Relict (12/15?, DW, 9/J/R, Adult - note that I said adult, right?)
Chapter One - Bazaar | Chapter Two - Maintenance | Chapter Three - Off-Balance | Chapter Four - Whirl | Chapter Five - Shadows | Chapter Six - Latency | Chapter Seven - Ritual | Chapter Eight - Unpredictable | Chapter Nine - Reverberation | Chapter Ten - Propogation | Chapter Eleven - Diffraction
Beta: wendymr
Chapter Twelve - Refraction
She ran a comb through her wet hair, too familiar now with the peachy-mint scent and the silkiness imparted by the TARDIS-provided shampoo to even note the lack of tangles. With that same perverse insistence on pursuing a negative consequence that would make her poke a loose filling with her tongue, she carefully separated her fringe from the rest of her hair and combed it forward. It reached nearly to the end of her nose, and she almost laughed for a moment before the tears welled up again, stinging her nose.
Taking a shower usually cooled her down, whether she was angry or frustrated, but she was still both as she raked her fingers through her hair, shoving it back from her face before tightening her fingers almost painfully. Her elbow hit the top of the vanity, and she gazed hard into her own dark eyes.
Why do I let him do this to me? she wondered even though she knew the answer. Sometimes she thought she could just ignore it, enjoy those moments when he looked at her, or touched her, and they both knew there was something more than friendship, companionship, understanding there. Not less than all that, and more than she’d ever imagined with anyone, but still not enough.
He’d whirled into her life like a tornado, and suddenly she’d understood those idiot thrillseekers she’d seen in Saturday afternoon documentaries who chased after storms. It wasn’t just the speed or the power - although, God knew, there was that. It was the expectation, the electricity in the air, the potential for it all to spin up and lift her out of herself. Or into herself. It was confusing, yeah. But exhilarating nonetheless.
”Run!”
His hand. Perfect timing. Perfect fit.
But she hadn’t really thought, not really realized… When she was watching him flirt with Jabe like a goofy schoolboy, she was surprised at her instinct to step in between them, to remind him that she was there. But it wasn’t until she’d watched him go with the elegantly swaying tree and called after him like her own mum that the thought… No, it was all too much, had all started to crash in on her, the import, the risk. Fear had flashed into anger, and he had roared back. But a sheepishly offered gift, a welcoming back into the curve of his shoulder, more easily intimate than she’d ever been with anyone, and she’d only known him for an hour or two… Or in that dungeon, when she thought she might die with him, and suddenly even zombies in Cardiff receded into insignificance…
Time seemed to mean something different here in these walls. Her rational self was well aware that the time was short, a few weeks at most, but that time was fuller, more vivid, more present than anything she’d ever experienced. She didn’t want to give it up. Not for anything.
Though sometimes it seemed impossible to bear. Jabe was a warning. Jack would hurt like hell, but she could swallow her pride and acknowledge the better man in that case. But that laser-like gaze, the body coiled tight like a spring, the smoky voice that seemed to speak directly to nerve endings she’d really rather not be thinking of in the middle of a holy shrine, and all directed at the well-draped but alluring priestesses while Jack was practically waving him off and she was standing there like a prize gooseberry…
She shook her head and sat back, reaching for a couple of barrettes to keep her hair out of her face.
***
“I want to go home.”
The plaintive edge to Rose’s voice brought Jack’s head up sharply from the monitor. In an instant, he took in the tilt of her head, the slope of her shoulders beneath the pink hoodie, the way the toe of one trainer tucked into the arch of her other foot, and his eyes shot to the Doctor, perched on the edge of the console, his concentration having been wrested from the bit of machinery in his hands. The grey eyes tightened a little as they looked up at her, then back down at the machinery, a long thumb spinning a cog uselessly. The shoulders rounded slightly in the leather jacket, but at least there was no shrug to the perfunctory, “Yeah, all right.” Just a tightening of the jaw.
“Wait, wait.” Jack saw the flash of hope swamped by misery in Rose’s brown eyes, and he lifted a hand, taking a step closer. He rested his hip against the console, an arm’s length from both of them, and yet, somehow, he managed to keep from reaching out smacking their heads together. “What brought this on?”
“It’s my fringe,” she complained, twirling a finger into her shoulder-length hair, her gaze moving to Jack, even as he caught the Doctor’s head snapping up out of the corner of his eye. “It’s too long, and Mum will murder me if I cut it myself. Well, and she’s right. I always make a hash of it.”
“That’s all?” Jack couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. He could even feel his ears move. “I liked those little braids you were wearing the other day,” he said sincerely, his hand making a twisting gesture near his own temple.
“Thanks.” The genuine grin was pure Rose, warm and cheeky, covering a little embarrassment, but it drained out of her eyes before it left her face. “But it’s just so frustrating…” Her eyes flicked to the Doctor almost imperceptibly. “I want to get it trimmed.”
“Does it have to be your mum?” The plaintive edge to the Doctor’s tone was almost the expected whine about the feared Jackie, but Jack could sense a little desperation. He wasn’t sure whether it was coming from the voice or the tense body language.
“What do you mean?” Rose’s confusion showed so clearly on her face; sometimes Jack’s heart broke a little at how transparent were her emotions. She was so young. He’d spent quite a lot of energy in the past few days trying to convince the Doctor that Rose was fully a woman, and he still felt she was; but she was very young.
“Well…” The Doctor fidgeted a little, looking down as his thumbs working the machinery he held loosely between his knees. “What if it was some really fantastic hairdresser somewhere else?” He half-squinted back up at Rose, and right there, Jack thought they were evenly matched. In this realm, the Doctor was acting like an adolescent boy.
Rose stared at him for a moment, then finally got out, “What d’you mean?”
The Doctor took a deep breath, and began with another thoughtful, “Well…”
He really needs to stop doing that, it’s a dead giveaway, thought Jack, allowing the corners of his mouth to quirk because neither of them were paying the least bit of attention to him.
“There are other hairdressers in the universe, some of ‘em really famous, almost like celebrities… for some reason. I mean, even I know that, and it’s not like I pay attention to that sorta thing.”
Rose’s impish grin crept back across her face as her eyes traced meaningfully over the close-cropped brown hair. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why you’d be interested.”
He gave her a quick look, half-wariness, half-teasing, that tweaked Jack’s hormones. A quick look at the flush on Rose’s cheeks, round with her grinning, told him he wasn’t alone.
“What about that?” asked the Doctor.
She hesitated a little, but Jack could feel her yearning toward the offer. “Yeah,” she said finally. “All right. Wait-” She held up a finger, narrowing her eyes. “This is someone who does, like, hair, right? Not fur or feathers or scales or somethin’?”
“'Course not,” he said, straightening with that slight huff he wore so well. “Actual hair.”
“Okay.” Her grin returned, just as he added,
“The feathers are just a sideline.”
“You!” Rose shoved her hand playfully at his shoulder, he grinned, and Jack felt, tentatively, that equilibrium had been restored.
“It’s a shame, really.” Jack sighed, perching on the console next to the Doctor and dropping a casual arm around his shoulders. “I was really looking forward to meeting Jackie. Can’t we just go for a visit?”
The shudder that passed through the Doctor was theatrical, but an exaggeration rather than a complete fabrication, and Rose’s glare became something more calculating as she looked Jack over, clearly contemplating something.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said firmly, then looked back at the Doctor. “Can we go now?”
***
“Wait-” Rose turned around herself the moment they exited the TARDIS. “Haven’t we been here before?”
“Yep.” The Doctor turned to lock the TARDIS door.
“It’s Axhe,” said Jack, taking his bomber jacket off and slinging it over his shoulder. He wagged a finger at Rose warningly. “You - stay away from the jewellery tables.”
A shiver passed over her at the thought, and she nodded, not even bothering to play along with him. She was still feeling a little uneasy; part of her had wanted the excuse to run home and cry to her mother, but she also knew that she couldn’t possibly have done that. The fear that Jackie would have said “I told you so” was pushed aside by the fear that Jackie would have gone Doctor-hunting, double-barrelled; both were swamped by the fear that Jackie would have held her close and comforted her and asked her to tell mum all about it. It would all come tumbling out, she knew that, and even admitting to her mother that her heart was close to breaking would mean that she’d actually acknowledged that it was never going to work out.
She couldn’t do that. Not yet. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d demanded to be taken home. For a split second, his eyes had been hollow, that look that echoed, “They’re all gone, Rose,” in her head; losing her would have meant something to him. He’d admitted it before. I could save the world, but lose you. But he’d been so willing to take her home. And then, he’d found an out for them both. You really are hopeless, she told herself in the same instant as, There’s still a little hope.”
But she was a little confused by the brightly-coloured familiarity around her. “Why are we back here?”
“Because it’s the best shopping around. I need to get a few things for the TARDIS, we need more milk-”
“Again?” asked Jack, getting a raised eyebrow in return.
“Three mouths to feed, go through it a lot faster than we used to,” the Doctor explained, and Rose smiled a little, always more comfortable when the playfulness was restored between them.
“And, it’s also where Liane has her salon. Rose needs a haircut.”
“Liane?” Rose shoved her fists into her baggy jeans. “That sounds like a human name.”
“Funny that, Liane is human.” The Doctor’s smile was almost gentle, and she felt the uneasy knot in her stomach shift, loosening in one direction, tightening in another. He held his hand out to her. Instead of reaching immediately for her hand, it was a more enquiring gesture, his palm turned up, and his eyes seemed just a little distant. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and laid her hand in his, feeling the hard smoothness of his cool skin whisper against her palm. His fingers curled gently around her hand, and she could not help returning the clasp swiftly, warmly, relieved as he turned to look at Jack.
“Right. I’m going to drop Rose off at the salon. Can you-” He took a large yellow Post-It™ note from his pocket, scribbled in a language that was neither English nor the strange circular script, and handed it to Jack. “Can you collect these things?”
Jack glanced over the list before slipping it in the back pocket of his tight jeans. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. See you back here by-” The Doctor checked his watch. “Half seven, local time?”
Jack tapped his wristcomp. “Got it.” He grinned broadly, waving. “See ya!”
