Fic: When Heaven Gives and Takes Away 1/1
Story: When Heaven Gives and Takes Away
Author: wmr
wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose, Jack, Tenth Doctor
Rated: PG13 (for language)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not anyone's except the BBC and a few others, unfortunately.
Summary: Who would blink first? The conman or the Time Lord?
Author's note: From The Doctor Dances to just after The Christmas Invasion, but AU by that point. Inspired by
aibhinn and some lines from the Tao Te Ching. With many thanks to
dark_aegis for BRing, and to
aibhinn and
larielromeniel for cheerleading in the early stages.
When Heaven Gives and Takes Away
When Heaven gives and takes away
can you be content with the outcome?
- Tao Te Ching
He should be dead. Should be nothing but atoms and molecules floating through space.
Yet he’s alive, standing inside this impossible ship, with the last two people he’d have expected to save his miserable life. The beautiful girl he tried to con, and who, even while flirting with him later, made clear that she despised what he did. The dark, saturnine man who’s definitely not human and who’s been nothing but contemptuous towards him since the moment they met.
Well, not nothing but; there’s been possessive jealousy in there too. It’s been made very clear that Rose is taken and that no thoughts whatsoever are to be entertained in that direction.
Frankly, right now he’s just too grateful to be alive even to think about sex.
The two of them, these mysterious, incredible people who don’t belong in this time, who don’t really seem to belong anywhere despite Rose being pretty obviously from the early twenty-first century, are ignoring him at the moment, lost in each other’s arms as they dance around the console to the sound of Glen Miller.
Suits him just fine and dandy, as it happens. Because inside he’s still shaking.
He’s had narrow escapes in his life before, but this one - god, this was close. Seconds from being blown to pieces, no escape in sight, and he’s rescued by people he could’ve sworn would believe he deserved to die.
Termination of Captain Jack Harkness zero per cent probability. For now, anyway.
Question is, what happens next? He always likes to stay a step ahead of events, after all. So. They saved him; what are they going to do with him?
They know he conned the Time Agency. So is that going to be their destination? Turn him over to the people he’s been running from, and trying to blackmail, ever since he quit? Or will the Doctor dump him somewhere? Pompeii on volcano day would be poetic justice, of course.
He pats his pocket. Still got the blaster, even if the battery’s drained. If he’s lucky, maybe the Doctor will forget that it’s useless and he can use it to save his miserable life if they do try to abandon him somewhere like that. Or hijack this ship to get somewhere safe.
Rose is looking across at him now, catching his eye. He summons one of his best amused, flirtatious smiles in response. Never let the enemy know you’re onto them.
“May I have this dance?” she’s saying, coming across to him, hand extended.
Instantly, before he can stop himself, his gaze is flying to the Doctor, expecting that same warning look, the don’t you dare even think about it glare he got earlier. Yet the man’s leaning back against the enormous centre console, arms folded, and he’s smiling. Actually encouraging him to dance with the gorgeous Rose.
What’s this, then? The condemned man gets a last breakfast? He should probably ask for a triple hypervodka while he’s at it.
It’s another nice slow number, I Know Why, giving him the opportunity to hold her tightly pressed against him, just as he did earlier on his ship. Her breasts against his chest, her stomach against his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination on either side. Well, the Doctor’s not going to leave him unpunished anyway, so he might as well get a couple more crimes under his belt first, right?
The ship - the TARDIS, the Doctor called it, right? - is only playing music, but he knows the lyrics to this one, and he can’t help singing them silently as he circles Rose around the console.
Why do breezes sigh every evening
Whispering your name as they do?
And why have I the feeling stars are on my ceiling?
I know why and so do you.
Too damn romantic for the circumstances, but what the hell? He strokes Rose’s hair, pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder. She’s not objecting, nestling closer against him, her hand stroking his back.
And then the song’s ended and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Doctor moving.
This is it, right? He’s been allowed his little moment of respite. They’ve had their fun at his expense.
