way that seemed to slip through her consciousness, always present, never obtrusive. Rubbing her arm had provoked another shiver and she had curled closer to him, looking up, perhaps, for a kiss.
But his eyes had been lost in the stars…
And he hadn’t slept at all, she knew that now.
The bruises were small and not particularly painful - she got worse bumps and bruises just putting away her laundry some days - but they saddened her. She gave her hair another firm brush or two and pulled it up into a scrunchie she found on the floor of her bathroom before going in search of something with longer sleeves so that he wouldn’t see the bruises.
***
Both mugs were on the table in the little breakfast nook when Rose came back, face freshly scrubbed, hair brushed and tidied back in a high ponytail, a red hoodie over her t-shirt, and thick grey athletic socks on her feet.
“Feeling better?” he asked, pushing her mug toward her as she slipped into her chair opposite him.
“Yeah, thanks.” Her smile was pale as she put milk in the tea and took a careful sip. Her eyes closed thankfully at the taste, and after a more substantial sip, she sighed and opened her eyes to him with a smile more like her usual bright grin. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said sincerely, sitting back in his chair easily, sipping his own tea.
She took another sip of tea and tugged one foot up into the seat of the chair with her, wrapping her arm around the knee on which she rested her cheek.
“You look tired,” he observed casually, noting the way she was studying the pattern her spoon made in the milk in her tea.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said, straightening and putting her foot down on the floor with a small smile. “Distracted.”
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “Did you get some sleep?”
“Yes. A few hours, it was good.” She leaned her elbows on the table, pouring a little more milk into her tea. She seemed a little fidgety, flicking her overgrown fringe out of her eyes with her fingertips before resting her chin on her palm. She started to speak once, but hesitated and took another sip of tea. He didn’t press.
“Don’t tease him today, Jack, okay?” Her big brown eyes were shadowed as they looked up at him hopefully.
“Sure,” he agreed easily, and she relaxed a bit. “You don’t think he’ll notice?”
She shrugged, pulling her foot back up into the chair with her as she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. “He’ll find some sort of distraction.” She took another sip of her tea.
“Should he be running around causing trouble?” He kept his tone light.
“It is what makes him happiest.” Her grin was suddenly natural, and she let her knee bounce a couple of times. “Do you want toast?”
“Sounds good.”
She got up to get bread from the pantry and put four slices in the 1950s-style chrome toaster. She stood still for a moment, watching the coils heat up, then turned around, gripping the edge of the eggshell formica counter as she leaned back against it. “We sleep together, Jack. That’s it. Just sleep.”
He was a little surprised at her almost defiant tone. “Okay.”
She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, then pushed off the counter to cross to the refrigerator and got out the butter and a small pot of jam. “Not sure I really understand it myself,” she admitted, setting the condiments on the table, then turning away from him to retrieve the toast from the toaster. “It’s - weird, when I think about it.” She took a couple of small plates from the cupboard and cutlery from a drawer, talking as if to herself as she brought the toast to the table. “But it’s not weird when it’s happening. It feels so natural, like it’s right to be there, and that all I want to do is hold him.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Jack’s voice was soft as she sat back down across from him.
“It seems like…a totally different thing.” She struggled for words, her eyes on a point somewhere near the far corner of the ceiling. “Sometimes, y’know, I just-” She made claws of her hands and growled in a way that surprised and amused him. “I want to throw him up against one of those struts in the console room and-”
She stopped, looking down embarrassed, and Jack had to chuckle. “I’m not blaming you for that,” he said gently, taking a piece of toast and buttering it.
She looked back at him with a rueful smile. “But it’s not like that when we sleep together.”
“It sounds nice,” he said honestly.
She sighed, taking up a piece of toast herself. “I just wish he could sleep.”
Jack leaned forward in concern, just as the Doctor strolled into the galley, his step bouncing with his usual energy. “So!” He opened up the cupboard and hooked a mug out with his forefinger, spinning it around and catching it easily in his big palm. He fixed them with a bright blue gaze. “What are we going to do today?”
***
“Run!”