Rose returned his wave as he turned and strode off into the bazaar.
“Right,” the Doctor said again, turning to look at her. “Ready to go?”
“Just the two of us?” she asked without thinking, and the memory flared warmly in his grey eyes. She could see it as clearly as if it were playing like a movie across both their faces.
“Yeah,” he said softly, his lashes dipping in a soft echo of the slight bob of his head.
“Good.” She dared bump him with her shoulder as they turned to walk down the pathway, and their bodies jostled as naturally as they always had, though she was aware of every bump and brush, nearly catching her breath once when his hands at her waist brought her in front of him, lightly against his body to avoid a hovercart operating at unsafe speed. She relaxed back against him for a brief moment, and she thought his hands skimmed her hips as he moved her beside him again, his hand catching hers without any hesitance. The silence between them was a little easier with all the hubbub around them.
***
The salon was surprisingly modest, given the celebrity the Doctor assured her that Liane had accrued, just a moderately posh storefront in an older part of town. The windows were draped with deep blue and red silk, and the name “Liane’s” was written in shimmering scripts all over on the glass. The one that Rose could read seemed to become more prominent as they drew closer, with some of the others flickering out like matches. A light, tinkling bell sounded as they stepped inside the cool interior, and a slim, androgynous, vaguely human-but-not-quite figure sitting at the reception desk looked up at them with violet eyes and a reserved smile.
“Welcome. Have you an appointment?”
“Miss Rose Tyler,” said the Doctor, pulling her forward. She felt suddenly frumpy and disheveled, her cheeks definitely feeling the touch of sun, and she was certain she was sweatier than she should be in such an establishment.
The receptionist looked over the transparent screen on the desk. “No- I don’t see-”
“Here we are.” The Doctor whipped out the wallet in which he kept the psychic paper, and Rose felt herself blushing, almost wishing she could run away, but he pulled out something that looked more like a business card.
The receptionist looked at the card, which seemed to be printed by the same process as the windows, because even Rose could see the name “Liane” flickering across the cream-coloured card stock. “Ah. Just a moment.”
The receptionist got up gracefully and left the reception area.
“You have a card from a hair salon?” She turned to him, too surprised to be polite.
He shrugged, returning the wallet to his hip pocket. “Met her at a do once, long time ago. Or, well, I will have done, ‘bout seven thousand years from now-”
“Doctor!”
Rose was still boggling at his parsing of verb tenses when the petite woman in an elegant, egg-shell white - smock, really - emerged from the interior. The simplicity of her garb, the ordinary human beauty of the slim curves, the pixie-ish features, and large dark eyes, was yet another surprise. The woman who hesitated for just a moment was one of the most lovely Rose had ever seen, but she was glamorous in such an open, unadorned way, and nothing in her dress or hair or cosmetics tried to hide that she was probably in her late forties. The simple, but striking asymmetrical brunette bob was shot through with silver and white.
She reached out to touch the Doctor’s cheek for just a moment, then tip-toed to kiss both his cheeks as he bent down for her, his hand leaving Rose’s to rest gently on her shoulder. “Liane,” he said, his voice in that deep, rich register. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” she said, her liquid, dark eyes still searching his face. “You’ve changed - so much.”
He simply nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing, then put on that overbright smile that Rose knew was always a mask as he straightened, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. “Not as pretty as I used to be.”
“No,” Liane agreed sadly, eyes still assessing. “But… more beautiful, I think.”
Rose saw the Doctor’s flinch, the mask slipping, and her hand slipped into the curve of his elbow comfortingly. He looked down at her with a small smile, his arm moving around her shoulders, and there was a touch of pride in his voice that warmed Rose’s belly, holding the Jabe flashbacks at bay. “Liane, this is my companion, Rose Tyler.”
Liane’s eyes turned to Rose, and she extended a smile and a hand. “Hello, Miss Tyler.” Her voice was as firm as her handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” she responded.
“Rose’s fringe is too long, apparently,” said the Doctor, looking down at her. “Can we do something about that?”
“But of course.” Rose wasn’t sure if the slight French accent was an affectation or genuine, but she found herself liking Liane. Then, of course, she’d liked Jabe, too, who’d been very gracious for a posh tree. “Come with me, my dear.”
“Right, then,” said the Doctor, gently pushing Rose forward. “Off you go. I’ll come back for you in, what, a couple of hours?”
“You’re not staying?” asked Liane, clearly disappointed.
“Got some errands to run,” he explained. “‘Sides, you don’t need me in the way.”
“I suppose,” sighed Liane, running her eyes over his short-cropped hair, and she mourned, “Your beautiful curls.”
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to leave the salon, and Rose was torn between amusement and boggling over the idea of the Doctor with beautiful curls.
***
Jack put the small box of gears in the rucksack he had bought - not exactly transdimensional, but with a little antigravity unit that lightened the load considerably. That was the last thing on his list, and he lingered at the entrance of the hardware shop. He checked his wristcomp again, but it had taken him much less time than he had expected to complete his scavenger hunt, in part because he had gone to the pirate district, despite knowing the Doctor’s disapproval without even asking. He knew why he’d done it; he was still resisting the impulse. But his feet were heading down into the cavern district. He was just along for the ride.
***
Rose shook her head from side to side, amazed by the soft gleam and silky swish of her hair, better than any shampoo commercial. The colour was lighter than her usual brassy peroxide hue, but softer, warm with more realistic tones and highlights. Liane’s cut was almost invisible, and yet perfect. Other than her delicate fringe, her hair didn’t seem any shorter and was still mostly straight, but had a terrific shape, even loose around her shoulders.
“It looks fantastic!” she exclaimed, unconsciously appropriating the Doctor’s word. “Really, thank you, so much!”
Liane was watching her in the mirror with a smile, her head cocked thoughtfully to one side as she ran some strands of Rose’s hair through her fingers. “The shampoo seems to have messed up your make-up a little,” she lied gracefully. “Do you mind if I have another go?”
“Makeover?” Rose grinned. “Yeah, why not?”
***
Even though his last time here had been unsatisfactory, and even though he felt weirdly guilty, Jack found himself back on the dance floor at Zarua. He just wanted to lose himself in the beat, the heat, the haze of pheromones, let go of the tension for a while. The idea of fucking himself out and organizing the emotional fallout later had seemed appealing until he was actually surveying the menu, but a little exercise could burn off some of the frustration, and he threw himself into the melée, trying desperately to forget his last dance partner.
That was why, at first, he thought it just was a figment of his imagination, flickering at the periphery of his vision.
***
Rose was a little disconcerted by the reflection in the mirror. She recognized the eyes, the mouth, even the touch of sun beneath her eyes. It was almost the face she saw every morning, but with subtle changes. Her eyes seemed bigger, even though Liane had creamed away the mascara and eye shadow. The lashes were long, but soft, and the touch of colour almost imperceptible on her mouth. Her cheeks seemed to have lost their babyish roundness, giving her a more mature, sleeker look, particularly with the newly smooth hair.
“Oh,” she said softly, feeling oddly as if she were looking at herself at twenty-nine, rather than nineteen, and yet it felt right, despite the distance. She turned in her chair to look at Liane. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
Liane smiled, fluffing Rose’s fringe almost affectionately. “Of course.”
***
No.
He stood still, instinctively catching his balance upon being buffeted by the dancers around him. His gaze couldn’t waver or be broken, because what he saw was just too unbelievable.
It really was the Doctor, here at the most extravagant bordello in light years, both spatially and temporally, entwined in an embrace in the shadowy corridor that led to the bedrooms. Jack wasn’t even aware of drawing closer, only of the picture growing clearer.
The Doctor’s head was bowed, his eyes closed, forehead resting against the broad chest of a bear-like Tirsuan. His hands were pressed prayerfully between the massive paws as the Tirsuan opened its impressive jaws. Jack felt his heart pounding, aware of the strength of the Tirsuans and their savagery in many time periods, even though this embrace seemed nothing but tender and the Doctor looked up into the fearsome face with something akin to gratitude, tinged with sadness. Fear was overtaken by a miasma of jealousy, curiosity, and shame, as if it were his own fault that Jack had caught the Doctor in flagrante.
He melted back into the dancers, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from following the Doctor out the door.
***
Rose looked at the array of little jars and tubes and phials, attracted and overwhelmed in equal degree. The cosmetics table was dizzyingly expansive, and as Liane was assembling a selection for her, Rose’s attention wandered to some of the other displays. A brilliant spray of colour caught her eye, and a sly smile crossed her face.
“Liane?” she asked, turning to the woman who was tying a broad blue ribbon around a small white box.
“Yes, Rose?”
“Would you mind helping me with something?”
***
“No. Thank you, though.”
Jack held up a hand in acknowledgement, pocketing his credit slip as he left the bordello. He had considered buying time with the Tirsuan, but he knew that the standards of confidentiality at this establishment were exceptionally high, and even with his most concentrated charm, he would have been wasting his time. He’d even managed to give the Doctor nearly five minutes head start, though it had been all he could do to stop from racing after him. The wristcomp was cheating, but much safer than getting caught.
The Doctor was heading back to the older part of town, stopping at a metalworker’s stall in the artisan’s quarter, and Jack picked up his pace, nearly running until he drew within a hundred metres. This was not too far from the hardware shop he had visited earlier, and he adopted his most casual stroll as he came upon the Doctor, looking at some necklaces made of fine copper wire.
“I think she’d like that,” said Jack, pointing, and he saw the muscles in the Doctor’s jaw tighten before the Time Lord looked up at him.
“Got everything on the list?” The tone was not unfriendly, but there was something Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. To Jack’s practiced eye, he didn’t look like someone who’d just gotten laid, but he did look like someone who’d just done something extremely taxing and now was calm, but from exhaustion or relief or some combination, Jack wasn’t sure.
Jack tucked his thumb under the strap of the rucksack slung over his shoulder. “Every single item, and a few more besides.” He looked down at the table of necklaces and pointed out one that had a similar twisted spiral pattern to the necklace that had started all the trouble.
The Doctor shook his head slightly and took a deep breath, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as he looked up at Jack with a hint of the usual expectant expression. “Right. Ready to go collect Rose?”