He releases Rose and steps back, inclining his head to her with another fake smile. She smiles back. “Thanks.”
“Pleasure was all mine,” he assures her, before turning his head to meet the Doctor’s gaze. “Well, Doctor. Guess it’s the moment of truth, right?”
“Truth?” The Doctor raises one eyebrow and gives him an amused smile. “You sure you know what that is?”
“Doctor!” The protest comes from Rose, but she’s laughing. “Come on, he did save us.”
The Doctor inclines his head. “He did.” He extends a hand. “Well, Captain?”
Frowning, Jack gives him a puzzled look. “What?”
“You wanted to dance with both of us, right? Well, come on, then!”
So they’re going to drag it out, are they? Or is this a case of seeing who blinks first?
He won’t give them the satisfaction. Summoning another not a care in the world smile, he accepts the Doctor’s hand and, as the Doctor clicks the fingers of his free hand and different music fills the room - fifties rock an’ roll this time - he matches the enigmatic alien’s steps around the console, not taking his gaze from the Doctor’s for one second.
Anything you can do, I can do. Better.
“Not bad, Captain.” The Doctor grins at him.
“You’re pretty good yourself.” He grins back. For a moment, they could be back in that corridor in the hospital, indulging in that stupid game of one-up-manship.
“So,” the Doctor says, those grey-blue eyes - and there’s definitely something alien, something unknown about them - still fixed on him, “lucrative life, is it?”
“What?”
“The conning game.” The Doctor sighs audibly. “Keep up.”
He shrugs. “I get by.”
“You need a new ship, though.”
As if he’s going to get a chance to get his hands on another ship. Not as long as the Doctor’s got anything to do with it. “Managed before,” he points out, keeping his tone light. Not a care in the world, he’s telling them.
“I’m sure you have.” Again, that sardonic grin flashes. And then, abruptly, the music stops and the Doctor steps back.
Now, is this it? Finally, he’s about to learn his fate?
“All right, Captain.” The Doctor’s leaning against the console again, arms folded. Looks like it’s a favourite stance of his. “I’m going to give you a choice.”
A choice? What, between the volcano and the Time Agency? But he simply smiles, indicating that he’s listening.
“You put on a good act, all right. But you’re a rubbish criminal, Captain Jack Harkness. Oh, you’ve conned a few people out of the odd thousand credits here and there, and you stole a ship. Still useless, though.”
He clasps a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Doctor.”
“A real criminal would’ve abandoned Rose an’ me in the hospital soon as things started to go wrong. A real criminal would never’ve stuck around and tried to find a way out - or, if he had, he wouldn’t have hung around to get us out. An’ then a real criminal wouldn’t have cared about the nanogenes, or the bomb.”
It’s crazy, but that stings. “What, criminals don’t have consciences?”
“Not many that I’ve met.” Again, the Doctor smiles, a faintly ironic twist of his lips, and there’s obvious amusement at his expense there.
“Okay, this choice you said I have, Doctor. What about it?”
Damnit, the Doctor’s gone and done it; made him blink first.
“Oh, that.” Another smile, and this one unreadable. “Like I said, you’ve lost your ship. You’re a rubbish conman. Maybe it’s time to consider a career-change, Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Doesn’t look like I have a lot of choice,” he points out, and a little of the mask he’s been wearing since stepping inside this ship crumbles.
“Oh, there’s always a choice.” No matter how he tries, he can’t seem to look away from those piercing eyes. “You could pick up the pieces, start again. I’m sure you’d manage. Or I could take you somewhere, anywhere you want, where you could get a proper job. Legitimate.”
So that’s his choice? “Been a while since I was legit,” he says, stalling.
“Fresh start, Captain. You might find you’re better at it than you think. But you’ve still got one option left.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.” It’s Rose this time. He turns to look at her, and she’s smiling at him, her expression encouraging. “You do. Tell him, Doctor.”
