Relict (8/13?, DW, 9/J/R, Teen for the moment)
Chapter One - Bazaar | Chapter Two - Maintenance | Chapter Three - Off-Balance | Chapter Four - Whirl | Chapter Five - Shadows | Chapter Six - Latency | Chapter Seven - Ritual
Thanks as always to wendymr for the beta reading.
Chapter Eight - Unpredictable
“I’m starting to think that the unpredictable is pretty predictable around you, Doctor.” Jack’s voice was soft and hollow, and Rose put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
***
“Goodnight, Jack.”
Rose’s fingers were still linked with the Doctor’s as Jack kissed her forehead goodnight outside his door. He then briefly cupped the Doctor’s cheek with his hand, their eyes meeting for a long moment, and Rose thought for a moment he was going to kiss him again. But then, Jack turned and disappeared into his room, and she was unsure how she felt about that. Watching them dance had stirred something in her, and she was surprised it hadn’t been jealousy. If Jack had got a goodnight kiss, however, she was pretty sure there would have been a bit of that, but she still found she would have enjoyed watching it. Where had that come from?
She leaned tiredly into the Doctor’s shoulder as he escorted her to her own bedroom.
“Goodnight, Rose.”
She turned to look up at him, one hand on the doorknob of her door. He looked more relaxed than he had in a while - eyes a warm, dark blue; a soft pink flush across his sharp cheekbones. Her fingers tightened on his. “Do you want to come in?” Her heart stuttered when she heard the words come out of her mouth, and his eyes dilated, reflecting her uptilted face in the black pupils as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” His voice seemed to vibrate through her body, and, as tired as she was, she could feel the response tugging at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought there was something slightly suggestive about his tone, the look in his eyes, even the way his body seemed to relax and curve toward her.
“You didn’t get much sleep last night.” She was sincere in that concern. “Maybe it took the edge off, and you could get some real rest.”
He was silent for a moment, his thumb rubbing lightly into the palm of her hand. She’d never thought of that part of her body as an erogenous zone, but the touch was distracting as he leaned a little closer. “Rose.” The way he spoke her name always did something to her, and as he bowed his head, she thought - hoped - for a moment that he might kiss her. She stretched up toward him, and his eyes closed, lips parted…
He bowed his head, his temple pressing against hers, and she caught her breath, her free hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket as a wave of arousal, almost painful in its intensity, swept over her; but as she turned her mouth toward his, he lifted his head
to look searchingly into her eyes. She swayed toward him, and he opened his arms, taking her in a deep embrace. She bit her lip, hugging him back, feeling something like relief radiating from him. “Goodnight, Rose,” he murmured into her hair before setting her back from him without looking at her, and she leaned against the door, watching his back as he retreated down the corridor and around the curve.
She stifled the desire to stick her tongue out at him, but slammed her bedroom door behind her. If he’d been a girl - or she’d been a boy - there would be a satisfyingly coarse name she could have called him.
***
Rose awoke a bit heavily, but then she was not really a morning person. She fought her way out of the duvet and shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. By that time, she had remembered the promise of a harvest festival and had begun to perk up. From her wardrobe, she took out a dress she’d found in the wardrobe room some weeks earlier but never had the opportunity to wear. It wasn’t her usual style - almost like something a dancer would wear, simple, long-sleeved and round-necked, a jersey knit type of material with princess seams flaring to a fairly full skirt. Short, but not mini-skirt short. What had struck her eye was the pattern. Something like tie-dye, but much finer and more complex, a mottling of greens, blues, salmons, and russets, with subtle flashes of gold and cream. Those autumnal colours ought to be good for a harvest festival, she thought, and pulled on some brown tights and flat suede ankle boots. Travelling with the Doctor had made her appreciate sensible footwear.
Frustrated with her too-long fringe - she didn’t dare cut it herself, as her mum would be more than a bit cross the next time she fetched up home - she braided her hair back at the temples. The brown stone pendant hanging from its delicate chain from the corner of her mirror caught her eye, and she fastened it on, turning from side to side to get a sense of the effect. Her hands smoothed the flared skirt over her hips, and she thought maybe she should reconsider “her style”, as this accentuated her figure with flattering results.
Grabbing up her cream denim jacket, she made her way to the galley, where Jack was finishing up what looked to have been a hearty breakfast while the Doctor was leaning against the counter with a cup of tea, regaling Jack with some engineering exploit that seemed to be highly entertaining to both of them. Without missing a beat in his tale, the Doctor held her mug out to her, and she accepted gratefully, taking a sip of her favourite morning brew, rosehip and bramble tea with honey and milk. As he came to a stopping place, he turned his eyes from Jack to her, watching her as she took the first sip.
“God, you two are so cute!” Jack grinned from ear to ear as he got up from the table to carry his dishes to the dishwasher. “Do you, like, compare notes at night so you’re all set for the morning?”
The two of them looked at him in confusion, and he waved his dirty fork vaguely between them.
“Colour coordinated. Seems like nine days out of ten you’re wearing the same thing.”
She and the Doctor each looked down at their own clothes, then at the other’s, then back up for their eyes to meet as Jack cackled to himself. It was true, the deep cinnamon red of his jumper exactly matched the dominant colour splashed across the front of her dress.
“The TARDIS gave me this dress,” she said, not sure why she felt so defensive, or why her eyes slid away from the Doctor’s, her cheeks warming.
Jack closed the dishwasher, turning to face her with a suppressed smirk. “Want some breakfast, sweetheart?”
“Won’t there be food at a harvest festival?” she asked, despite her empty belly.
“Yes, of course. But just in case…” The Doctor turned and took a couple of bananas and something like an orange from the fruit bowl, tucking them into his pockets. “Ready to be off, then?”
“Hey, let a girl finish her tea first, all right?”
***
“Hold on.” Rose released the Doctor’s hand - for the first time since they’d left the TARDIS a couple of hours ago, Jack was sure - long enough to take off her jacket and tie the sleeves around her waist. It might have been morning for them, but they had arrived at their destination late afternoon local time, and the light of the large orange sun provided more heat than the crisp breeze and the sharp, cloudless, slightly lavender-tinged sky might have suggested, and they’d hiked a fair way from where the TARDIS had materialized, further up in the foothills. Jack had been glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs and breathe some natural atmosphere, and he suspected the Doctor was appreciating Rose’s slight glow of exertion and almost incessant happy chatter. Jack knew he was, particularly walking just far enough behind them to get the full benefit of the slight sway of her hips in the silky dress and the loose-limbed stride of the Doctor.