Jack gestured outward with his free hand. “Lead on.”
***
The fleeting look on his face, right before he schooled his features, felt like a punch to the stomach, and Rose immediately regretted her playful idea. Clearly a misstep.
“What is that on your head?”
“It’s just a joke,” she said softly, reaching up to tug on one of the feathers worked into her hair, and Liane moved quickly, pulling a few strategic quills that allowed Rose’s hair to tumble loose around her shoulders.
“Oh.” She could actually see the gears click in his head, and he smiled ruefully. “Sorry. I was just put off by all that-” And he made a vague gesture around his own head.
“It’s all right,” said Liane soothingly, taking a brush from the pocket of her smock. “I think you will like this.”
Rose watched the Doctor’s face closely as Liane brushed out her hair, and she could see Jack’s approving grin from the corner of her eye. The Doctor seemed to relax gradually, but his eyes as he looked her over were still a little more intense than felt comfortable. No, not intense. Not exactly. Rattled?
Liane patted her head gently, and Rose shook her hair back over her shoulders, sliding her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans as she shifted from one foot to the other under the weight of his gaze. It had been only seconds, she knew, but the wait seemed interminable. “So?” she asked finally, unwittingly betraying her tension by flexing her hands out from her trapped fingertips.
The cool grey eyes met hers finally, his tense face relaxing slightly. “It looks nice,” he said softly, and she couldn’t help smiling, because he wasn’t exactly the type to bite when she was fishing for compliments. Then he turned his eyes to Liane, and the grey colour seemed to warm, darken a little, igniting a little spark of jealousy as he bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Liane, watching her hand as she smoothed Rose’s hair gently. She looked back at the Doctor. “I’m glad to be able to do something for you.”
The Doctor smiled slightly, shrugging in that “It was nothin’” way of his. He looked at Rose purposefully and held out a hand. “Ready to go?”
***
The background whirring of the TARDIS sounded comforting. Not the usual, purring contentment to which Jack was becoming habituated. But almost like the low crooning of a nursing mother, tender, almost monotonous, soothing.
Jack automatically set his boots at a 90-degree angle perpendicular to the bed, wiggled his toes in the slightly stale socks to ease the tiredness from all the walking and carrying - and dancing. Normally, he didn’t think he would have felt quite so drained, but the tension of the past few days had taken a toll.
They were all feeling it. He could tell, because the tasty dinner at the Hourami zeibo parlour had been far more reserved than any meal he could remember since joining the party on the TARDIS. The whirling colours and lights, the scarves of the dancers, the rhythmic pulsations of the music should have had them laughing and exchanging innuendo-laden witticisms, but those had been few and a little forced. Nourishment was consumed, which was about all he was willing to allow on that front, and Rose had brought what she oddly called a “doggy bag” back to the TARDIS with them before retiring for the night, shadows around her beautifully made-up eyes. Even Jack’s genuine compliments had brought only a slight smile and a kiss on the cheek. There had been a moment when he though she might give the Doctor a similar good-night kiss, but the moody Time Lord had wandered off to take a look at something on the console during their exchange, and Rose’s slightly plaintive “goodnight” was echoed almost perfunctorily.
Jack had a mind to be mad about the Doctor’s distance from both of them, from Rose in particular, especially after having caught him just about red-handed in Zarua only hours before. But this wasn’t the usual obliviousness from the Doctor, and Jack was a little worried. Maybe he hadn’t recovered as well as they had thought.
Jack flexed his toes, then took a deep breath, exhaling it sharply as he pushed himself off the bed, arching his back tiredly. Automatically, he took a look at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair - Maybe I should have asked Liane for a trim, he thought, completely without innuendo, and made his way back to the control room. It seemed a shorter distance than usual.
The lights were very low, even for ship’s night. It was in the pale blue-green glow of a readout that he could see the sharply drawn features of the Doctor. The gunmetal blue eyes reflected aqua lights as they flicked up at him warily, then returned to the screen. But they lacked the familiar intense focus, and Jack could see the tension in the shoulders, even under the leather jacket. The arms were crossed over his chest, one thumb thoughtfully pressed to his lips.
He didn’t look up again, even as Jack came to stand beside him. The human felt a strange tingling, a confusion emanating from the Doctor between warding off and desiring his closeness. There had been times, particularly when they were happy and giddy and running from danger, that he could feel the Doctor’s mind brushing against his, like their hands did as they walked along side-by-side. This was a firmer touch, warm, but a little frightening. Or was that frightened?
Jack dared something he’d never yet quite dared himself, although Rose did it all the time. He’d always envied that closeness, and a warm relief slipped through him as he relaxed against the Doctor’s side, his arm sliding around the slim waist. In his sock feet, with the Doctor still in his boots, they were almost exactly the same height, but the Doctor was always thinner, narrower than he expected. Jack rested his chin on the bony shoulder, looking down at the screen as if it could tell him the problem. The strange, circular text meant nothing to him, but he suspected it could not tell the whole story. Maybe not even part of it.
The Doctor did not move, but he did not resist Jack’s closeness. When Jack turned his face against the side of the Doctor’s neck, inhaling the scent of him - cardamom and leather and perspiration and the faint sting of lingering phosphorescence from the zeibo parlour, overlying a tantalizing muskiness - the alien laid his cheek against Jack’s hair.
Jack’s heart took a slight hitch, and he closed his eyelids tightly, breathing more deeply, his body responding to that undercurrent of sex that seemed to grow stronger as his tongue ventured out to taste the cool, slightly stubbled skin just over the double-rhythmed pulse point. His skin was separated from the leather sleeve by only the thin cotton of his tee-shirt, and when the Doctor moved slightly against his chest, the stimulation shot through him like an electric shock. Jack had taken a few hits of safe, low-grade neurochemical stimulants on the dance floor and had several servings of intoxicants at dinner, but nothing hit his neural pathways like that small, accidental caress.
“Why him?” he asked softly, trying to keep the plaintiveness out of his voice.
“Who?” asked the Doctor distractedly, lifting his head and returning his eyes to the screen.
Jack could kick himself for the loss of that slight embrace, but he inhaled again, seeking out a specific scent but unable to find it. “The Tirsuan.”
His fingers tightened involuntarily on the leather-clad waist as the lean body became rigid as stone.
“What.” The flatness of the voice was even worse.
“I was in Zarua this afternoon,” said Jack, straightening but retaining his hold. “So were you.”
The eyes never wavered from the screen on the console. The eyelashes didn’t even flicker. “None of your business, Jack.”
“Maybe not,” he allowed, forcing himself to stay calm and even. He felt like there were two possibilities hanging in the air - either the Doctor would turn on him in rage, or he might just shatter into a million pieces. “But it is Rose’s, and I’m taking her part here.”
“How would it be Rose’s business again?” The sudden snap around of the head, the raised eyebrow over stormy eyes, the sharpness of tone were strangely reassuring.
“Tirsuans can be dangerous. Something happens to you, I can cope. Rose would be lost without you.”
The eyes flicked back to the console. “The TARDIS would get her home.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
The tension in the body against his eased just enough that Jack could feel the vibrations. “It was nothing, Jack,” he said, his voice hollow as he shook his head slowly, almost regretfully.
Jack closed his eyes, daring to brush his nose against the hollow temple as he turned his head. When he felt the slight, tentative relaxation of the lean body against him, he brought his hand up from the waist to the nape of the long neck, gently massaging as his other hand closed gently on the near arm. ”It didn’t have to be ‘nothing’,” he murmured, his lips brushing his ear, and Jack felt a surge of triumph swamped by tenderness when a deep, but subtle shudder went through the taut body. ”In case you hadn’t noticed, there are two people on this ship who would give anything to give you what you paid for this afternoon.”
“You have no idea what I paid for, Jack,” whispered the Doctor hoarsely, tensing again, but as he started to pull away, Jack held him, not trying to meet his eyes. Not yet. He knew that was too much, too soon. But he pressed his forehead against the Doctor’s temple, feeling a little curl of darkness waft through him, until it was sucked away, as if smoke through an air vent, leaving him strangely bereft. The sensation was unsettling, scraping his nerves, but for the first time, Jack felt that his occasional suspicions about the Doctor’s psychic abilities were confirmed.
“Tell me, then.” Jack kept his voice low and warm, encouraging. He relaxed his hold very carefully, ready to grab him again if he threatened to bolt, his right hand kneading the taut muscles at the nape of the bowed neck. “You know I’m not going to judge you.”
“It’s not about what I want, Jack. It’s what I need.” The words were ground out, just above audibility.
“Then tell me.” Jack rubbed his thumb along the taut muscles at the join of neck and shoulder. “You know we’ll do anything to help you, haven’t we proven that?”
“Some things can’t be asked, Jack.”
The flat voice seemed to echo in the empty console room, and Jack felt his throat thicken. “Maybe not,” he allowed, hand stilling. “But they can be offered.”
The Doctor’s lips pressed together so tightly that they whitened, and Jack could feel the tension building again.
“You don’t want to hurt us,” Jack murmured. “I get that. But we know you can’t. Not really. It’s not in you.”
The low laugh was hollow, and even Jack felt the little hairs on the nape of his neck rising at the rattling sound. ”Oh, Jack, you have no idea what’s in me.” The tone was mocking, but the voice teetered between laughing and crying.
”Maybe I don’t,” said Jack, his hand moving down to rub between the shoulder blades. “But whatever happened, it did something for you. I could tell you were a little easier, at least until we picked up Rose and you started to tense up again.” He returned his hand to the slim waist, holding him close. ”I’m not wrong, am I?”
There was a hesitation, and Jack wasn’t entirely sure if there was actually a nod, or he just felt the affirmation.
”Doc, I understand if you need to let go.” There wasn’t even a flash at his use of the dreaded nickname, and Jack dared move closer. “It’s allowed. You’re not going to shock me. I have faith in you.”
The vibration was undeniable now, physical and mental, propagating through both of them, and Jack held on even as the Doctor tensed toward escape. He became aware that he was rocking against the Doctor’s bony hip, but he found he couldn’t stop even as the stormy-sea eyes turned sharply to his.