The Doctor’s roar seemed to set wings on his heels, and he crashed through the underbrush, reaching back to grab Rose’s hand and help pull her up the incline to the riverbank where the TARDIS stood with doors open, a beacon of safety and warmth. He and Rose collapsed, breathless on the ramp, and the Doctor shut the doors quickly, leaning against them as if to brace them as the screaming mass heaved uselessly against the exterior.
“Everybody okay?” asked the Doctor intently as Jack and Rose untangled themselves from each other, a task made significantly more difficult as they were both muddy and cold and some thorned vines were wrapped around their limbs.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t fuss,” protested Rose as Jack tried to find her face in her pink parka, which had twisted around her as they had fallen.
He let her go with a playfully resentful, “Excuse me, I was only trying to help.”
“Well - don’t,” she retorted, grunting slightly as she shifted her hips over and got her bum on the grating in order to sit up. She got hold of the tail of her muddied parka and jerked it around, so that she could glare up at the Doctor from the frame of bedraggled fake fur and her own wet, tangled hair.
Jack struggled not to smile at her mutinous expression, especially as the Doctor leaned back against the doors, arms folded across his chest, ankle swinging nonchalantly across his shin to plant the toe of his boot as his face split in one of those dazzling, irresistible grins. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Rose, evidently, could resist, even if Jack couldn’t. She pushed back the hood, reaching down to jerk at the vine wrapped loosely around her ankles with her gloved hands.
“Owww!” she cried, in frustration, shaking her hand as one of the thorns pierced the leather. The Doctor was on his knees at her feet in an instant, capturing her hand in both of his, removing her glove carefully but quickly to inspect the damage.
A bright red bead of blood grew on her palm, on the rise beneath her forefinger, and Jack watched as the Doctor brought her hand to his mouth, sucking away the blood in an instant so that he could see the puncture beneath. The sharp, strong features were intently focused as his thumb pressed against the flesh to raise another bead of blood.
Rose’s lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dilated as the Doctor looked up at her, his face bare inches from hers.
Kiss her, you fool! Jack thought the line fiercely, remembering any number of Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn films where that line would have worked, but no. The Doctor simply smiled, a perfectly friendly, reassuring, non-smitten smile.
“It’s all right. Just a little nick. A little antiseptic’ll do for that.”
Rose jerked her hand out of his, blowing her fringe up off her forehead with an exasperated exhalation. “Did you have to get them all riled up?”
“How was I to know they’d think we were after their nests?” He started to take on that look of a guilty five-year-old in a pout.
“Oh, I don’t know, because you know everything,” she retorted, tugging down the zip of her parka, and slapping his hands away when he reached out to help. Jack leaned back on his elbow, grinning broadly, as the Doctor’s expression changed to that eager, elated exhilaration of discovery.
“But we got to see them unfurl their wings. Aren’t they amazing in the sunset? All red and gold and transparent!” He made a surprisingly delicate gesture of wonder, with his long fingers, unfurling them in a distinctly non-human manner that exactly mimicked the unfurling of the dragon wings they had just observed in the wild. A little more closely than they had intended.
Rose was still glaring, but Jack could see her respond to his enthusiasm, fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to see them in a zoo, would you?” The Doctor seemed both defensive and disappointed at the thought, and Rose melted immediately, squeezing his arm with her still-gloved hand.
“No, of course not.” She brushed at a small patch of mud on his leather sleeve and slanted him an accusing look. “How come you’re not as messy as we are?”
He shrugged, then gave a bright, hopeful smile - sometimes he really was just like a child, mused Jack. “Genius, me. Manifests in all sorts o’ways.”
Rose’s expression was a priceless mixture of exasperation and instinctive response to his infectious smile. “Yeah, right.” She shook her head and shucked off the parka, as the Doctor began to unwind the vines around her legs with quick, clever fingers.
Jack sat up to get out of his own quilted jacket, becoming increasingly aware of the muddy jeans clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He took off his gloves and began picking at the wet laces of his boots as Rose was finally freed from the vines wrapped around her.
“Nice hot shower, hot as you can stand, and lots of soap,” prescribed the Doctor, giving her a supporting hand as she struggled to her feet, hampered by her own mud-encrusted boots and jeans. “And then meet me in the medlab, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she sighed and trudged off toward her room.