The village market was settled into a shallow, wooded depression, along a broad, but fairly docile river. Open-walled sheds with thatched roofs sheltered among the trees, displaying produce, preserves, cheeses, dried fish and meats, and assorted crafts. Rose was particularly taken by some carved wooden toys of animals, articulated like puppets, but in such a clever way that tugging a single string set them dancing, so the Doctor purchased a couple, tucking the box under his free arm while Rose hugged his other excitedly in thanks.
“I’m getting hungry,” she complained a few minutes later, looking at a generous display of pies and preserves.
“You don’t want to eat too much, there’s a feast after sundown.” The Doctor picked up one glass jar of a dark red fruit preserve, his eyebrows knitting thoughtfully as he examined the handwritten label.
“I didn’t have any breakfast,” Rose reminded him.
It took a split second for him to look up and give her one of those sudden, out-of-nowhere smiles. “So you didn’t. Right. What do you have a mind for?”
“What’s that, looks kind of like a Cornish pasty?” She pointed to a pile of crescent-shaped pies on a plate.
“Probably the local equivalent. Sir?” The Doctor caught the attention of the man in the apron working at the back of the shed, chopping vegetables as a young woman kneaded dough on the table beside him.
The man looked up to acknowledge them, then set aside his knife and wiped his hands on his apron as he came forward. As he drew closer, his salesman-eager stride and smile faltered, and he grew more wary, dark eyes searching the Doctor’s face. Jack felt the Doctor tense beside him, and Jack stepped closer behind the leather-clad shoulder, his arm dropping casually but protectively around Rose’s shoulders.
“Good afternoon, sir. What’s in that small pasty?” The tone was pleasant enough, but Jack could detect the undercurrent of disquiet.
The man replied with words which translated as lamb, potato, carrot, and blueberries in Jack’s head, and the Doctor looked to Rose, who looked up at him with a curious, “Blueberries?”
“They’re rather tart - same effect as a bit of pepper, really,” explained the Doctor, and she grinned.
“Okay. Yes, please.”
The Doctor nodded approvingly. “Lovely. Shall we have two, please?” He handed over a selection of coins, and Jack noticed the slight tremor in the stall-owner’s hands as he handed over two of the small pies wrapped in a thin mat made of roughly woven leaves like corn husks. His eyes were caught by the cessation of the rhythmic movement of the young woman’s kneading, and when he looked at her, he saw her eyes flicking curiously between the Doctor and the man who had the same dark eyes and hair and red-brown skin as she did. Her age was vague; she might have been his wife, or his daughter, but on closer inspection, Jack realized that their features and colouring were slightly different from the other softer-featured, mostly darker-skinned villagers they had seen.
With a nod and a smile, the Doctor guided his companions away from the stall to a table in a communal eating area. Jack took up a seat opposite them, while Rose sat so close to the Doctor, not a sliver of late afternoon light glowed between them. She took a tentative bite of one pasty, and her face lit up, then she tucked in eagerly.
“What was that back there?” asked Jack, leaning across the wooden table so that he could speak softly. “Did you know them?”
Rose looked from Jack to the Doctor, her cheeks stuffed with pasty like a curious chipmunk, and Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at her and getting a smack or a kick under the table.
The shake of the Doctor’s head was almost imperceptible. “No. But they’re not Mirwadi.”
“On this planet at this time in history? Who are they, then?” Jack sneaked a corner of Rose’s second pasty, and made a small sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. “Other than first-rate pie-makers?”
“Janiaru.”
Jack tilted his head, feeling as if he had water blocking one ear. The TARDIS’s translation circuit seemed to have cut out suddenly. “Never heard of them.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t have done,” said the Doctor with that forced brightness, his eyes stormcloud blue even as he grinned at Rose and reached around her to steal a part of the pasty Jack had already despoiled. She slapped the back of his hand, but put her hand over her mouth for good manners as she laughed as his exaggerated show of passing the bit of pie from one hand to the other around her before popping it into his mouth.
Jack knew that his curiosity was destined to remain unsatisfied for the time being, and so he gave into their usual playful banter.
***
They took a turn around the large, intricate structure of wood taking shape in the center of the market. Men were stacking logs like some sort of abstract pick-up sticks game, and women were weaving dried plants into elaborate shapes that filled in the spaces.
“What’s that for?” asked Rose, idly running her pendant up and down along its chain as they watched an agile little boy scramble up to anchor a streamer of flowering vines at the apex of the rough pyramid.
“Bonfire,” explained the Doctor succinctly, and she looked up at him, faintly distressed.
“They’re doing all this just to burn it?”
“’Course. It’s a fairly common ritual of most agrarian societies. Some sort of sacrifice is given in thanks for the bounty of nature. The Mirwadi are animists, and burning the vines and stalks and such is like shearing the wool-bearing animals or letting a field lie fallow - it’s ‘destruction’ or ‘waste’ that makes things healthier, and they put some of the vegetables and meat into the various hollows in the framework, in effigies or models of the animals or plants they want to flourish the next year.”
“Isn’t that a waste of food?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully on the finding of her pendant.
“Nope.” The Doctor grinned. “It’s the feast for later. Oi, don’t do that.” He crooked a finger beneath the pendant to take it out of her mouth, like a parent with a toddler, but instead of the cheeky grin and tongue-poking Jack expected, Rose’s eyes locked with the Doctor, warm and compliant as she brushed her lower lip lightly against the side of his finger. From slightly behind the Doctor, Jack could see only the tension across the sharp rise of his cheekbone, and a dark reflection of the invitation in Rose’s eyes.
For a moment, Jack forgot to breathe. He’d witnessed, been a party to, some of the most overt sexual experimentation in any century, any culture, primitive or so-called civilized (usually the most depraved end of the spectrum, in his experience), but time and again, the innocent eroticism of his two travelling companions threatened to overwhelm him. How did the man, Time Lord or not, resist?
“It’s delicate,” explained the Doctor softly, and Jack had to consciously re-orient his brain synapses to understand that as a comment about the necklace.
“Right,” murmured Rose, looking away with a bit of embarrassment, a touch of disappointment, and a fair helping of frustration. Jack briefly considered substituting the flowering fruit vines for silk rope in his usual “tying them together” fantasy, then stepped forward to take Rose’s hand and pull her off to a stand selling embroidered shawls as a distraction. If the Doctor lost a step or two following them, it was his own damned fault.