“That’s a very stupid thing to do, Jack,” he said softly, and it took Jack a blink or two to realize that the Doctor meant having faith in him, not humping him like a horny teenager. But there was a softness in the Time Lord’s face that Jack had never seen directed toward him, only toward Rose, and briefly at Nancy back at the bombsite. It helped him get himself under control.
“I don’t think so,” he said, tightening his hand on the Doctor’s arm even as he reached up to stroke over the close-cropped hair. It was much softer than he expected, and he let his hand cup the strong skull as he caressed the concave temple with his thumb. “Somebody has to, and you’re not doing it at the moment. Rose does.”
“Rose is an innocent child-” the Doctor asserted, but Jack’s chuckle interrupted him.
“Oh, we’ve been over this before. Rose is nothing of the sort. Naïve, yeah, inexperienced maybe, but believe me, she’s a grown woman. She knows what she wants, in graphic detail - you should try leaving the psychic paper around more often, she broadcasts in supersaturated hyperdimensional Omnisensorium when she’s sleepy or had a few. And you know she’s a hell of a lot stronger than most humans.”
“Yeah, she had to grow up with Jackie Tyler for a start,” snarked the Doctor with the dazed humour that often comes with emotional upheaval.
“I’m dying to meet this Jackie. She must be ten feet tall and have tentacles with poisonous talons, from the way she terrifies you.” Jack laughed, making an illustrative claw of his free hand, but he was still watching very carefully.
“She slapped me,” retorted the Doctor, palm to his cheek in an echo of that long-ago response, his outrage tempered with an almost child-like sheepishness.
“Sometimes, somebody has to.”
The Doctor’s flash of humour faded into exhaustion, and Jack sighed.
“I get it,” he said softly, trying not to pay too much attention to his own insistent body, hands urging the Doctor to turn more toward him. “You need some things you’d rather not need, and that scares you around Rose. Okay. Doesn’t mean you have to take care of this on your own.” His lips brushed against the rim of the Doctor’s ear as he breathed. “You can break me if you need to. I know you’ll put me back together again.”
The Doctor took the kind of deep breath that betrays frayed composure, and Jack rested his head against the Doctor’s for a moment before gently turning him into his arms. The hesitation seeped slowly out of the taut body, and the Doctor’s arms gradually came around Jack, tightening until they were both trembling and Jack could barely breathe. He’d pass out before he’d protest, though, one hand still rubbing the tense back.
Somehow, subtly, the embrace had changed, and the Doctor was rocking Jack very slightly side to side, his arms easing slightly. Jack was still aroused, almost painfully so, and while they were the same height, the Doctor’s legs were much longer, which meant that he was somewhat frustrated in his attempts to gain a little friction; but better, he could feel an answering pressure against his belly, and he altered his instinctive motion from seeking his own pleasure to stoking the Doctor’s.
Another deep thrum shot through Jack’s body, bringing with it a burst of fiery coldness, and he shuddered, holding tight even as the Doctor tried to push him away. “Stop it,” he said softly, pressing his cheek against the cooler one, feeling the working of the jaw. He kept one hand at the nape of the neck, holding him in place as his other hand smoothed down the taut back, coming up underneath the jacket to squeeze certain muscles he’d been wanting to get hold of since the three of them had burst through the wall in Albion Hospital. ”You don’t have to protect me.”
“Jack,” protested the Doctor, even as his body pressed closer. “You have no idea.”
“God, you’re hard work,” groaned Jack, the sensual tone in his voice unintentionally undermining the attempt at levity as he made himself pull back. He could feel the dynamic shifting, on more familiar ground as he reached down to take the hands from around his waist, linking their fingers. “Come with me.”
The Doctor’s eyes were dilated, dark, but held something almost hopeful, and Jack’s smile was almost imperceptible as he stepped back, pulling on the Doctor’s hands. The heavy workboots dragged across the grating, but Jack tightened his grip on one hand as he turned to lead the Doctor into the depths of the ship.
His room was suddenly the first door down the corridor. Jack smiled and kissed his fingertips, laying them against the twisted coral as if in a blessing. The organic metal felt warm to his touch, and as they passed through, the Doctor’s fingers slipped from his.
Jack turned to see the Time Lord leaning in the doorway, his fingers gripping the door jamb, his forehead pressed to the coral, which seemed to soften and yield ever-so-slightly under his touch. The shifting eyes were closed, bones and muscles working subtly in temple and jaw, skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Jack felt tenderness pressing against his throat, and he turned away, to give him - them - a moment of privacy. He went to his dresser and quietly began to gather some things from the drawers and laid them out on the bedside table. As he stripped off his socks, tossing them in the corner, he realized that the floor had also somehow softened and warmed, and he smiled as he dug in his toes. He raised his eyes to the Doctor, his temple turned against the doorframe and some of the tension seemed to be gone, replaced by… not exactly resignation, but a slightly rueful smile. The light here was brighter than in the console room, but still glowing and soft, a more golden colour than Jack had experienced before in the TARDIS.
Jack took a deep breath and went to him. To his relief and amazement, the Time Lord entered his room, the door sighing closed behind him. A slightly awkward moment flickered past as Jack took him in his arms, and the Doctor submitted almost immediately.
“Some nerve,” he muttered into Jack’s ear. “Me, hard work. Hmmph.” But his body was already relaxing.
Jack felt a little laugh escape him as he clapped him on the back, and he pulled back to search the inside breast pocket. Jack had never done this before, though he’d certainly seen Rose making free with the Doctor’s pockets on many occasions, and he realized with a warm flush that he was being observed with the same tender amusement.
He came up with his prize, wagging the sonic screwdriver with a cheeky grin before sticking it in his own back pocket, then pushed the leather jacket off the narrow shoulders. The Doctor let Jack take the jacket and put it over the back of his desk chair, and he brushed past him on the way to the bedside table.
His fingertips skimmed over a couple of plain white silk scarves and an elegant pair of electronic handcuffs, and he looked at Jack with a raised eyebrow. Jack shrugged and grinned, checking the setting on the sonic screwdriver before sliding it onto the bedside table, his body leaning alongside the Doctor’s. Their faces were close as Jack’s arm found its way around the narrow hips, and he nuzzled against the side of the long throat.
“These are the important things,” he whispered, fingers finding the small objects by touch.
The Doctor sat on the side of his bed, looking at the items as Jack surreptitiously unzipped his trousers to give himself enough room to kneel. He started to unlace the heavy workboots as the Doctor picked up a cobalt-blue flexitube with discretionary luminescent lettering.
“Government issue when I come from,” said Jack with a wink as he got one boot off. “Laid in a good supply before I left.”
”I’ll bet,” said the Doctor dryly, setting down the tube of lubricated skin sealant before picking up what looked to be a small, metallic pipe bomb as Jack worked on his other boot. ”Explosive powder?” he asked curiously, holding it up. ”Just what do you think it is that I need, Jack?”
The human grinned, dropping the other boot. He leaned up on his hands against the bed on either side of the long thighs. ”Repurposed container,” he explained, stealing a soft, lingering kiss as he closed his fingers around both the tube and the hand holding it. ”Nanogenes from my Chula timeship. They know me…intimately.” The Doctor actually grinned at his purring tone, and Jack felt himself relax as he kissed the hand he was holding, there on the webbing between thumb and forefinger where there once might have been a burn scar. ”And they know you, too.” His other hand came up to stroke the soft, close-shorn hair as he turned to kiss the Doctor’s mouth again, tongue just tracing the inner curves of the parted lips. His teeth caught warningly at the lower lip before he murmured, “There’s nothing we can do to each other that can’t be fixed.” He rested his forehead against the Doctor’s, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the moment. He realized not all those emotions were his; the need was shared, but the doubt was not coming from him.
”I know you’re in love with Rose, Doctor,” said Jack softly, setting aside the nanogene tube to take the Doctor’s strong face in both hands. His thumbs stroked the sharp angles of the cheekbones as the faintly kiss-swollen mouth opened in protest. ”You’re not fooling anyone. Even Rose knows, though she’d really, really like to hear the words.”
The Time Lord blushed like a little boy, his ears pinkening, and Jack smiled.
”But I know you like me, at least, and I think you love me a little.”
“Sure of yourself,” muttered the Doctor, his eyes gleaming like mercury, and Jack grinned, kissing him again a bit more hungrily. The response, however hesitant, made his heart trip, and he reached down to free himself as he felt the warm tongue teasing underneath his. His hand slid back up against the long thigh, under the edge of the blue jumper against bare skin.
”You’re not the big bad lone wolf you like to think you are,” breathed Jack, shivering with the ripples that perturbed the emotions flowing from the Doctor, eyes so close he could barely focus. His fingertips slipped over the bumps of very human-feeling vertebrae until they stumbled over a smooth ribbon of flesh, and Jack moaned softly in soothing regret, tugging the soft blue jumper over the Doctor’s head.
He marvelled a little that the close-cropped hair was long enough to ruffle, but Jack reached out to trace the exposed collarbones, a bit too prominent for his liking, his fingers moving down over the hard chest as he rose back on his knees. He tilted the Doctor forward into his arms, and was surprised by how docilely he submitted as Jack laid his head against the bony shoulder, cradling him as he traced the ribbons with his fingertips. ”Why did you not fix these?” he asked, hating the silky smoothness of the skin under his touch.
“Why do you think?” The Doctor sighed, sitting up to look at Jack, smiling bittersweetly. He took a deep breath. ”You don’t have to do this, Jack.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jack’s response was intentionally soothing, and he used his palm to sweep over the scars, finding comfort in the roughness, before he sat back. “What do you need, Doc?” he asked, resting his hands on the jeans-clad thighs. ”If it’s within my power, I’ll do it. If it’s not, I’ll find someone or something that can.”
“Ah, Jack,” sighed the Doctor, rubbing his both hands over his face roughly for a moment before smoothing them over his head. He laced his fingers in the nape of his neck and arched his back tiredly before he relaxed, shoulders almost collapsing. His eyes met Jack’s bleakly and his next words surprised Jack with their openness. ”I’m not sure what I need.”