“Big ship, this,” the Doctor says, head tilted to one side. “Even bigger than what you see here.” One hand gestures to the side. “Rooms of all sorts that way. S’pose there’s no reason you shouldn’t stick around for a while.”
Stay here? On this ship? With the two of them? “Are you serious?”
The Doctor shrugs. “Plenty of room. Might as well see if you’ve got potential. ‘Sides, that blaster of yours is useless. Go off on your own, you’ll get yourself killed within a week.”
“Well...” He looks from one to the other of them. “If you’re sure...”
“Course we’re sure.” Rose comes to stand by his side, linking her arm through his. “The Doctor doesn’t invite people into his TARDIS unless he means it. An’ you did save our lives. Twice. Well, you saved mine even before that, so that makes it three times.”
“You just saved mine. Figured we’re even.”
The Doctor steps forward, that amusedly sardonic smile on his lips again. “We’ll be even the second I rescue you from death by barrage balloon.” A hand claps him on the back. “Come on, Rose. Let’s find the Captain a bedroom.” He gets a look from narrowed eyes. “A single bedroom. All right?”
Oh, yeah. Definitely all right.
He grins, and for the first time since meeting these two it’s one hundred per cent genuine.
***
The Doctor’s gone.
Just vanished, right in front of him. If he’d got here seconds earlier, he’d have made it. He’d be inside, disappearing with the TARDIS, instead of slumping to his knees on the hard floor.
He just... left.
Why? Why would he do that? After everything...
It’s been months. He was part of the team, treated as if he belonged. Consulted on destinations, part of decisions, a friend to both of them. He protected them, guarded them, took care of them, just as they did him. They were closer than friends. They were family.
And now... now, they’re gone.
When heaven gives and takes away...
The Tao Te Ching - a former lover used to read that to him in bed. He never understood the appeal, not then. Too dismal. Too introspective. And way too depressing. Life was for living day by day, he argued then. Shit happened and you kicked it out of the way and moved on.
That was before. Before his life fell apart, before he was given a glimpse of heaven - and, mere seconds ago, had it taken away again.
It’s a mistake, right? Has to be. The Doctor’s got muddled. Or there’s something he has to do in a hurry - find the rest of the Daleks and kill them, because there sure as hell’s been no Delta wave set off here, which means the Doctor’s found another way of dealing with them; check that the planet down below is safe; or -
Of course. That’s it. He’s gone to get Rose. He sent her away, after all. And now the danger’s over, so he’s getting her back. The Doctor’ll be back. Just a few minutes, and he’ll be back in the TARDIS again.
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. Two. Five. Ten. Twenty-four.
They’re not coming back.
He’s reasoned; cursed; bargained with deities he doesn’t even believe exist. But still there’s no familiar blue time-ship easing into existence in front of him. No familiar leather-jacketed Time Lord and smiling blonde running out, apologising for leaving him, urging him to hurry up and get inside.
Nothing.
It’s a mistake. Got to be. They’ve got the co-ordinates wrong again. The Doctor’s managed to land the TARDIS in the middle of the Inter-Galactic Wars of the Thirty-Seventh Century, and they’re stuck, trying to argue their way out of being captured and shipped off to a penal satellite.
Or... Wait. The Doctor thinks he’s dead. Right? He told him, loud and clear, over the comms. You’ve got twenty seconds maximum.
And the Doctor had to have heard the extermination bolt. Plus his own scream. He must think he’s dead. Right?
But the TARDIS was still here as he ran out. The viewscreen would’ve shown the Doctor...
Wait.
He blinked first, didn’t he? All along, the Doctor was playing a long game. And now the game’s played out.
End of the line for Captain Jack Harkness, conman, almost-destroyer of the human race: left abandoned on a deserted satellite, almost two hundred thousand years in his own future.
Bastard couldn’t even just let him die. Oh, no; he had to resurrect him and then let him see his home, his sanctuary, disappear right in front of him.
Oh, he really is a rubbish conman, isn’t he? Because he’s just been conned. Was being conned all along, only he never knew it.