***
Rose pulled the gold-embroidered russet shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She didn’t need the warmth, as the bonfire blazing in the centre of the clearing provided more than enough heat. But she took pleasure in the sensation of the silky wool against her upper back, bared by the dress, and she bounced on her heels to the simple, infectious beat of the small ensemble playing up a storm. Drums, bagpipes, flutes, and an assortment of jangly percussion whipped the dancers circling the bonfire into a frenzy. She bounced her heels lightly against the packed dirt, feeling the light shocks run up her body, and the desire to join the dancing seemed to seep into her bones.
She had noticed more than one couple slipping off into the forest, and she was amused that Jack was still prominently visible, cavorting with some of the village maidens. It was only a matter of time, she supposed, and without thinking, she turned to see the Doctor, leaning against a tree behind her, arms folded across his chest. She could feel the impact of his gaze almost physically, and she found herself crossing the few feet to him, holding both hands out to him.
“Care to dance?” she asked, knowing her voice couldn’t be heard over the skirling music, but his eyes were hot blue in the firelight as he pushed off the tree with his shoulder and put his hands in hers. With a surge of elation, she turned to pull him into the circle of dancers.
The steps were easy enough, though the intricate weaving of the partners’ arms had them bumping awkwardly a couple of times. Rather than breaking the spell, their laughter added to their exhilaration, and Rose tilted her head back, laughing in sheer pleasure as they negotiated the individual spinning correctly for the first time, ending up with their linked arms wrapped one around her waist, the other over their heads as they spun together. Giddy, she was nonetheless highly aware of the lean strength of his hip and thigh against her.
The change of rhythm caught them flat-footed for a moment, and they stumbled, laughing, into the next dance, trying to catch up to the twining concentric circles of dancers that braid like the vines around the bonfire. Rose realized with a twinge of regret that the pattern was one that would lead to the switching of partners, as the men on the inner circle traced a pattern around the women on the outer circle before the circles moved in contrary motion.
Still, the dance went on, and Rose threw herself into it with abandon, her eyes meeting the Doctor’s almost every turn and bow until he had passed around the curve of the fire from her.
“Hello, sweetheart! Having a good time?” Jack’s teeth flashed in the firelight as he caught her up in his arms, spinning her around.
“Fantastic!” The word slipped unself-consciously from her lips as she twitched the fullness of her skirt flirtatiously and performed a stamping step she’d seen some of the other women doing.
Jack laughed, and he clapped his hands to the rhythm as they circled each other, back to back, then side by side before parting. The rhythm of the dance grew faster and faster until the music seemed to reach a frenzy, and the central section of the bonfire collapsed with a huge column of fire blazing up into the night sky. The dancers stopped applauding wildly, and Rose looked around to find Jack, hugging a plump village woman with more than a little intent.
Grinning, she made her way through the surging crowd to stand behind the woman, raising an eyebrow at Jack’s enthusiastic embrace, and he merely smirked at Rose, rocking the woman, who didn’t seem particularly inclined to let him go, either. Rose winked, crossed her arms on her chest and tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking around for the Doctor. He was taller than most of the locals, and like herself and Jack, fairer than most, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Leaving Jack to his own devices for a moment, she made her way around the circle, looking out for him. It was only when she saw Jack again, kissing the plump woman before turning his attention to another, more statuesque beauty, that she realized she’d completed the circuit of the bonfire.
“Where is he?” she wondered out loud, noting that their packages with the toys and her jacket were still bundled under the tree where he’d been standing.
“Jack?” she ventured to interrupt. “I can’t find the Doctor. I’ve been all around the bonfire…”
“Perhaps your friend has gone into the forest,” said the plump woman with obvious sympathy. “It is the night for it.”
“Anyone else, and I’d agree with you, Milvet,” said Jack, taking a look around himself. “But believe me, sweetheart, we’ve both been trying to ‘take him into the forest’ for ages, and he’s not having any.” The women looked a little startled at Jack’s comment, and Rose began to feel a bit unsettled as Jack gave each of them a brief kiss on the forehead, then grabbed her hand and dragged her around the bonfire for another look.
“He wouldn’t have gone off without us,” asserted Rose, the force of her voice intended to reassure herself. It wasn’t working.
“Nah, of course not.” Jack didn’t sound any more convinced than she felt, peering into the shadows of the forest. “It’s not like there’s any mechanical doohickeys around to catch his attention.”
“Mechanical doohickeys,” she repeated with a stifled giggle. “Is that a technical term?”
“Well, not as technical as thingummy.” Jack’s grin was a little forced.
“Or jiggery pokery,” she agreed, her heart tightening with the memory. She wasn’t afraid yet, but the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.
They continued to weave among those still milling around the bonfire - mostly older people, children, and a few unmatched younger folk - hands tightening their clasp as they searched. Rose felt her throat tighten, and she echoed it with her fingers, but Jack’s hand was too square, his fingers too thick as she threaded hers through them. She untwined their fingers with a little shudder, clasping her fingers around his palm instead.
“Oh, look at her,” murmured Jack, and Rose turned to follow his gaze instinctively, though with a surge of frustration at his wandering eye. But she realized almost immediately that this was not his usual hunting behaviour. A young woman was moving around the outer circle of the bonfire, her casual movements not masking a trembling in her limbs or the ashy cast under her red-brown skin. She was small and slender, her black hair in several thick braids, and she was wearing a traditionally embroidered dress similar to Rose’s shawl. It took a moment, but Rose realized she was the young woman from the pie stall, and when her darting eyes caught them, she started to run.
Without a word or a glance, Jack and Rose were after her and caught up with her among the stalls. She backed herself defensively against the closed awning of one, and Jack held his hands up and out.
“We’re not going to hurt you.” His voice was low and soothing. “But we’re looking for our friend. Tall as me, but about half as wide, leather jacket, ears?” He flicked his own ears with his forefingers. “You saw him today when we bought pasties. Did you see him tonight?”
The young woman - a girl, really, not much older than Rose herself, twined her fingers in a necklace made of roughly shaped stones. “I didn’t hurt him,” she promised, looking like she was about to cry. “I- I just wanted to talk to him. I didn’t touch him.”
Rose felt her stomach roil at the words, realizing that, underneath the vagueness, something had indeed happened to the Doctor, and Jack’s voice was sharp, a bit shrill when he demanded, “Where is he?”
“He-” She stopped, closing her dark eyes for a moment, even though it was so dark in this deserted part of the market that it was difficult for Rose to see her expressions clearly. “We went into the forest. I left him there.”
“Where? Show us!” Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her sharply toward him, but Rose put her hand on his arm, protesting.