“Then let’s find out,” declared Jack, always happy to have a plan. He rose on his knees to find another kiss, letting his tongue slide a little deeper into that cool-warm mouth as he climbed over the Time Lord, pressing him gently back against the bed.
Beta: wendymr
Chapter Twelve - Refraction
She ran a comb through her wet hair, too familiar now with the peachy-mint scent and the silkiness imparted by the TARDIS-provided shampoo to even note the lack of tangles. With that same perverse insistence on pursuing a negative consequence that would make her poke a loose filling with her tongue, she carefully separated her fringe from the rest of her hair and combed it forward. It reached nearly to the end of her nose, and she almost laughed for a moment before the tears welled up again, stinging her nose.
Taking a shower usually cooled her down, whether she was angry or frustrated, but she was still both as she raked her fingers through her hair, shoving it back from her face before tightening her fingers almost painfully. Her elbow hit the top of the vanity, and she gazed hard into her own dark eyes.
Why do I let him do this to me? she wondered even though she knew the answer. Sometimes she thought she could just ignore it, enjoy those moments when he looked at her, or touched her, and they both knew there was something more than friendship, companionship, understanding there. Not less than all that, and more than she’d ever imagined with anyone, but still not enough.
He’d whirled into her life like a tornado, and suddenly she’d understood those idiot thrillseekers she’d seen in Saturday afternoon documentaries who chased after storms. It wasn’t just the speed or the power - although, God knew, there was that. It was the expectation, the electricity in the air, the potential for it all to spin up and lift her out of herself. Or into herself. It was confusing, yeah. But exhilarating nonetheless.
”Run!”
His hand. Perfect timing. Perfect fit.
But she hadn’t really thought, not really realized… When she was watching him flirt with Jabe like a goofy schoolboy, she was surprised at her instinct to step in between them, to remind him that she was there. But it wasn’t until she’d watched him go with the elegantly swaying tree and called after him like her own mum that the thought… No, it was all too much, had all started to crash in on her, the import, the risk. Fear had flashed into anger, and he had roared back. But a sheepishly offered gift, a welcoming back into the curve of his shoulder, more easily intimate than she’d ever been with anyone, and she’d only known him for an hour or two… Or in that dungeon, when she thought she might die with him, and suddenly even zombies in Cardiff receded into insignificance…
Time seemed to mean something different here in these walls. Her rational self was well aware that the time was short, a few weeks at most, but that time was fuller, more vivid, more present than anything she’d ever experienced. She didn’t want to give it up. Not for anything.
Though sometimes it seemed impossible to bear. Jabe was a warning. Jack would hurt like hell, but she could swallow her pride and acknowledge the better man in that case. But that laser-like gaze, the body coiled tight like a spring, the smoky voice that seemed to speak directly to nerve endings she’d really rather not be thinking of in the middle of a holy shrine, and all directed at the well-draped but alluring priestesses while Jack was practically waving him off and she was standing there like a prize gooseberry…
She shook her head and sat back, reaching for a couple of barrettes to keep her hair out of her face.
***
“I want to go home.”
The plaintive edge to Rose’s voice brought Jack’s head up sharply from the monitor. In an instant, he took in the tilt of her head, the slope of her shoulders beneath the pink hoodie, the way the toe of one trainer tucked into the arch of her other foot, and his eyes shot to the Doctor, perched on the edge of the console, his concentration having been wrested from the bit of machinery in his hands. The grey eyes tightened a little as they looked up at her, then back down at the machinery, a long thumb spinning a cog uselessly. The shoulders rounded slightly in the leather jacket, but at least there was no shrug to the perfunctory, “Yeah, all right.” Just a tightening of the jaw.
“Wait, wait.” Jack saw the flash of hope swamped by misery in Rose’s brown eyes, and he lifted a hand, taking a step closer. He rested his hip against the console, an arm’s length from both of them, and yet, somehow, he managed to keep from reaching out smacking their heads together. “What brought this on?”
“It’s my fringe,” she complained, twirling a finger into her shoulder-length hair, her gaze moving to Jack, even as he caught the Doctor’s head snapping up out of the corner of his eye. “It’s too long, and Mum will murder me if I cut it myself. Well, and she’s right. I always make a hash of it.”
“That’s all?” Jack couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. He could even feel his ears move. “I liked those little braids you were wearing the other day,” he said sincerely, his hand making a twisting gesture near his own temple.
“Thanks.” The genuine grin was pure Rose, warm and cheeky, covering a little embarrassment, but it drained out of her eyes before it left her face. “But it’s just so frustrating…” Her eyes flicked to the Doctor almost imperceptibly. “I want to get it trimmed.”
“Does it have to be your mum?” The plaintive edge to the Doctor’s tone was almost the expected whine about the feared Jackie, but Jack could sense a little desperation. He wasn’t sure whether it was coming from the voice or the tense body language.
“What do you mean?” Rose’s confusion showed so clearly on her face; sometimes Jack’s heart broke a little at how transparent were her emotions. She was so young. He’d spent quite a lot of energy in the past few days trying to convince the Doctor that Rose was fully a woman, and he still felt she was; but she was very young.
“Well…” The Doctor fidgeted a little, looking down as his thumbs working the machinery he held loosely between his knees. “What if it was some really fantastic hairdresser somewhere else?” He half-squinted back up at Rose, and right there, Jack thought they were evenly matched. In this realm, the Doctor was acting like an adolescent boy.
Rose stared at him for a moment, then finally got out, “What d’you mean?”
The Doctor took a deep breath, and began with another thoughtful, “Well…”
He really needs to stop doing that, it’s a dead giveaway, thought Jack, allowing the corners of his mouth to quirk because neither of them were paying the least bit of attention to him.
“There are other hairdressers in the universe, some of ‘em really famous, almost like celebrities… for some reason. I mean, even I know that, and it’s not like I pay attention to that sorta thing.”
Rose’s impish grin crept back across her face as her eyes traced meaningfully over the close-cropped brown hair. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why you’d be interested.”
He gave her a quick look, half-wariness, half-teasing, that tweaked Jack’s hormones. A quick look at the flush on Rose’s cheeks, round with her grinning, told him he wasn’t alone.
“What about that?” asked the Doctor.
She hesitated a little, but Jack could feel her yearning toward the offer. “Yeah,” she said finally. “All right. Wait-” She held up a finger, narrowing her eyes. “This is someone who does, like, hair, right? Not fur or feathers or scales or somethin’?”
“'Course not,” he said, straightening with that slight huff he wore so well. “Actual hair.”
“Okay.” Her grin returned, just as he added,
“The feathers are just a sideline.”
“You!” Rose shoved her hand playfully at his shoulder, he grinned, and Jack felt, tentatively, that equilibrium had been restored.
“It’s a shame, really.” Jack sighed, perching on the console next to the Doctor and dropping a casual arm around his shoulders. “I was really looking forward to meeting Jackie. Can’t we just go for a visit?”
The shudder that passed through the Doctor was theatrical, but an exaggeration rather than a complete fabrication, and Rose’s glare became something more calculating as she looked Jack over, clearly contemplating something.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said firmly, then looked back at the Doctor. “Can we go now?”
***
“Wait-” Rose turned around herself the moment they exited the TARDIS. “Haven’t we been here before?”
“Yep.” The Doctor turned to lock the TARDIS door.
“It’s Axhe,” said Jack, taking his bomber jacket off and slinging it over his shoulder. He wagged a finger at Rose warningly. “You - stay away from the jewellery tables.”
A shiver passed over her at the thought, and she nodded, not even bothering to play along with him. She was still feeling a little uneasy; part of her had wanted the excuse to run home and cry to her mother, but she also knew that she couldn’t possibly have done that. The fear that Jackie would have said “I told you so” was pushed aside by the fear that Jackie would have gone Doctor-hunting, double-barrelled; both were swamped by the fear that Jackie would have held her close and comforted her and asked her to tell mum all about it. It would all come tumbling out, she knew that, and even admitting to her mother that her heart was close to breaking would mean that she’d actually acknowledged that it was never going to work out.
She couldn’t do that. Not yet. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d demanded to be taken home. For a split second, his eyes had been hollow, that look that echoed, “They’re all gone, Rose,” in her head; losing her would have meant something to him. He’d admitted it before. I could save the world, but lose you. But he’d been so willing to take her home. And then, he’d found an out for them both. You really are hopeless, she told herself in the same instant as, There’s still a little hope.”
But she was a little confused by the brightly-coloured familiarity around her. “Why are we back here?”
“Because it’s the best shopping around. I need to get a few things for the TARDIS, we need more milk-”
“Again?” asked Jack, getting a raised eyebrow in return.
“Three mouths to feed, go through it a lot faster than we used to,” the Doctor explained, and Rose smiled a little, always more comfortable when the playfulness was restored between them.
“And, it’s also where Liane has her salon. Rose needs a haircut.”
“Liane?” Rose shoved her fists into her baggy jeans. “That sounds like a human name.”
“Funny that, Liane is human.” The Doctor’s smile was almost gentle, and she felt the uneasy knot in her stomach shift, loosening in one direction, tightening in another. He held his hand out to her. Instead of reaching immediately for her hand, it was a more enquiring gesture, his palm turned up, and his eyes seemed just a little distant. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and laid her hand in his, feeling the hard smoothness of his cool skin whisper against her palm. His fingers curled gently around her hand, and she could not help returning the clasp swiftly, warmly, relieved as he turned to look at Jack.
“Right. I’m going to drop Rose off at the salon. Can you-” He took a large yellow Post-It™ note from his pocket, scribbled in a language that was neither English nor the strange circular script, and handed it to Jack. “Can you collect these things?”
Jack glanced over the list before slipping it in the back pocket of his tight jeans. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. See you back here by-” The Doctor checked his watch. “Half seven, local time?”
Jack tapped his wristcomp. “Got it.” He grinned broadly, waving. “See ya!”
Rose returned his wave as he turned and strode off into the bazaar.
“Right,” the Doctor said again, turning to look at her. “Ready to go?”
“Just the two of us?” she asked without thinking, and the memory flared warmly in his grey eyes. She could see it as clearly as if it were playing like a movie across both their faces.