Jack was surprised as those clever long fingers went to work on the vine wrapped around his left leg, and he looked up to meet the steel-blue eyes watching him intently. “You okay, Jack?” he asked with concern, tossing away the already wilting greenery, rubbing Jack’s calf carefully through the jeans. His action made Jack not only aware of the sensitive strength of those fingers, but that his skin was scratched and itching underneath.
“I think it broke the skin,” he said, squirming a little, and in an instant, the Doctor’s fingers were at the waistband of his jeans, popping the snap and pulling down the zip.
“Hey!” Jack was taken by surprise for a moment, but lowered his voice to a soft purr as he unconsciously mirrored Rose’s action and squeezed the leather-clad arm. “Hey, slow down.” He lifted his hips for the Doctor to get the wet jeans off him. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
The Doctor didn’t even bother to roll his eyes at him, nor did he appear to notice that Jack was - rather uncomfortably - bare-assed on the grating as he lifted his calf for closer inspection. There was a scratch above his ankle, not much in itself, but the skin around it was beginning to pinken, and Jack curled his fingers through the grating to resist reaching down to scratch.
The Doctor’s long fingers wrapped around his shin, his thumb rubbing carefully over the irritated skin.
Jack’s mouth got the better of him. “Gonna kiss it better?”
The intense eyes flicked up at him. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”
“It’s just a scratch.” Jack motioned at it with his free hand. “You didn’t seem so concerned with Rose.”
“You may be allergic to the vine,” he said, with maddening sensibility. “You’re having more of a reaction to it. It’s probably not serious, but it’s not an opportunity to flirt.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Jack leaned forward, challenging the steely eyes that locked so firmly on his. “Everything is an opportunity to flirt.”
He only had to lean forward an inch or two to take the kiss he’d wanted since he’d been tossed a banana and informed that it was a good source of potassium. Despite the cold grating underneath him and the persistent itch that seemed to get worse when he thought about it, parts of him were taking a definite interest.
The problem was, he didn’t want to take. He wanted it to be given, and that was not going to happen, as the Doctor released his leg and helped him free himself from the tangle of boots and jeans and a couple of smaller vines.
“Same thing I told Rose,” he said efficiently, giving Jack a hand to stand up. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
“Sure you don’t want to join me?” asked Jack, affecting his most teasing leer.
“Nope.” The Doctor’s cheerful refusal should have put an effective damper on his interest, but damn, if that voice didn’t drop into its deepest, most chocolate-whiskey-truffle range as he added, “But if I don’t have to amputate, I will dance with you.”
That was enough to send Jack to his shower with some alacrity.
Chapter 1 - Bazaar | Chapter 2 - Maintenance | Chapter 3 - Off-Balance | Chapter Four - Whirl | Chapter Five - Shadows
Chapter Six - Latency
“Good morning!”
Jack breezed into the console room with a bright smile and an eager “let’s get started” clap of the hands, then stopped and circled the central pillar curiously. All the gratings and panels were still in place, no mallets or odd bits of machinery were lying around, but most importantly, there were no long legs sticking out from underneath.
This was a rare occurrence. Remembering the Doctor’s tiredness the night before - not to mention the brief but disturbing drama of his seizure earlier in the day - Jack was a bit concerned. He decided to make his way to the galley, where they all tended to congregate when Rose crawled out of bed, usually several hours after he was up and about.
It had been those morning hours spent together when he had built his rapport with the Doctor. Jack knew from the beginning that the Doctor had been warning him off Rose, even though he never came out and said it - that challenging gaze over her shoulder as he brought her back up from the dip in that first, exhilarating dance said it clearly enough. At the same time, it had also said, “You next?” The signals weren’t so much mixed as complicated. But Jack enjoyed untangling wires, even when they sometimes sparked at him.
Almost as much as he enjoyed flirting with the Doctor, and his TARDIS, which to some extent was the same thing. Praise for the magnificent timeship caused the TARDIS to purr and the Doctor to glow and bluster in equal measure.