“Don’t scare her, Jack. I don’t think she meant any harm. But please?” Tears filled her own eyes as she turned them to the young woman. “Please, take us to him. What happened?”
“I don’t know!” The young woman’s wail seemed to rise on Rose’s own panic. “We were talking, and he just-”
“Just what?!” Jack made a fist at his side, and the young woman flinched, raising her arm protectively. He took a deep, unsteady breath, relaxing his hand and shoulders deliberately. “Please, take us to him. Let us help him. We just want to find him. Is he all right?”
She lowered her arm tentatively. “I didn’t touch him,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “He just - fell. As dead. But still alive. Possessed!”
“Oh, God!” Rose covered her mouth with her hand, and Jack swore softly. She knew the same image of the Doctor fitting on the grating of the TARDIS console room was playing in his mind.
“He’s not possessed, he’s ill, we must find him.” Jack’s voice was soft as he took the young woman’s hand. “What’s your name?”
Rose wanted to shriek in frustration at Jack’s patience, even though she was grateful for it.
“Aliala.”
“Aliala, please take us to him. We can help him.”
Rose wasn’t so sure about that as Jack, but all she wanted was to find the Doctor, and it was almost more than she could bear to follow the wary Aliala’s tentative pace.
“Aliala, please.” Jack was clearly as frustrated as she was. “We must move faster.”
Aliala quickened her pace slightly toward the bonfire, then striking out into the forest. Rose could hear the unmistakable sounds of sex in the distance, but her ears were trained for some sound of the Doctor. Their guide stopped, looking around in the near darkness for a moment. Only then did Jack seem to think of taking a small torch from his pocket, shining the light ahead as Aliala took them to a trampled nest of large ferns. Clearly, someone had been there, but she looked around, confused. “He was here,” she claimed, defensively, and even before she was finished, Jack and Rose were calling his name, moving through the trees to find him.
She was on her knees before she realized it, falling across his body, and Jack was on the ground beside her, torch in his teeth, as he pushed her off the still figure almost roughly in his eagerness. She scrambled out of the way, hands reaching for the cold, pale face, half-turned into the dirt.
“Don’t move him yet!” cried Jack, handing her the torch. “He might have broken something.” He was panting as he pushed back his jacket sleeve to get at his wristcomp, and a pale blue cone of light scanned the long body sprawled on the forest floor. “Yeah, okay, nothing’s broken. Let’s get him on his side. He might have vomited when he seized.”
Rose’s hands were trembling, but she had no idea she was sobbing until they had got the Doctor’s considerable dead weight and awkwardly long limbs arranged on his side. Jack checked his mouth and throat with a finger, then sighed with relief, looking up at Rose to put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s breathing, Rose. Both hearts are beating. He’s just unconscious, okay?”
“No, it’s not bloody okay, he’s had another fit and he’s unconscious!” she shouted angrily, barely feeling Jack’s hand stroking her hair as she slid down behind the Doctor, embracing him from behind as she brushed the dirt from his cooler-than-usual cheek. Despite Jack’s assurances, her unsteady fingers sought the pulse points in his long throat, and she laid her cheek against his, temple to temple, willing him to wake up.
Pressed against him, she could feel that he was not exactly limp, nor was he stiff, his muscles locked in fine seizure, and Jack sat back on his heels helplessly, running his fingers through his hair.
“What happened? What were you talking about when this happened?” His words cut through her fog, and both Rose and Jack looked around and realized Aliala was nowhere to be seen.
“Can’t blame her,” Jack said tenderly, his big hand curving to the Doctor’s cheek as Rose rested her forehead against the soft stubble on the back of his head. Jack’s thumb brushed more dirt from the high cheekbone. “You must have scared the hell out of the poor girl. You sure have us.” He bent down to kiss the pale face.
“Mmmph - sh - sha.” Jack and Rose both sat bolt upright at the soft protest, and Jack reached for the abandoned torch, shining it onto the Doctor’s face.
“Mmm - ah!” The long hands reached up weakly, and Jack deflected the light across the Doctor, rather than directly into his eyes.
“Sorry,” he apologized, a bit sheepishly. “A bit too eager to see those baby blues. Can you hear me, Doc?”
Even in the indirect light, Jack got a good glare, and he grinned unrepentantly. “Good. If you’re okay enough to be pissed off, that’s a very good sign.”
Rose felt the knot in her chest ease just a little bit, and she fell on his chest, hugging him fiercely. This time, the comforting hand in her hair was long and slender and unsteady, with shaking fingers, and it felt like the most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced.
“You might want to let him breathe,” Jack commented wryly, and Rose brushed tears from her hot cheeks as she sat up.
“Can you breathe?” she asked the Doctor with concern, and his widely dilated eyes struggled to focus on her for a moment, even as he smiled and patted his own chest rhythmically.
“Good.” She laughed through her tears, and his head fell back against the mat of leaves and ferns, eyes closing. “No!” Panic rose in her throat, but his hand found hers, tightening slightly, and Jack reached across to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.
“I think he’s just weak from the seizure.”
“Yeah.”
Jack’s relief was as evident as her own at the Doctor’s hoarse whisper, and Jack moved to straighten out the long legs. Rose reached down to help, pulling her hand back in shock as she realized his jeans were wet. The ground was not damp, and as she realized the extent of his loss of control, her heart tripped. Jack said nothing but stripped off his own jacket to cover the Doctor’s hips and legs. Away from the fire and the exertion of dancing and panic, Rose was beginning to feel the autumnal chill, but she took off her shawl, folding it to make a pillow. As she lifted the Doctor’s head to slip the shawl beneath it, the pale eyes opened, almost colourless in the light of several small, silver-white moons.
“TAR’sss.” The word was indistinct but unmistakable.
“We’re a good two hours’ walk away,” said Jack, checking his wristcomp again. He hesitated for a moment, then punched a few buttons. “Look, this isn’t manufacturer-recommended operation, but I think this qualifies as an emergency. Rose, can you get under his head a bit more and hold him still?”
Jack helped Rose lift the Doctor’s head and shoulders so that she could sit cross-legged underneath, cradling him in her lap.
“This transporter is only built for one,” he explained, looking at both of them. “But I think we can get there safely if we hold on tight. I just can’t predict what kind of landing we’ll have.” He took a deep breath and looked down. “I’m starting to think that the unpredictable is pretty predictable around you, Doctor.” Jack’s voice was soft and hollow as his fingertips traced the gaunt face, and Rose reached out to put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
Jack lay down on the forest floor, his body pressed to the Doctor’s side, leg curving over his hips. He got one arm underneath him, against Rose’s knees, and reached across his chest to his wristcomp. “Everybody ready?”