“Yeah,” he said softly, his lashes dipping in a soft echo of the slight bob of his head.
“Good.” She dared bump him with her shoulder as they turned to walk down the pathway, and their bodies jostled as naturally as they always had, though she was aware of every bump and brush, nearly catching her breath once when his hands at her waist brought her in front of him, lightly against his body to avoid a hovercart operating at unsafe speed. She relaxed back against him for a brief moment, and she thought his hands skimmed her hips as he moved her beside him again, his hand catching hers without any hesitance. The silence between them was a little easier with all the hubbub around them.
***
The salon was surprisingly modest, given the celebrity the Doctor assured her that Liane had accrued, just a moderately posh storefront in an older part of town. The windows were draped with deep blue and red silk, and the name “Liane’s” was written in shimmering scripts all over on the glass. The one that Rose could read seemed to become more prominent as they drew closer, with some of the others flickering out like matches. A light, tinkling bell sounded as they stepped inside the cool interior, and a slim, androgynous, vaguely human-but-not-quite figure sitting at the reception desk looked up at them with violet eyes and a reserved smile.
“Welcome. Have you an appointment?”
“Miss Rose Tyler,” said the Doctor, pulling her forward. She felt suddenly frumpy and disheveled, her cheeks definitely feeling the touch of sun, and she was certain she was sweatier than she should be in such an establishment.
The receptionist looked over the transparent screen on the desk. “No- I don’t see-”
“Here we are.” The Doctor whipped out the wallet in which he kept the psychic paper, and Rose felt herself blushing, almost wishing she could run away, but he pulled out something that looked more like a business card.
The receptionist looked at the card, which seemed to be printed by the same process as the windows, because even Rose could see the name “Liane” flickering across the cream-coloured card stock. “Ah. Just a moment.”
The receptionist got up gracefully and left the reception area.
“You have a card from a hair salon?” She turned to him, too surprised to be polite.
He shrugged, returning the wallet to his hip pocket. “Met her at a do once, long time ago. Or, well, I will have done, ‘bout seven thousand years from now-”
“Doctor!”
Rose was still boggling at his parsing of verb tenses when the petite woman in an elegant, egg-shell white - smock, really - emerged from the interior. The simplicity of her garb, the ordinary human beauty of the slim curves, the pixie-ish features, and large dark eyes, was yet another surprise. The woman who hesitated for just a moment was one of the most lovely Rose had ever seen, but she was glamorous in such an open, unadorned way, and nothing in her dress or hair or cosmetics tried to hide that she was probably in her late forties. The simple, but striking asymmetrical brunette bob was shot through with silver and white.
She reached out to touch the Doctor’s cheek for just a moment, then tip-toed to kiss both his cheeks as he bent down for her, his hand leaving Rose’s to rest gently on her shoulder. “Liane,” he said, his voice in that deep, rich register. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” she said, her liquid, dark eyes still searching his face. “You’ve changed - so much.”
He simply nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing, then put on that overbright smile that Rose knew was always a mask as he straightened, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. “Not as pretty as I used to be.”
“No,” Liane agreed sadly, eyes still assessing. “But… more beautiful, I think.”
Rose saw the Doctor’s flinch, the mask slipping, and her hand slipped into the curve of his elbow comfortingly. He looked down at her with a small smile, his arm moving around her shoulders, and there was a touch of pride in his voice that warmed Rose’s belly, holding the Jabe flashbacks at bay. “Liane, this is my companion, Rose Tyler.”
Liane’s eyes turned to Rose, and she extended a smile and a hand. “Hello, Miss Tyler.” Her voice was as firm as her handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” she responded.
“Rose’s fringe is too long, apparently,” said the Doctor, looking down at her. “Can we do something about that?”
“But of course.” Rose wasn’t sure if the slight French accent was an affectation or genuine, but she found herself liking Liane. Then, of course, she’d liked Jabe, too, who’d been very gracious for a posh tree. “Come with me, my dear.”
“Right, then,” said the Doctor, gently pushing Rose forward. “Off you go. I’ll come back for you in, what, a couple of hours?”
“You’re not staying?” asked Liane, clearly disappointed.
“Got some errands to run,” he explained. “‘Sides, you don’t need me in the way.”
“I suppose,” sighed Liane, running her eyes over his short-cropped hair, and she mourned, “Your beautiful curls.”
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to leave the salon, and Rose was torn between amusement and boggling over the idea of the Doctor with beautiful curls.
***
Jack put the small box of gears in the rucksack he had bought - not exactly transdimensional, but with a little antigravity unit that lightened the load considerably. That was the last thing on his list, and he lingered at the entrance of the hardware shop. He checked his wristcomp again, but it had taken him much less time than he had expected to complete his scavenger hunt, in part because he had gone to the pirate district, despite knowing the Doctor’s disapproval without even asking. He knew why he’d done it; he was still resisting the impulse. But his feet were heading down into the cavern district. He was just along for the ride.
***
Rose shook her head from side to side, amazed by the soft gleam and silky swish of her hair, better than any shampoo commercial. The colour was lighter than her usual brassy peroxide hue, but softer, warm with more realistic tones and highlights. Liane’s cut was almost invisible, and yet perfect. Other than her delicate fringe, her hair didn’t seem any shorter and was still mostly straight, but had a terrific shape, even loose around her shoulders.
“It looks fantastic!” she exclaimed, unconsciously appropriating the Doctor’s word. “Really, thank you, so much!”
Liane was watching her in the mirror with a smile, her head cocked thoughtfully to one side as she ran some strands of Rose’s hair through her fingers. “The shampoo seems to have messed up your make-up a little,” she lied gracefully. “Do you mind if I have another go?”
“Makeover?” Rose grinned. “Yeah, why not?”
***
Even though his last time here had been unsatisfactory, and even though he felt weirdly guilty, Jack found himself back on the dance floor at Zarua. He just wanted to lose himself in the beat, the heat, the haze of pheromones, let go of the tension for a while. The idea of fucking himself out and organizing the emotional fallout later had seemed appealing until he was actually surveying the menu, but a little exercise could burn off some of the frustration, and he threw himself into the melée, trying desperately to forget his last dance partner.
That was why, at first, he thought it just was a figment of his imagination, flickering at the periphery of his vision.
***
Rose was a little disconcerted by the reflection in the mirror. She recognized the eyes, the mouth, even the touch of sun beneath her eyes. It was almost the face she saw every morning, but with subtle changes. Her eyes seemed bigger, even though Liane had creamed away the mascara and eye shadow. The lashes were long, but soft, and the touch of colour almost imperceptible on her mouth. Her cheeks seemed to have lost their babyish roundness, giving her a more mature, sleeker look, particularly with the newly smooth hair.
“Oh,” she said softly, feeling oddly as if she were looking at herself at twenty-nine, rather than nineteen, and yet it felt right, despite the distance. She turned in her chair to look at Liane. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
Liane smiled, fluffing Rose’s fringe almost affectionately. “Of course.”
***
No.
He stood still, instinctively catching his balance upon being buffeted by the dancers around him. His gaze couldn’t waver or be broken, because what he saw was just too unbelievable.
It really was the Doctor, here at the most extravagant bordello in light years, both spatially and temporally, entwined in an embrace in the shadowy corridor that led to the bedrooms. Jack wasn’t even aware of drawing closer, only of the picture growing clearer.
The Doctor’s head was bowed, his eyes closed, forehead resting against the broad chest of a bear-like Tirsuan. His hands were pressed prayerfully between the massive paws as the Tirsuan opened its impressive jaws. Jack felt his heart pounding, aware of the strength of the Tirsuans and their savagery in many time periods, even though this embrace seemed nothing but tender and the Doctor looked up into the fearsome face with something akin to gratitude, tinged with sadness. Fear was overtaken by a miasma of jealousy, curiosity, and shame, as if it were his own fault that Jack had caught the Doctor in flagrante.
He melted back into the dancers, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from following the Doctor out the door.
***
Rose looked at the array of little jars and tubes and phials, attracted and overwhelmed in equal degree. The cosmetics table was dizzyingly expansive, and as Liane was assembling a selection for her, Rose’s attention wandered to some of the other displays. A brilliant spray of colour caught her eye, and a sly smile crossed her face.
“Liane?” she asked, turning to the woman who was tying a broad blue ribbon around a small white box.
“Yes, Rose?”
“Would you mind helping me with something?”
***
“No. Thank you, though.”
Jack held up a hand in acknowledgement, pocketing his credit slip as he left the bordello. He had considered buying time with the Tirsuan, but he knew that the standards of confidentiality at this establishment were exceptionally high, and even with his most concentrated charm, he would have been wasting his time. He’d even managed to give the Doctor nearly five minutes head start, though it had been all he could do to stop from racing after him. The wristcomp was cheating, but much safer than getting caught.
The Doctor was heading back to the older part of town, stopping at a metalworker’s stall in the artisan’s quarter, and Jack picked up his pace, nearly running until he drew within a hundred metres. This was not too far from the hardware shop he had visited earlier, and he adopted his most casual stroll as he came upon the Doctor, looking at some necklaces made of fine copper wire.
“I think she’d like that,” said Jack, pointing, and he saw the muscles in the Doctor’s jaw tighten before the Time Lord looked up at him.
“Got everything on the list?” The tone was not unfriendly, but there was something Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. To Jack’s practiced eye, he didn’t look like someone who’d just gotten laid, but he did look like someone who’d just done something extremely taxing and now was calm, but from exhaustion or relief or some combination, Jack wasn’t sure.
Jack tucked his thumb under the strap of the rucksack slung over his shoulder. “Every single item, and a few more besides.” He looked down at the table of necklaces and pointed out one that had a similar twisted spiral pattern to the necklace that had started all the trouble.
The Doctor shook his head slightly and took a deep breath, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as he looked up at Jack with a hint of the usual expectant expression. “Right. Ready to go collect Rose?”
Jack gestured outward with his free hand. “Lead on.”
***
The fleeting look on his face, right before he schooled his features, felt like a punch to the stomach, and Rose immediately regretted her playful idea. Clearly a misstep.