The corridor to the galley seemed unusually long, and he was surprised when an unfamiliar door opened to reveal a sleep-disheveled Rose. Her hair was a ratty mess on one side, her feet were bare, and her pink t-shirt was wrinkled, gapping from the red yoga pants riding low on her hips. She looked almost fragile without the mascara and eyeliner she normally overused.
She was closing the door so carefully, as if not to be heard, and when he said her name, even in a stage whisper, she jumped and turned immediately to block the door. When she saw it was him, she relaxed in relief, but crossed her arms protectively across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe with studied casualness.
Jack’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “So, that’s his room, is it?” he asked softly, eyes noting the door carefully. The TARDIS liked to shuffle rooms, and this one with the plain wooden door wasn’t one he’d seen before. Then he looked at her, noting the pinkening of her cheeks. “So he used his energy to dance with you. Good for you!” He was sincere as he reached out to pinch her cheek playfully, and it was true - almost from the first moment he’d met them, although he’d been interested in both individually, there was something so immensely appealing about the two of them together that even the Doctor had realized that Jack had no intention of disrupting that.
But he noticed that her cheeks bore the traces of tears, and the teasing melted away quickly. “Rose? Are you all right? Is he?”
“Fine, fine,” she said softly, her hands on his arms and chest shushing him with soft little pats as she pushed him away from the door. “Just-shh.”
He let her hustle him down the corridor to the suddenly nearby galley, where she shoved him toward the kettle and got two mugs out of the cupboard. He filled the kettle from the tap, watching her root through the transdimensional tea chest before coming up with a couple of rosehip and bramble tea bags. Her movements were tired, and he noticed a new bruise on one bare arm, just beneath the edge of the t-shirt.
“Do you want to go wash your face and brush your hair while this is steeping?” he asked, and instead of the expected saucy reply (“What? This hairstyle is the latest fashion!”), she just looked at him gratefully and handed him the tea as she left the room.
Jack opened the packets and placed each bag in a mug thoughtfully. His curiosity was about to eat him alive, but his concern was greater.
***
The cold water splashing on her face was bracing and, after the first shock, felt remarkably good. Rose picked up a fluffy handtowel and patted the water away, leaning forward to examine her face carefully in the mirror. The cold water reduced the puffiness and unglued her eyelashes; faint circles remained beneath her eyes, but all in all, not too bad, considering that she had only had four or five uninterrupted hours of sleep, followed by several more fitful hours during which tears had slipped intermittently through gritty eyelids.
She had fallen asleep almost immediately upon crawling into bed with the Doctor, but she had been jolted awake too few hours later by his screams. Hoarse, high… She was never more aware that he was alien than when she heard those cries.
She had nudged him gently, easing him into another level of sleep, curling around him while he gathered a few more precious moments of respite.
Until the dreams seized him again, and the routine repeated…
She sighed and reached for her hairbrush. It was truly amazing how much better little things like washing her face and brushing her hair made her feel, and she sent Jack a little warm burst of gratitude.
“Ow!” The protest was instinctive as the brush caught in the snarl on the side of her head, and she reached up to grasp her hair close to the scalp so she could work out the knots without tearing her hair out. As she did, she noticed a shadow under her right arm and lifted her elbow, using her left forefinger to pull back the sleeve of her t-shirt. Three small, blurry bruises were developing, and she had a sudden, sharp memory of his hand gripping her upper arm as a shriek awakened her. At the time, she hadn’t noticed, her hand moving soothingly over his short-cropped hair in a motion that seemed to calm him. It calmed her, at least, and he had eventually settled against her into stillness once more. Nothing unusual. Not anymore. And that bothered her most of all.
The first time she had slept with him was the night they had left the Powell Estate after 10 Downing Street had been blown up. He had been so skittish about staying for dinner, and she should have been furious about him seducing her away with promises of pretty bright lights, but she had also come to understand, some indefinite time later, that he was afraid of staying, afraid of her staying. Afraid she wouldn’t want to leave her mother again, afraid perhaps that he would enjoy that touch of domesticity.