He tapped the red button.
Thanks as always to wendymr for the beta reading.
Chapter Eight - Unpredictable
“I’m starting to think that the unpredictable is pretty predictable around you, Doctor.” Jack’s voice was soft and hollow, and Rose put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
***
“Goodnight, Jack.”
Rose’s fingers were still linked with the Doctor’s as Jack kissed her forehead goodnight outside his door. He then briefly cupped the Doctor’s cheek with his hand, their eyes meeting for a long moment, and Rose thought for a moment he was going to kiss him again. But then, Jack turned and disappeared into his room, and she was unsure how she felt about that. Watching them dance had stirred something in her, and she was surprised it hadn’t been jealousy. If Jack had got a goodnight kiss, however, she was pretty sure there would have been a bit of that, but she still found she would have enjoyed watching it. Where had that come from?
She leaned tiredly into the Doctor’s shoulder as he escorted her to her own bedroom.
“Goodnight, Rose.”
She turned to look up at him, one hand on the doorknob of her door. He looked more relaxed than he had in a while - eyes a warm, dark blue; a soft pink flush across his sharp cheekbones. Her fingers tightened on his. “Do you want to come in?” Her heart stuttered when she heard the words come out of her mouth, and his eyes dilated, reflecting her uptilted face in the black pupils as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” His voice seemed to vibrate through her body, and, as tired as she was, she could feel the response tugging at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought there was something slightly suggestive about his tone, the look in his eyes, even the way his body seemed to relax and curve toward her.
“You didn’t get much sleep last night.” She was sincere in that concern. “Maybe it took the edge off, and you could get some real rest.”
He was silent for a moment, his thumb rubbing lightly into the palm of her hand. She’d never thought of that part of her body as an erogenous zone, but the touch was distracting as he leaned a little closer. “Rose.” The way he spoke her name always did something to her, and as he bowed his head, she thought - hoped - for a moment that he might kiss her. She stretched up toward him, and his eyes closed, lips parted…
He bowed his head, his temple pressing against hers, and she caught her breath, her free hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket as a wave of arousal, almost painful in its intensity, swept over her; but as she turned her mouth toward his, he lifted his head
to look searchingly into her eyes. She swayed toward him, and he opened his arms, taking her in a deep embrace. She bit her lip, hugging him back, feeling something like relief radiating from him. “Goodnight, Rose,” he murmured into her hair before setting her back from him without looking at her, and she leaned against the door, watching his back as he retreated down the corridor and around the curve.
She stifled the desire to stick her tongue out at him, but slammed her bedroom door behind her. If he’d been a girl - or she’d been a boy - there would be a satisfyingly coarse name she could have called him.
***
Rose awoke a bit heavily, but then she was not really a morning person. She fought her way out of the duvet and shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. By that time, she had remembered the promise of a harvest festival and had begun to perk up. From her wardrobe, she took out a dress she’d found in the wardrobe room some weeks earlier but never had the opportunity to wear. It wasn’t her usual style - almost like something a dancer would wear, simple, long-sleeved and round-necked, a jersey knit type of material with princess seams flaring to a fairly full skirt. Short, but not mini-skirt short. What had struck her eye was the pattern. Something like tie-dye, but much finer and more complex, a mottling of greens, blues, salmons, and russets, with subtle flashes of gold and cream. Those autumnal colours ought to be good for a harvest festival, she thought, and pulled on some brown tights and flat suede ankle boots. Travelling with the Doctor had made her appreciate sensible footwear.
Frustrated with her too-long fringe - she didn’t dare cut it herself, as her mum would be more than a bit cross the next time she fetched up home - she braided her hair back at the temples. The brown stone pendant hanging from its delicate chain from the corner of her mirror caught her eye, and she fastened it on, turning from side to side to get a sense of the effect. Her hands smoothed the flared skirt over her hips, and she thought maybe she should reconsider “her style”, as this accentuated her figure with flattering results.
Grabbing up her cream denim jacket, she made her way to the galley, where Jack was finishing up what looked to have been a hearty breakfast while the Doctor was leaning against the counter with a cup of tea, regaling Jack with some engineering exploit that seemed to be highly entertaining to both of them. Without missing a beat in his tale, the Doctor held her mug out to her, and she accepted gratefully, taking a sip of her favourite morning brew, rosehip and bramble tea with honey and milk. As he came to a stopping place, he turned his eyes from Jack to her, watching her as she took the first sip.
“God, you two are so cute!” Jack grinned from ear to ear as he got up from the table to carry his dishes to the dishwasher. “Do you, like, compare notes at night so you’re all set for the morning?”
The two of them looked at him in confusion, and he waved his dirty fork vaguely between them.
“Colour coordinated. Seems like nine days out of ten you’re wearing the same thing.”
She and the Doctor each looked down at their own clothes, then at the other’s, then back up for their eyes to meet as Jack cackled to himself. It was true, the deep cinnamon red of his jumper exactly matched the dominant colour splashed across the front of her dress.
“The TARDIS gave me this dress,” she said, not sure why she felt so defensive, or why her eyes slid away from the Doctor’s, her cheeks warming.
Jack closed the dishwasher, turning to face her with a suppressed smirk. “Want some breakfast, sweetheart?”
“Won’t there be food at a harvest festival?” she asked, despite her empty belly.
“Yes, of course. But just in case…” The Doctor turned and took a couple of bananas and something like an orange from the fruit bowl, tucking them into his pockets. “Ready to be off, then?”
“Hey, let a girl finish her tea first, all right?”
***
“Hold on.” Rose released the Doctor’s hand - for the first time since they’d left the TARDIS a couple of hours ago, Jack was sure - long enough to take off her jacket and tie the sleeves around her waist. It might have been morning for them, but they had arrived at their destination late afternoon local time, and the light of the large orange sun provided more heat than the crisp breeze and the sharp, cloudless, slightly lavender-tinged sky might have suggested, and they’d hiked a fair way from where the TARDIS had materialized, further up in the foothills. Jack had been glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs and breathe some natural atmosphere, and he suspected the Doctor was appreciating Rose’s slight glow of exertion and almost incessant happy chatter. Jack knew he was, particularly walking just far enough behind them to get the full benefit of the slight sway of her hips in the silky dress and the loose-limbed stride of the Doctor.