“What is that on your head?”
“It’s just a joke,” she said softly, reaching up to tug on one of the feathers worked into her hair, and Liane moved quickly, pulling a few strategic quills that allowed Rose’s hair to tumble loose around her shoulders.
“Oh.” She could actually see the gears click in his head, and he smiled ruefully. “Sorry. I was just put off by all that-” And he made a vague gesture around his own head.
“It’s all right,” said Liane soothingly, taking a brush from the pocket of her smock. “I think you will like this.”
Rose watched the Doctor’s face closely as Liane brushed out her hair, and she could see Jack’s approving grin from the corner of her eye. The Doctor seemed to relax gradually, but his eyes as he looked her over were still a little more intense than felt comfortable. No, not intense. Not exactly. Rattled?
Liane patted her head gently, and Rose shook her hair back over her shoulders, sliding her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans as she shifted from one foot to the other under the weight of his gaze. It had been only seconds, she knew, but the wait seemed interminable. “So?” she asked finally, unwittingly betraying her tension by flexing her hands out from her trapped fingertips.
The cool grey eyes met hers finally, his tense face relaxing slightly. “It looks nice,” he said softly, and she couldn’t help smiling, because he wasn’t exactly the type to bite when she was fishing for compliments. Then he turned his eyes to Liane, and the grey colour seemed to warm, darken a little, igniting a little spark of jealousy as he bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Liane, watching her hand as she smoothed Rose’s hair gently. She looked back at the Doctor. “I’m glad to be able to do something for you.”
The Doctor smiled slightly, shrugging in that “It was nothin’” way of his. He looked at Rose purposefully and held out a hand. “Ready to go?”
***
The background whirring of the TARDIS sounded comforting. Not the usual, purring contentment to which Jack was becoming habituated. But almost like the low crooning of a nursing mother, tender, almost monotonous, soothing.
Jack automatically set his boots at a 90-degree angle perpendicular to the bed, wiggled his toes in the slightly stale socks to ease the tiredness from all the walking and carrying - and dancing. Normally, he didn’t think he would have felt quite so drained, but the tension of the past few days had taken a toll.
They were all feeling it. He could tell, because the tasty dinner at the Hourami zeibo parlour had been far more reserved than any meal he could remember since joining the party on the TARDIS. The whirling colours and lights, the scarves of the dancers, the rhythmic pulsations of the music should have had them laughing and exchanging innuendo-laden witticisms, but those had been few and a little forced. Nourishment was consumed, which was about all he was willing to allow on that front, and Rose had brought what she oddly called a “doggy bag” back to the TARDIS with them before retiring for the night, shadows around her beautifully made-up eyes. Even Jack’s genuine compliments had brought only a slight smile and a kiss on the cheek. There had been a moment when he though she might give the Doctor a similar good-night kiss, but the moody Time Lord had wandered off to take a look at something on the console during their exchange, and Rose’s slightly plaintive “goodnight” was echoed almost perfunctorily.
Jack had a mind to be mad about the Doctor’s distance from both of them, from Rose in particular, especially after having caught him just about red-handed in Zarua only hours before. But this wasn’t the usual obliviousness from the Doctor, and Jack was a little worried. Maybe he hadn’t recovered as well as they had thought.
Jack flexed his toes, then took a deep breath, exhaling it sharply as he pushed himself off the bed, arching his back tiredly. Automatically, he took a look at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair - Maybe I should have asked Liane for a trim, he thought, completely without innuendo, and made his way back to the control room. It seemed a shorter distance than usual.
The lights were very low, even for ship’s night. It was in the pale blue-green glow of a readout that he could see the sharply drawn features of the Doctor. The gunmetal blue eyes reflected aqua lights as they flicked up at him warily, then returned to the screen. But they lacked the familiar intense focus, and Jack could see the tension in the shoulders, even under the leather jacket. The arms were crossed over his chest, one thumb thoughtfully pressed to his lips.
He didn’t look up again, even as Jack came to stand beside him. The human felt a strange tingling, a confusion emanating from the Doctor between warding off and desiring his closeness. There had been times, particularly when they were happy and giddy and running from danger, that he could feel the Doctor’s mind brushing against his, like their hands did as they walked along side-by-side. This was a firmer touch, warm, but a little frightening. Or was that frightened?
Jack dared something he’d never yet quite dared himself, although Rose did it all the time. He’d always envied that closeness, and a warm relief slipped through him as he relaxed against the Doctor’s side, his arm sliding around the slim waist. In his sock feet, with the Doctor still in his boots, they were almost exactly the same height, but the Doctor was always thinner, narrower than he expected. Jack rested his chin on the bony shoulder, looking down at the screen as if it could tell him the problem. The strange, circular text meant nothing to him, but he suspected it could not tell the whole story. Maybe not even part of it.
The Doctor did not move, but he did not resist Jack’s closeness. When Jack turned his face against the side of the Doctor’s neck, inhaling the scent of him - cardamom and leather and perspiration and the faint sting of lingering phosphorescence from the zeibo parlour, overlying a tantalizing muskiness - the alien laid his cheek against Jack’s hair.
Jack’s heart took a slight hitch, and he closed his eyelids tightly, breathing more deeply, his body responding to that undercurrent of sex that seemed to grow stronger as his tongue ventured out to taste the cool, slightly stubbled skin just over the double-rhythmed pulse point. His skin was separated from the leather sleeve by only the thin cotton of his tee-shirt, and when the Doctor moved slightly against his chest, the stimulation shot through him like an electric shock. Jack had taken a few hits of safe, low-grade neurochemical stimulants on the dance floor and had several servings of intoxicants at dinner, but nothing hit his neural pathways like that small, accidental caress.
“Why him?” he asked softly, trying to keep the plaintiveness out of his voice.
“Who?” asked the Doctor distractedly, lifting his head and returning his eyes to the screen.
Jack could kick himself for the loss of that slight embrace, but he inhaled again, seeking out a specific scent but unable to find it. “The Tirsuan.”
His fingers tightened involuntarily on the leather-clad waist as the lean body became rigid as stone.
“What.” The flatness of the voice was even worse.
“I was in Zarua this afternoon,” said Jack, straightening but retaining his hold. “So were you.”
The eyes never wavered from the screen on the console. The eyelashes didn’t even flicker. “None of your business, Jack.”
“Maybe not,” he allowed, forcing himself to stay calm and even. He felt like there were two possibilities hanging in the air - either the Doctor would turn on him in rage, or he might just shatter into a million pieces. “But it is Rose’s, and I’m taking her part here.”
“How would it be Rose’s business again?” The sudden snap around of the head, the raised eyebrow over stormy eyes, the sharpness of tone were strangely reassuring.
“Tirsuans can be dangerous. Something happens to you, I can cope. Rose would be lost without you.”
The eyes flicked back to the console. “The TARDIS would get her home.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
The tension in the body against his eased just enough that Jack could feel the vibrations. “It was nothing, Jack,” he said, his voice hollow as he shook his head slowly, almost regretfully.
Jack closed his eyes, daring to brush his nose against the hollow temple as he turned his head. When he felt the slight, tentative relaxation of the lean body against him, he brought his hand up from the waist to the nape of the long neck, gently massaging as his other hand closed gently on the near arm. ”It didn’t have to be ‘nothing’,” he murmured, his lips brushing his ear, and Jack felt a surge of triumph swamped by tenderness when a deep, but subtle shudder went through the taut body. ”In case you hadn’t noticed, there are two people on this ship who would give anything to give you what you paid for this afternoon.”
“You have no idea what I paid for, Jack,” whispered the Doctor hoarsely, tensing again, but as he started to pull away, Jack held him, not trying to meet his eyes. Not yet. He knew that was too much, too soon. But he pressed his forehead against the Doctor’s temple, feeling a little curl of darkness waft through him, until it was sucked away, as if smoke through an air vent, leaving him strangely bereft. The sensation was unsettling, scraping his nerves, but for the first time, Jack felt that his occasional suspicions about the Doctor’s psychic abilities were confirmed.
“Tell me, then.” Jack kept his voice low and warm, encouraging. He relaxed his hold very carefully, ready to grab him again if he threatened to bolt, his right hand kneading the taut muscles at the nape of the bowed neck. “You know I’m not going to judge you.”
“It’s not about what I want, Jack. It’s what I need.” The words were ground out, just above audibility.
“Then tell me.” Jack rubbed his thumb along the taut muscles at the join of neck and shoulder. “You know we’ll do anything to help you, haven’t we proven that?”
“Some things can’t be asked, Jack.”
The flat voice seemed to echo in the empty console room, and Jack felt his throat thicken. “Maybe not,” he allowed, hand stilling. “But they can be offered.”
The Doctor’s lips pressed together so tightly that they whitened, and Jack could feel the tension building again.
“You don’t want to hurt us,” Jack murmured. “I get that. But we know you can’t. Not really. It’s not in you.”
The low laugh was hollow, and even Jack felt the little hairs on the nape of his neck rising at the rattling sound. ”Oh, Jack, you have no idea what’s in me.” The tone was mocking, but the voice teetered between laughing and crying.
”Maybe I don’t,” said Jack, his hand moving down to rub between the shoulder blades. “But whatever happened, it did something for you. I could tell you were a little easier, at least until we picked up Rose and you started to tense up again.” He returned his hand to the slim waist, holding him close. ”I’m not wrong, am I?”
There was a hesitation, and Jack wasn’t entirely sure if there was actually a nod, or he just felt the affirmation.
”Doc, I understand if you need to let go.” There wasn’t even a flash at his use of the dreaded nickname, and Jack dared move closer. “It’s allowed. You’re not going to shock me. I have faith in you.”
The vibration was undeniable now, physical and mental, propagating through both of them, and Jack held on even as the Doctor tensed toward escape. He became aware that he was rocking against the Doctor’s bony hip, but he found he couldn’t stop even as the stormy-sea eyes turned sharply to his.
“That’s a very stupid thing to do, Jack,” he said softly, and it took Jack a blink or two to realize that the Doctor meant having faith in him, not humping him like a horny teenager. But there was a softness in the Time Lord’s face that Jack had never seen directed toward him, only toward Rose, and briefly at Nancy back at the bombsite. It helped him get himself under control.