And he hadn’t been stinting on his description of the firestorm in the nebula. The TARDIS had ridden the turbulence like a roller coaster, and they had lain on the soft surface of the floor of the observation room, looking up at the display on the ceiling as if they were watching fireworks from a hillside, laughing like children, gasping in awe. She had even squealed with delight, grabbing his arm in excitement as a shower of gold particles spun at them from the center of an exquisite nebula that looked like the eye of a peacock feather.
As the intensity of the display had waned, they had quietened. The TARDIS showed them drifting into the Eagle Nebula, past the Fairy toward the Pillars of Creation. “I saw pictures of this when I was at school,” she had said softly. “I thought it was beautiful then, but this is amazing.”
She had turned toward him, seen the way he was looking up at the magnificent towers of dust and gas, and her throat had tightened as he lifted his arm to point, a long forefinger tracing the tip of one pillar. “There are stars and planets being born there,” he had murmured, and she had finally torn her eyes away from his haunting face to the view above. He had reached out to pull her closer, guiding her to rest her head and shoulders on his chest so that she could follow his finger as it traced out the new worlds.
The slow steady rhythm of his breathing had lulled her to sleep. And although the sky above her was still the eternal night of outer space, she had known that it was hours later when she had awakened. But he was still lying perfectly still, while she had wrapped around him for warmth and comfort. She had been embarrassed, but he had been watching her with a curious tenderness.
“Good morning.” His soft voice had slithered through her with an intensity that astonished her, and she had blushed, highly aware of her hips pressed tightly into the side of his. She had remembered him gazing at her and musing - I could save the world, but lose you - and a shiver slid down her spine.
“Are you cold?” he had asked, checking on her - Is that okay? Are you all right? - in that way that seemed to slip through her consciousness, always present, never obtrusive. Rubbing her arm had provoked another shiver and she had curled closer to him, looking up, perhaps, for a kiss.
But his eyes had been lost in the stars…
And he hadn’t slept at all, she knew that now.
The bruises were small and not particularly painful - she got worse bumps and bruises just putting away her laundry some days - but they saddened her. She gave her hair another firm brush or two and pulled it up into a scrunchie she found on the floor of her bathroom before going in search of something with longer sleeves so that he wouldn’t see the bruises.
***
Both mugs were on the table in the little breakfast nook when Rose came back, face freshly scrubbed, hair brushed and tidied back in a high ponytail, a red hoodie over her t-shirt, and thick grey athletic socks on her feet.
“Feeling better?” he asked, pushing her mug toward her as she slipped into her chair opposite him.
“Yeah, thanks.” Her smile was pale as she put milk in the tea and took a careful sip. Her eyes closed thankfully at the taste, and after a more substantial sip, she sighed and opened her eyes to him with a smile more like her usual bright grin. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said sincerely, sitting back in his chair easily, sipping his own tea.
She took another sip of tea and tugged one foot up into the seat of the chair with her, wrapping her arm around the knee on which she rested her cheek.
“You look tired,” he observed casually, noting the way she was studying the pattern her spoon made in the milk in her tea.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said, straightening and putting her foot down on the floor with a small smile. “Distracted.”
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “Did you get some sleep?”
“Yes. A few hours, it was good.” She leaned her elbows on the table, pouring a little more milk into her tea. She seemed a little fidgety, flicking her overgrown fringe out of her eyes with her fingertips before resting her chin on her palm. She started to speak once, but hesitated and took another sip of tea. He didn’t press.
“Don’t tease him today, Jack, okay?” Her big brown eyes were shadowed as they looked up at him hopefully.
“Sure,” he agreed easily, and she relaxed a bit. “You don’t think he’ll notice?”
She shrugged, pulling her foot back up into the chair with her as she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. “He’ll find some sort of distraction.” She took another sip of her tea.
“Should he be running around causing trouble?” He kept his tone light.
“It is what makes him happiest.” Her grin was suddenly natural, and she let her knee bounce a couple of times. “Do you want toast?”
“Sounds good.”
She got up to get bread from the pantry and put four slices in the 1950s-style chrome toaster. She stood still for a moment, watching the coils heat up, then turned around, gripping the edge of the eggshell formica counter as she leaned back against it. “We sleep together, Jack. That’s it. Just sleep.”
He was a little surprised at her almost defiant tone. “Okay.”