The village market was settled into a shallow, wooded depression, along a broad, but fairly docile river. Open-walled sheds with thatched roofs sheltered among the trees, displaying produce, preserves, cheeses, dried fish and meats, and assorted crafts. Rose was particularly taken by some carved wooden toys of animals, articulated like puppets, but in such a clever way that tugging a single string set them dancing, so the Doctor purchased a couple, tucking the box under his free arm while Rose hugged his other excitedly in thanks.
“I’m getting hungry,” she complained a few minutes later, looking at a generous display of pies and preserves.
“You don’t want to eat too much, there’s a feast after sundown.” The Doctor picked up one glass jar of a dark red fruit preserve, his eyebrows knitting thoughtfully as he examined the handwritten label.
“I didn’t have any breakfast,” Rose reminded him.
It took a split second for him to look up and give her one of those sudden, out-of-nowhere smiles. “So you didn’t. Right. What do you have a mind for?”
“What’s that, looks kind of like a Cornish pasty?” She pointed to a pile of crescent-shaped pies on a plate.
“Probably the local equivalent. Sir?” The Doctor caught the attention of the man in the apron working at the back of the shed, chopping vegetables as a young woman kneaded dough on the table beside him.
The man looked up to acknowledge them, then set aside his knife and wiped his hands on his apron as he came forward. As he drew closer, his salesman-eager stride and smile faltered, and he grew more wary, dark eyes searching the Doctor’s face. Jack felt the Doctor tense beside him, and Jack stepped closer behind the leather-clad shoulder, his arm dropping casually but protectively around Rose’s shoulders.
“Good afternoon, sir. What’s in that small pasty?” The tone was pleasant enough, but Jack could detect the undercurrent of disquiet.
The man replied with words which translated as lamb, potato, carrot, and blueberries in Jack’s head, and the Doctor looked to Rose, who looked up at him with a curious, “Blueberries?”
“They’re rather tart - same effect as a bit of pepper, really,” explained the Doctor, and she grinned.
“Okay. Yes, please.”
The Doctor nodded approvingly. “Lovely. Shall we have two, please?” He handed over a selection of coins, and Jack noticed the slight tremor in the stall-owner’s hands as he handed over two of the small pies wrapped in a thin mat made of roughly woven leaves like corn husks. His eyes were caught by the cessation of the rhythmic movement of the young woman’s kneading, and when he looked at her, he saw her eyes flicking curiously between the Doctor and the man who had the same dark eyes and hair and red-brown skin as she did. Her age was vague; she might have been his wife, or his daughter, but on closer inspection, Jack realized that their features and colouring were slightly different from the other softer-featured, mostly darker-skinned villagers they had seen.
With a nod and a smile, the Doctor guided his companions away from the stall to a table in a communal eating area. Jack took up a seat opposite them, while Rose sat so close to the Doctor, not a sliver of late afternoon light glowed between them. She took a tentative bite of one pasty, and her face lit up, then she tucked in eagerly.
“What was that back there?” asked Jack, leaning across the wooden table so that he could speak softly. “Did you know them?”
Rose looked from Jack to the Doctor, her cheeks stuffed with pasty like a curious chipmunk, and Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at her and getting a smack or a kick under the table.
The shake of the Doctor’s head was almost imperceptible. “No. But they’re not Mirwadi.”
“On this planet at this time in history? Who are they, then?” Jack sneaked a corner of Rose’s second pasty, and made a small sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. “Other than first-rate pie-makers?”
“Janiaru.”
Jack tilted his head, feeling as if he had water blocking one ear. The TARDIS’s translation circuit seemed to have cut out suddenly. “Never heard of them.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t have done,” said the Doctor with that forced brightness, his eyes stormcloud blue even as he grinned at Rose and reached around her to steal a part of the pasty Jack had already despoiled. She slapped the back of his hand, but put her hand over her mouth for good manners as she laughed as his exaggerated show of passing the bit of pie from one hand to the other around her before popping it into his mouth.
Jack knew that his curiosity was destined to remain unsatisfied for the time being, and so he gave into their usual playful banter.
***
They took a turn around the large, intricate structure of wood taking shape in the center of the market. Men were stacking logs like some sort of abstract pick-up sticks game, and women were weaving dried plants into elaborate shapes that filled in the spaces.
“What’s that for?” asked Rose, idly running her pendant up and down along its chain as they watched an agile little boy scramble up to anchor a streamer of flowering vines at the apex of the rough pyramid.
“Bonfire,” explained the Doctor succinctly, and she looked up at him, faintly distressed.
“They’re doing all this just to burn it?”
“’Course. It’s a fairly common ritual of most agrarian societies. Some sort of sacrifice is given in thanks for the bounty of nature. The Mirwadi are animists, and burning the vines and stalks and such is like shearing the wool-bearing animals or letting a field lie fallow - it’s ‘destruction’ or ‘waste’ that makes things healthier, and they put some of the vegetables and meat into the various hollows in the framework, in effigies or models of the animals or plants they want to flourish the next year.”
“Isn’t that a waste of food?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully on the finding of her pendant.
“Nope.” The Doctor grinned. “It’s the feast for later. Oi, don’t do that.” He crooked a finger beneath the pendant to take it out of her mouth, like a parent with a toddler, but instead of the cheeky grin and tongue-poking Jack expected, Rose’s eyes locked with the Doctor, warm and compliant as she brushed her lower lip lightly against the side of his finger. From slightly behind the Doctor, Jack could see only the tension across the sharp rise of his cheekbone, and a dark reflection of the invitation in Rose’s eyes.
For a moment, Jack forgot to breathe. He’d witnessed, been a party to, some of the most overt sexual experimentation in any century, any culture, primitive or so-called civilized (usually the most depraved end of the spectrum, in his experience), but time and again, the innocent eroticism of his two travelling companions threatened to overwhelm him. How did the man, Time Lord or not, resist?
“It’s delicate,” explained the Doctor softly, and Jack had to consciously re-orient his brain synapses to understand that as a comment about the necklace.
“Right,” murmured Rose, looking away with a bit of embarrassment, a touch of disappointment, and a fair helping of frustration. Jack briefly considered substituting the flowering fruit vines for silk rope in his usual “tying them together” fantasy, then stepped forward to take Rose’s hand and pull her off to a stand selling embroidered shawls as a distraction. If the Doctor lost a step or two following them, it was his own damned fault.