“I don’t think so,” he said, tightening his hand on the Doctor’s arm even as he reached up to stroke over the close-cropped hair. It was much softer than he expected, and he let his hand cup the strong skull as he caressed the concave temple with his thumb. “Somebody has to, and you’re not doing it at the moment. Rose does.”
“Rose is an innocent child-” the Doctor asserted, but Jack’s chuckle interrupted him.
“Oh, we’ve been over this before. Rose is nothing of the sort. Naïve, yeah, inexperienced maybe, but believe me, she’s a grown woman. She knows what she wants, in graphic detail - you should try leaving the psychic paper around more often, she broadcasts in supersaturated hyperdimensional Omnisensorium when she’s sleepy or had a few. And you know she’s a hell of a lot stronger than most humans.”
“Yeah, she had to grow up with Jackie Tyler for a start,” snarked the Doctor with the dazed humour that often comes with emotional upheaval.
“I’m dying to meet this Jackie. She must be ten feet tall and have tentacles with poisonous talons, from the way she terrifies you.” Jack laughed, making an illustrative claw of his free hand, but he was still watching very carefully.
“She slapped me,” retorted the Doctor, palm to his cheek in an echo of that long-ago response, his outrage tempered with an almost child-like sheepishness.
“Sometimes, somebody has to.”
The Doctor’s flash of humour faded into exhaustion, and Jack sighed.
“I get it,” he said softly, trying not to pay too much attention to his own insistent body, hands urging the Doctor to turn more toward him. “You need some things you’d rather not need, and that scares you around Rose. Okay. Doesn’t mean you have to take care of this on your own.” His lips brushed against the rim of the Doctor’s ear as he breathed. “You can break me if you need to. I know you’ll put me back together again.”
The Doctor took the kind of deep breath that betrays frayed composure, and Jack rested his head against the Doctor’s for a moment before gently turning him into his arms. The hesitation seeped slowly out of the taut body, and the Doctor’s arms gradually came around Jack, tightening until they were both trembling and Jack could barely breathe. He’d pass out before he’d protest, though, one hand still rubbing the tense back.
Somehow, subtly, the embrace had changed, and the Doctor was rocking Jack very slightly side to side, his arms easing slightly. Jack was still aroused, almost painfully so, and while they were the same height, the Doctor’s legs were much longer, which meant that he was somewhat frustrated in his attempts to gain a little friction; but better, he could feel an answering pressure against his belly, and he altered his instinctive motion from seeking his own pleasure to stoking the Doctor’s.
Another deep thrum shot through Jack’s body, bringing with it a burst of fiery coldness, and he shuddered, holding tight even as the Doctor tried to push him away. “Stop it,” he said softly, pressing his cheek against the cooler one, feeling the working of the jaw. He kept one hand at the nape of the neck, holding him in place as his other hand smoothed down the taut back, coming up underneath the jacket to squeeze certain muscles he’d been wanting to get hold of since the three of them had burst through the wall in Albion Hospital. ”You don’t have to protect me.”
“Jack,” protested the Doctor, even as his body pressed closer. “You have no idea.”
“God, you’re hard work,” groaned Jack, the sensual tone in his voice unintentionally undermining the attempt at levity as he made himself pull back. He could feel the dynamic shifting, on more familiar ground as he reached down to take the hands from around his waist, linking their fingers. “Come with me.”
The Doctor’s eyes were dilated, dark, but held something almost hopeful, and Jack’s smile was almost imperceptible as he stepped back, pulling on the Doctor’s hands. The heavy workboots dragged across the grating, but Jack tightened his grip on one hand as he turned to lead the Doctor into the depths of the ship.
His room was suddenly the first door down the corridor. Jack smiled and kissed his fingertips, laying them against the twisted coral as if in a blessing. The organic metal felt warm to his touch, and as they passed through, the Doctor’s fingers slipped from his.
Jack turned to see the Time Lord leaning in the doorway, his fingers gripping the door jamb, his forehead pressed to the coral, which seemed to soften and yield ever-so-slightly under his touch. The shifting eyes were closed, bones and muscles working subtly in temple and jaw, skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Jack felt tenderness pressing against his throat, and he turned away, to give him - them - a moment of privacy. He went to his dresser and quietly began to gather some things from the drawers and laid them out on the bedside table. As he stripped off his socks, tossing them in the corner, he realized that the floor had also somehow softened and warmed, and he smiled as he dug in his toes. He raised his eyes to the Doctor, his temple turned against the doorframe and some of the tension seemed to be gone, replaced by… not exactly resignation, but a slightly rueful smile. The light here was brighter than in the console room, but still glowing and soft, a more golden colour than Jack had experienced before in the TARDIS.
Jack took a deep breath and went to him. To his relief and amazement, the Time Lord entered his room, the door sighing closed behind him. A slightly awkward moment flickered past as Jack took him in his arms, and the Doctor submitted almost immediately.
“Some nerve,” he muttered into Jack’s ear. “Me, hard work. Hmmph.” But his body was already relaxing.
Jack felt a little laugh escape him as he clapped him on the back, and he pulled back to search the inside breast pocket. Jack had never done this before, though he’d certainly seen Rose making free with the Doctor’s pockets on many occasions, and he realized with a warm flush that he was being observed with the same tender amusement.
He came up with his prize, wagging the sonic screwdriver with a cheeky grin before sticking it in his own back pocket, then pushed the leather jacket off the narrow shoulders. The Doctor let Jack take the jacket and put it over the back of his desk chair, and he brushed past him on the way to the bedside table.
His fingertips skimmed over a couple of plain white silk scarves and an elegant pair of electronic handcuffs, and he looked at Jack with a raised eyebrow. Jack shrugged and grinned, checking the setting on the sonic screwdriver before sliding it onto the bedside table, his body leaning alongside the Doctor’s. Their faces were close as Jack’s arm found its way around the narrow hips, and he nuzzled against the side of the long throat.
“These are the important things,” he whispered, fingers finding the small objects by touch.
The Doctor sat on the side of his bed, looking at the items as Jack surreptitiously unzipped his trousers to give himself enough room to kneel. He started to unlace the heavy workboots as the Doctor picked up a cobalt-blue flexitube with discretionary luminescent lettering.
“Government issue when I come from,” said Jack with a wink as he got one boot off. “Laid in a good supply before I left.”
”I’ll bet,” said the Doctor dryly, setting down the tube of lubricated skin sealant before picking up what looked to be a small, metallic pipe bomb as Jack worked on his other boot. ”Explosive powder?” he asked curiously, holding it up. ”Just what do you think it is that I need, Jack?”
The human grinned, dropping the other boot. He leaned up on his hands against the bed on either side of the long thighs. ”Repurposed container,” he explained, stealing a soft, lingering kiss as he closed his fingers around both the tube and the hand holding it. ”Nanogenes from my Chula timeship. They know me…intimately.” The Doctor actually grinned at his purring tone, and Jack felt himself relax as he kissed the hand he was holding, there on the webbing between thumb and forefinger where there once might have been a burn scar. ”And they know you, too.” His other hand came up to stroke the soft, close-shorn hair as he turned to kiss the Doctor’s mouth again, tongue just tracing the inner curves of the parted lips. His teeth caught warningly at the lower lip before he murmured, “There’s nothing we can do to each other that can’t be fixed.” He rested his forehead against the Doctor’s, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the moment. He realized not all those emotions were his; the need was shared, but the doubt was not coming from him.
”I know you’re in love with Rose, Doctor,” said Jack softly, setting aside the nanogene tube to take the Doctor’s strong face in both hands. His thumbs stroked the sharp angles of the cheekbones as the faintly kiss-swollen mouth opened in protest. ”You’re not fooling anyone. Even Rose knows, though she’d really, really like to hear the words.”
The Time Lord blushed like a little boy, his ears pinkening, and Jack smiled.
”But I know you like me, at least, and I think you love me a little.”
“Sure of yourself,” muttered the Doctor, his eyes gleaming like mercury, and Jack grinned, kissing him again a bit more hungrily. The response, however hesitant, made his heart trip, and he reached down to free himself as he felt the warm tongue teasing underneath his. His hand slid back up against the long thigh, under the edge of the blue jumper against bare skin.
”You’re not the big bad lone wolf you like to think you are,” breathed Jack, shivering with the ripples that perturbed the emotions flowing from the Doctor, eyes so close he could barely focus. His fingertips slipped over the bumps of very human-feeling vertebrae until they stumbled over a smooth ribbon of flesh, and Jack moaned softly in soothing regret, tugging the soft blue jumper over the Doctor’s head.
He marvelled a little that the close-cropped hair was long enough to ruffle, but Jack reached out to trace the exposed collarbones, a bit too prominent for his liking, his fingers moving down over the hard chest as he rose back on his knees. He tilted the Doctor forward into his arms, and was surprised by how docilely he submitted as Jack laid his head against the bony shoulder, cradling him as he traced the ribbons with his fingertips. ”Why did you not fix these?” he asked, hating the silky smoothness of the skin under his touch.
“Why do you think?” The Doctor sighed, sitting up to look at Jack, smiling bittersweetly. He took a deep breath. ”You don’t have to do this, Jack.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jack’s response was intentionally soothing, and he used his palm to sweep over the scars, finding comfort in the roughness, before he sat back. “What do you need, Doc?” he asked, resting his hands on the jeans-clad thighs. ”If it’s within my power, I’ll do it. If it’s not, I’ll find someone or something that can.”
“Ah, Jack,” sighed the Doctor, rubbing his both hands over his face roughly for a moment before smoothing them over his head. He laced his fingers in the nape of his neck and arched his back tiredly before he relaxed, shoulders almost collapsing. His eyes met Jack’s bleakly and his next words surprised Jack with their openness. ”I’m not sure what I need.”
“Then let’s find out,” declared Jack, always happy to have a plan. He rose on his knees to find another kiss, letting his tongue slide a little deeper into that cool-warm mouth as he climbed over the Time Lord, pressing him gently back against the bed.