She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, then pushed off the counter to cross to the refrigerator and got out the butter and a small pot of jam. “Not sure I really understand it myself,” she admitted, setting the condiments on the table, then turning away from him to retrieve the toast from the toaster. “It’s - weird, when I think about it.” She took a couple of small plates from the cupboard and cutlery from a drawer, talking as if to herself as she brought the toast to the table. “But it’s not weird when it’s happening. It feels so natural, like it’s right to be there, and that all I want to do is hold him.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Jack’s voice was soft as she sat back down across from him.
“It seems like…a totally different thing.” She struggled for words, her eyes on a point somewhere near the far corner of the ceiling. “Sometimes, y’know, I just-” She made claws of her hands and growled in a way that surprised and amused him. “I want to throw him up against one of those struts in the console room and-”
She stopped, looking down embarrassed, and Jack had to chuckle. “I’m not blaming you for that,” he said gently, taking a piece of toast and buttering it.
She looked back at him with a rueful smile. “But it’s not like that when we sleep together.”
“It sounds nice,” he said honestly.
She sighed, taking up a piece of toast herself. “I just wish he could sleep.”
Jack leaned forward in concern, just as the Doctor strolled into the galley, his step bouncing with his usual energy. “So!” He opened up the cupboard and hooked a mug out with his forefinger, spinning it around and catching it easily in his big palm. He fixed them with a bright blue gaze. “What are we going to do today?”
***
“Run!”
The Doctor’s roar seemed to set wings on his heels, and he crashed through the underbrush, reaching back to grab Rose’s hand and help pull her up the incline to the riverbank where the TARDIS stood with doors open, a beacon of safety and warmth. He and Rose collapsed, breathless on the ramp, and the Doctor shut the doors quickly, leaning against them as if to brace them as the screaming mass heaved uselessly against the exterior.
“Everybody okay?” asked the Doctor intently as Jack and Rose untangled themselves from each other, a task made significantly more difficult as they were both muddy and cold and some thorned vines were wrapped around their limbs.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t fuss,” protested Rose as Jack tried to find her face in her pink parka, which had twisted around her as they had fallen.
He let her go with a playfully resentful, “Excuse me, I was only trying to help.”
“Well - don’t,” she retorted, grunting slightly as she shifted her hips over and got her bum on the grating in order to sit up. She got hold of the tail of her muddied parka and jerked it around, so that she could glare up at the Doctor from the frame of bedraggled fake fur and her own wet, tangled hair.
Jack struggled not to smile at her mutinous expression, especially as the Doctor leaned back against the doors, arms folded across his chest, ankle swinging nonchalantly across his shin to plant the toe of his boot as his face split in one of those dazzling, irresistible grins. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Rose, evidently, could resist, even if Jack couldn’t. She pushed back the hood, reaching down to jerk at the vine wrapped loosely around her ankles with her gloved hands.
“Owww!” she cried, in frustration, shaking her hand as one of the thorns pierced the leather. The Doctor was on his knees at her feet in an instant, capturing her hand in both of his, removing her glove carefully but quickly to inspect the damage.
A bright red bead of blood grew on her palm, on the rise beneath her forefinger, and Jack watched as the Doctor brought her hand to his mouth, sucking away the blood in an instant so that he could see the puncture beneath. The sharp, strong features were intently focused as his thumb pressed against the flesh to raise another bead of blood.
Rose’s lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dilated as the Doctor looked up at her, his face bare inches from hers.
Kiss her, you fool! Jack thought the line fiercely, remembering any number of Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn films where that line would have worked, but no. The Doctor simply smiled, a perfectly friendly, reassuring, non-smitten smile.
“It’s all right. Just a little nick. A little antiseptic’ll do for that.”
Rose jerked her hand out of his, blowing her fringe up off her forehead with an exasperated exhalation. “Did you have to get them all riled up?”
“How was I to know they’d think we were after their nests?” He started to take on that look of a guilty five-year-old in a pout.
“Oh, I don’t know, because you know everything,” she retorted, tugging down the zip of her parka, and slapping his hands away when he reached out to help. Jack leaned back on his elbow, grinning broadly, as the Doctor’s expression changed to that eager, elated exhilaration of discovery.