***
Rose pulled the gold-embroidered russet shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She didn’t need the warmth, as the bonfire blazing in the centre of the clearing provided more than enough heat. But she took pleasure in the sensation of the silky wool against her upper back, bared by the dress, and she bounced on her heels to the simple, infectious beat of the small ensemble playing up a storm. Drums, bagpipes, flutes, and an assortment of jangly percussion whipped the dancers circling the bonfire into a frenzy. She bounced her heels lightly against the packed dirt, feeling the light shocks run up her body, and the desire to join the dancing seemed to seep into her bones.
She had noticed more than one couple slipping off into the forest, and she was amused that Jack was still prominently visible, cavorting with some of the village maidens. It was only a matter of time, she supposed, and without thinking, she turned to see the Doctor, leaning against a tree behind her, arms folded across his chest. She could feel the impact of his gaze almost physically, and she found herself crossing the few feet to him, holding both hands out to him.
“Care to dance?” she asked, knowing her voice couldn’t be heard over the skirling music, but his eyes were hot blue in the firelight as he pushed off the tree with his shoulder and put his hands in hers. With a surge of elation, she turned to pull him into the circle of dancers.
The steps were easy enough, though the intricate weaving of the partners’ arms had them bumping awkwardly a couple of times. Rather than breaking the spell, their laughter added to their exhilaration, and Rose tilted her head back, laughing in sheer pleasure as they negotiated the individual spinning correctly for the first time, ending up with their linked arms wrapped one around her waist, the other over their heads as they spun together. Giddy, she was nonetheless highly aware of the lean strength of his hip and thigh against her.
The change of rhythm caught them flat-footed for a moment, and they stumbled, laughing, into the next dance, trying to catch up to the twining concentric circles of dancers that braid like the vines around the bonfire. Rose realized with a twinge of regret that the pattern was one that would lead to the switching of partners, as the men on the inner circle traced a pattern around the women on the outer circle before the circles moved in contrary motion.
Still, the dance went on, and Rose threw herself into it with abandon, her eyes meeting the Doctor’s almost every turn and bow until he had passed around the curve of the fire from her.
“Hello, sweetheart! Having a good time?” Jack’s teeth flashed in the firelight as he caught her up in his arms, spinning her around.
“Fantastic!” The word slipped unself-consciously from her lips as she twitched the fullness of her skirt flirtatiously and performed a stamping step she’d seen some of the other women doing.
Jack laughed, and he clapped his hands to the rhythm as they circled each other, back to back, then side by side before parting. The rhythm of the dance grew faster and faster until the music seemed to reach a frenzy, and the central section of the bonfire collapsed with a huge column of fire blazing up into the night sky. The dancers stopped applauding wildly, and Rose looked around to find Jack, hugging a plump village woman with more than a little intent.
Grinning, she made her way through the surging crowd to stand behind the woman, raising an eyebrow at Jack’s enthusiastic embrace, and he merely smirked at Rose, rocking the woman, who didn’t seem particularly inclined to let him go, either. Rose winked, crossed her arms on her chest and tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking around for the Doctor. He was taller than most of the locals, and like herself and Jack, fairer than most, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Leaving Jack to his own devices for a moment, she made her way around the circle, looking out for him. It was only when she saw Jack again, kissing the plump woman before turning his attention to another, more statuesque beauty, that she realized she’d completed the circuit of the bonfire.
“Where is he?” she wondered out loud, noting that their packages with the toys and her jacket were still bundled under the tree where he’d been standing.
“Jack?” she ventured to interrupt. “I can’t find the Doctor. I’ve been all around the bonfire…”
“Perhaps your friend has gone into the forest,” said the plump woman with obvious sympathy. “It is the night for it.”
“Anyone else, and I’d agree with you, Milvet,” said Jack, taking a look around himself. “But believe me, sweetheart, we’ve both been trying to ‘take him into the forest’ for ages, and he’s not having any.” The women looked a little startled at Jack’s comment, and Rose began to feel a bit unsettled as Jack gave each of them a brief kiss on the forehead, then grabbed her hand and dragged her around the bonfire for another look.
“He wouldn’t have gone off without us,” asserted Rose, the force of her voice intended to reassure herself. It wasn’t working.
“Nah, of course not.” Jack didn’t sound any more convinced than she felt, peering into the shadows of the forest. “It’s not like there’s any mechanical doohickeys around to catch his attention.”
“Mechanical doohickeys,” she repeated with a stifled giggle. “Is that a technical term?”
“Well, not as technical as thingummy.” Jack’s grin was a little forced.
“Or jiggery pokery,” she agreed, her heart tightening with the memory. She wasn’t afraid yet, but the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.
They continued to weave among those still milling around the bonfire - mostly older people, children, and a few unmatched younger folk - hands tightening their clasp as they searched. Rose felt her throat tighten, and she echoed it with her fingers, but Jack’s hand was too square, his fingers too thick as she threaded hers through them. She untwined their fingers with a little shudder, clasping her fingers around his palm instead.
“Oh, look at her,” murmured Jack, and Rose turned to follow his gaze instinctively, though with a surge of frustration at his wandering eye. But she realized almost immediately that this was not his usual hunting behaviour. A young woman was moving around the outer circle of the bonfire, her casual movements not masking a trembling in her limbs or the ashy cast under her red-brown skin. She was small and slender, her black hair in several thick braids, and she was wearing a traditionally embroidered dress similar to Rose’s shawl. It took a moment, but Rose realized she was the young woman from the pie stall, and when her darting eyes caught them, she started to run.
Without a word or a glance, Jack and Rose were after her and caught up with her among the stalls. She backed herself defensively against the closed awning of one, and Jack held his hands up and out.
“We’re not going to hurt you.” His voice was low and soothing. “But we’re looking for our friend. Tall as me, but about half as wide, leather jacket, ears?” He flicked his own ears with his forefingers. “You saw him today when we bought pasties. Did you see him tonight?”
The young woman - a girl, really, not much older than Rose herself, twined her fingers in a necklace made of roughly shaped stones. “I didn’t hurt him,” she promised, looking like she was about to cry. “I- I just wanted to talk to him. I didn’t touch him.”
Rose felt her stomach roil at the words, realizing that, underneath the vagueness, something had indeed happened to the Doctor, and Jack’s voice was sharp, a bit shrill when he demanded, “Where is he?”
“He-” She stopped, closing her dark eyes for a moment, even though it was so dark in this deserted part of the market that it was difficult for Rose to see her expressions clearly. “We went into the forest. I left him there.”
“Where? Show us!” Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her sharply toward him, but Rose put her hand on his arm, protesting.
“Don’t scare her, Jack. I don’t think she meant any harm. But please?” Tears filled her own eyes as she turned them to the young woman. “Please, take us to him. What happened?”