Shit.
The Doctor, the last Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm gave him heaven, a few months of it. Just long enough for him to get used to it, to take it for granted. To believe that this really was his life now. And then he took it away again.
Nobody does that to Jack Harkness. Nobody.
Stiff, aching and utterly weary, he staggers to the console, ready to search for a way off this godforsaken satellite. There’ll be a way. It might take him a few days, but he’ll find it.
And he’ll find something else, too.
He will find the Doctor again. Some day. And that’s not just a goal, it’s a promise.
***
The solid blue panels loom in front of him like a dream come true. Yet, as he stares, as he begins to reach out his hand, he’s afraid.
After all this time, it can’t be true. He’s dreamed about this so many times. Imagined, many times, that he’s heard the groaning and wheezing of the TARDIS materialising, only to run out and discover there was nothing there at all.
This, in front of him now, is a mirage. Rub his eyes and it’ll be gone. Reach out to touch it, and his hand will go right through the solid-looking panels. It’s not here. Not really.
It’s not the first time he’s rushed off somewhere because there’s a chance, just the faintest possibility, that the Doctor will appear. The other times, he’s been wrong, though. No sign whatsoever of a timeship that’s bigger on the inside, or a sardonic, half-insane Time Lord.
And that’s not counting the times he’s known the TARDIS was around, because it’s part of the Doctor and Rose’s history. The Slitheen in London. The time they all visited Cardiff. Would’ve been so easy to go and find the Doctor then - and Rose, too. But even he’s not so desperate as to do that. Bad enough that he’s crossed his own timeline, spending more than ninety years on Earth in a century three thousand years before his own. He won’t risk a paradox - or the Doctor’s anger should he take that risk.
No; when he does find the Doctor again, the only one entitled to be angry will be him.
His hand touches rigidity. Firmness.
It’s not his imagination. The TARDIS is really here.
For a moment, he forgets to breathe.
It makes sense, really. The spaceship over London. The Sycorax. Harriet Jones appealing for the Doctor. Of course he’d come. It’s only that there was no news of his arrival. No mention of anyone battling the aliens other than Harriet and her aides and, of course, Torchwood One’s energy weapon.
The TARDIS is here. The Doctor’s here.
With shaking hands, he finds his key and inserts it in the lock. It’s actually a surprise when it works.
What, you think he’d have changed the lock?
The door opens slowly, with a faint, eerie creak. His footsteps echo around the room as he walks inside. His fists are clenching; mentally, he’s already rehearsing the jaw-breaking blow.
The room’s empty. The console is switched off. There’s no-one home.
So what now?
The Doctor can’t be far. In fact, he can trace him with his wristcom, just as he did on the Game Station -
There’s a creak, and the door’s pushed open wider behind him.
“But who could be in here, Doc -”
Rose. It’s Rose. The Doctor did get her back. Unless he has crossed timelines with the two of them...
Slowly, heart in his mouth, he turns.
Rose stands there, holding hands with a man he’s never seen before. A tall man with a shock of unruly brown hair, wearing a brown pin-striped suit and a shirt that shouldn’t go with it but does. A man who’s looking at him like he’s seen a ghost.
“Jack. Jack Harkness. But you’re dead. You died. I heard you die. How can you be alive?”
How can this stranger know that?
As if the Doctor’s whispered it to him himself, the answer comes. Regeneration.
“I died,” he says, barely finding his voice. “And you died too?”
The Doctor nods. “I did. But... Jack? How?”
“Does it matter?” There’s a choke in Rose’s voice. “He’s here, Doctor! He’s alive!”
“Yeah.” The Doctor swallows, and Jack recognises the emotion in the much older man’s face. This wasn’t abandonment. This wasn’t punishment.
He falls into the two pairs of arms that are held open for him, and he knows, at last.
Happiness - heaven - isn’t something that’s denied to him for eternity, after all.
If you want something to return to the source,
you must first allow it to spread out...
If you want to possess something,
you must first give it away.
END