“But we got to see them unfurl their wings. Aren’t they amazing in the sunset? All red and gold and transparent!” He made a surprisingly delicate gesture of wonder, with his long fingers, unfurling them in a distinctly non-human manner that exactly mimicked the unfurling of the dragon wings they had just observed in the wild. A little more closely than they had intended.
Rose was still glaring, but Jack could see her respond to his enthusiasm, fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to see them in a zoo, would you?” The Doctor seemed both defensive and disappointed at the thought, and Rose melted immediately, squeezing his arm with her still-gloved hand.
“No, of course not.” She brushed at a small patch of mud on his leather sleeve and slanted him an accusing look. “How come you’re not as messy as we are?”
He shrugged, then gave a bright, hopeful smile - sometimes he really was just like a child, mused Jack. “Genius, me. Manifests in all sorts o’ways.”
Rose’s expression was a priceless mixture of exasperation and instinctive response to his infectious smile. “Yeah, right.” She shook her head and shucked off the parka, as the Doctor began to unwind the vines around her legs with quick, clever fingers.
Jack sat up to get out of his own quilted jacket, becoming increasingly aware of the muddy jeans clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He took off his gloves and began picking at the wet laces of his boots as Rose was finally freed from the vines wrapped around her.
“Nice hot shower, hot as you can stand, and lots of soap,” prescribed the Doctor, giving her a supporting hand as she struggled to her feet, hampered by her own mud-encrusted boots and jeans. “And then meet me in the medlab, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she sighed and trudged off toward her room.
Jack was surprised as those clever long fingers went to work on the vine wrapped around his left leg, and he looked up to meet the steel-blue eyes watching him intently. “You okay, Jack?” he asked with concern, tossing away the already wilting greenery, rubbing Jack’s calf carefully through the jeans. His action made Jack not only aware of the sensitive strength of those fingers, but that his skin was scratched and itching underneath.
“I think it broke the skin,” he said, squirming a little, and in an instant, the Doctor’s fingers were at the waistband of his jeans, popping the snap and pulling down the zip.
“Hey!” Jack was taken by surprise for a moment, but lowered his voice to a soft purr as he unconsciously mirrored Rose’s action and squeezed the leather-clad arm. “Hey, slow down.” He lifted his hips for the Doctor to get the wet jeans off him. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
The Doctor didn’t even bother to roll his eyes at him, nor did he appear to notice that Jack was - rather uncomfortably - bare-assed on the grating as he lifted his calf for closer inspection. There was a scratch above his ankle, not much in itself, but the skin around it was beginning to pinken, and Jack curled his fingers through the grating to resist reaching down to scratch.
The Doctor’s long fingers wrapped around his shin, his thumb rubbing carefully over the irritated skin.
Jack’s mouth got the better of him. “Gonna kiss it better?”
The intense eyes flicked up at him. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”
“It’s just a scratch.” Jack motioned at it with his free hand. “You didn’t seem so concerned with Rose.”
“You may be allergic to the vine,” he said, with maddening sensibility. “You’re having more of a reaction to it. It’s probably not serious, but it’s not an opportunity to flirt.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Jack leaned forward, challenging the steely eyes that locked so firmly on his. “Everything is an opportunity to flirt.”
He only had to lean forward an inch or two to take the kiss he’d wanted since he’d been tossed a banana and informed that it was a good source of potassium. Despite the cold grating underneath him and the persistent itch that seemed to get worse when he thought about it, parts of him were taking a definite interest.
The problem was, he didn’t want to take. He wanted it to be given, and that was not going to happen, as the Doctor released his leg and helped him free himself from the tangle of boots and jeans and a couple of smaller vines.
“Same thing I told Rose,” he said efficiently, giving Jack a hand to stand up. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
“Sure you don’t want to join me?” asked Jack, affecting his most teasing leer.
“Nope.” The Doctor’s cheerful refusal should have put an effective damper on his interest, but damn, if that voice didn’t drop into its deepest, most chocolate-whiskey-truffle range as he added, “But if I don’t have to amputate, I will dance with you.”
That was enough to send Jack to his shower with some alacrity.