“I don’t know!” The young woman’s wail seemed to rise on Rose’s own panic. “We were talking, and he just-”
“Just what?!” Jack made a fist at his side, and the young woman flinched, raising her arm protectively. He took a deep, unsteady breath, relaxing his hand and shoulders deliberately. “Please, take us to him. Let us help him. We just want to find him. Is he all right?”
She lowered her arm tentatively. “I didn’t touch him,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “He just - fell. As dead. But still alive. Possessed!”
“Oh, God!” Rose covered her mouth with her hand, and Jack swore softly. She knew the same image of the Doctor fitting on the grating of the TARDIS console room was playing in his mind.
“He’s not possessed, he’s ill, we must find him.” Jack’s voice was soft as he took the young woman’s hand. “What’s your name?”
Rose wanted to shriek in frustration at Jack’s patience, even though she was grateful for it.
“Aliala.”
“Aliala, please take us to him. We can help him.”
Rose wasn’t so sure about that as Jack, but all she wanted was to find the Doctor, and it was almost more than she could bear to follow the wary Aliala’s tentative pace.
“Aliala, please.” Jack was clearly as frustrated as she was. “We must move faster.”
Aliala quickened her pace slightly toward the bonfire, then striking out into the forest. Rose could hear the unmistakable sounds of sex in the distance, but her ears were trained for some sound of the Doctor. Their guide stopped, looking around in the near darkness for a moment. Only then did Jack seem to think of taking a small torch from his pocket, shining the light ahead as Aliala took them to a trampled nest of large ferns. Clearly, someone had been there, but she looked around, confused. “He was here,” she claimed, defensively, and even before she was finished, Jack and Rose were calling his name, moving through the trees to find him.
She was on her knees before she realized it, falling across his body, and Jack was on the ground beside her, torch in his teeth, as he pushed her off the still figure almost roughly in his eagerness. She scrambled out of the way, hands reaching for the cold, pale face, half-turned into the dirt.
“Don’t move him yet!” cried Jack, handing her the torch. “He might have broken something.” He was panting as he pushed back his jacket sleeve to get at his wristcomp, and a pale blue cone of light scanned the long body sprawled on the forest floor. “Yeah, okay, nothing’s broken. Let’s get him on his side. He might have vomited when he seized.”
Rose’s hands were trembling, but she had no idea she was sobbing until they had got the Doctor’s considerable dead weight and awkwardly long limbs arranged on his side. Jack checked his mouth and throat with a finger, then sighed with relief, looking up at Rose to put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s breathing, Rose. Both hearts are beating. He’s just unconscious, okay?”
“No, it’s not bloody okay, he’s had another fit and he’s unconscious!” she shouted angrily, barely feeling Jack’s hand stroking her hair as she slid down behind the Doctor, embracing him from behind as she brushed the dirt from his cooler-than-usual cheek. Despite Jack’s assurances, her unsteady fingers sought the pulse points in his long throat, and she laid her cheek against his, temple to temple, willing him to wake up.
Pressed against him, she could feel that he was not exactly limp, nor was he stiff, his muscles locked in fine seizure, and Jack sat back on his heels helplessly, running his fingers through his hair.
“What happened? What were you talking about when this happened?” His words cut through her fog, and both Rose and Jack looked around and realized Aliala was nowhere to be seen.
“Can’t blame her,” Jack said tenderly, his big hand curving to the Doctor’s cheek as Rose rested her forehead against the soft stubble on the back of his head. Jack’s thumb brushed more dirt from the high cheekbone. “You must have scared the hell out of the poor girl. You sure have us.” He bent down to kiss the pale face.
“Mmmph - sh - sha.” Jack and Rose both sat bolt upright at the soft protest, and Jack reached for the abandoned torch, shining it onto the Doctor’s face.
“Mmm - ah!” The long hands reached up weakly, and Jack deflected the light across the Doctor, rather than directly into his eyes.
“Sorry,” he apologized, a bit sheepishly. “A bit too eager to see those baby blues. Can you hear me, Doc?”
Even in the indirect light, Jack got a good glare, and he grinned unrepentantly. “Good. If you’re okay enough to be pissed off, that’s a very good sign.”
Rose felt the knot in her chest ease just a little bit, and she fell on his chest, hugging him fiercely. This time, the comforting hand in her hair was long and slender and unsteady, with shaking fingers, and it felt like the most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced.
“You might want to let him breathe,” Jack commented wryly, and Rose brushed tears from her hot cheeks as she sat up.
“Can you breathe?” she asked the Doctor with concern, and his widely dilated eyes struggled to focus on her for a moment, even as he smiled and patted his own chest rhythmically.
“Good.” She laughed through her tears, and his head fell back against the mat of leaves and ferns, eyes closing. “No!” Panic rose in her throat, but his hand found hers, tightening slightly, and Jack reached across to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.
“I think he’s just weak from the seizure.”
“Yeah.”
Jack’s relief was as evident as her own at the Doctor’s hoarse whisper, and Jack moved to straighten out the long legs. Rose reached down to help, pulling her hand back in shock as she realized his jeans were wet. The ground was not damp, and as she realized the extent of his loss of control, her heart tripped. Jack said nothing but stripped off his own jacket to cover the Doctor’s hips and legs. Away from the fire and the exertion of dancing and panic, Rose was beginning to feel the autumnal chill, but she took off her shawl, folding it to make a pillow. As she lifted the Doctor’s head to slip the shawl beneath it, the pale eyes opened, almost colourless in the light of several small, silver-white moons.
“TAR’sss.” The word was indistinct but unmistakable.
“We’re a good two hours’ walk away,” said Jack, checking his wristcomp again. He hesitated for a moment, then punched a few buttons. “Look, this isn’t manufacturer-recommended operation, but I think this qualifies as an emergency. Rose, can you get under his head a bit more and hold him still?”
Jack helped Rose lift the Doctor’s head and shoulders so that she could sit cross-legged underneath, cradling him in her lap.
“This transporter is only built for one,” he explained, looking at both of them. “But I think we can get there safely if we hold on tight. I just can’t predict what kind of landing we’ll have.” He took a deep breath and looked down. “I’m starting to think that the unpredictable is pretty predictable around you, Doctor.” Jack’s voice was soft and hollow as his fingertips traced the gaunt face, and Rose reached out to put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
Jack lay down on the forest floor, his body pressed to the Doctor’s side, leg curving over his hips. He got one arm underneath him, against Rose’s knees, and reached across his chest to his wristcomp. “Everybody ready?”
He tapped the red button.