The Doctor (
rude_not_ginger) wrote2009-11-11 01:41 am
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for
quitehomoerotic: Welcome to the 27th century
Follows this.
It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.
One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.
Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.
It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.
It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.
That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.
While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.
But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.
It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.
One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.
Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.
It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.
It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.
That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.
While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.
But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.
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Back on his home world, but nowhere near his home. "It's not your fault. The Rift can be blamed, if anything."
"Doesn't matter. We get to the Tower," the Doctor instructed. "At any cost, you need to get there. The worst they can do to me is kill me. You need to get out, off this world."
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Jack let his head fall to the side and he looked at the Doctor. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and let it touch against his leg. Just a gesture of companionship.
"Yeah," he laughed, "the Rift. And who's job is it to look after that?" He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face, it was sore and uncomfortable, and he could feel the bruising under his fingers.
"One day you'll learn that I'm not going to let that happen," he said with a laugh in the back of his throat. "I'm not letting anyone kill you, Doctor, and I don't care where that gets me. You don't like that fact, I know that, but you know what? Suck it up and live with it. We get out of this together, or we don't get out of it at all."
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He leaned over and touched the side of Jack's chin, bringing his face into view. The bruises were healing, but the split and the sores were still dark and visible.
Bruises he'd inflicted.
It was really about time for one of those apologies.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Jack, I'm so sorry."
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He smiled at the apology. He didn't need it, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it.
"You don't have to be," he whispered to him. "But thank you. For saying it."
Giving him a long look, he smiled, "I'm not all bad, am I?"
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He pulled his hand away from Jack's face in order to scratch the back of his head in embarrassment.
"Suppose I've got a list of things to apologize for. Not sure this night is going to be long enough for all of them."
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"Like I say," he smiled sideways, "I don't need any apologies. But... if you've got something you want to say..."
He wasn't expecting any specific something, but there were a few choice things he'd like to hear, even if he was certain most of them would never be said.
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He pulled the wad of poisoned food from his pocket and showed it to Jack. He wasn't sure he was hungry enough to deal with another round of drug-induced hysteria.
"Perfectly edible, if we think we can handle ourselves."
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He looked down at the food in the Doctor's hand. Really, the experience hadn't been the best one, but Jack was hungry. His stomach felt as though it was digesting itself. Well, that's what you'll get when you get a brand new stomach.
"Hmm," he said looking down at it. He had learned to control it last time. Or was that just that it was wearing off.
"Well, I'm game if you are."
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"We might be better off starving," he said. "If this takes us over again, one of us, or both of us, could be immobile for a while."
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"Doctor, technically, I've never had a meal. This stomach really needs a proper christening. And like you say, it's going dark, we can hardly walk around out there when it's pitch black, we need to wait a while anyway. What harm can we really do in a cave?"
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He handed half of the block to Jack.
"I have the feeling that we're going to be regretting this later," he said. He broke off a corner of the food , closed his eyes, and popped it into his mouth.
Still tasted like cardboard.
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He finished off the food quickly. Unpleasant as it was it'd hopefully fill a gap and stop his stomach from consuming itself, which really, had to be a bonus.
He dusted his hands together and glanced over at the Doctor. "So, should I fit you with your boxing gloves yet?"
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"I just feel tired," he said. "I can't sleep yet. Another day or two, I think. But I'm tired."
Gallifrey was the final straw. First nearly losing Jack, then the TARDIS, then re-seeing the Master, feeling him out there, fighting Jack, and now Gallifrey. It was too much. It was all just too much to deal with at once.
He had the strangest urge to cry, then. It wasn't the time or place and he could hold himself together (for now). But it was briefly there.
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A lot really had happened.
"I know," Jack sighed and reached his hand out to touch the Doctor's leg again, giving a gentle squeeze. "But you'll be home soon. Back to the TARDIS, and she'll be glad to see you. And then you can curl up and rest as long as you like, in that big old bed of yours. Assuming you've got a big old bed that is."
He felt a sudden wave of sadness that he'd never step foot on the TARDIS again, that even as they were, they were writing a final chapter of a story that he didn't want to end. Oh this really wasn't an emotion he wanted to take over.
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He felt relaxed, talking about that, which was odd. He didn't often talk about the things he owned. Maybe the drug was taking a different effect this time, loosening his tongue.
So long as he didn't hurt Jack again, he could cope.
"Though, if the last few weeks are any example, I'll be sleeping on the floor of the Zero Room again."
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Jack felt warm, like he was being heated from the inside, a little like the afterburn of a nice brandy. It was pleasant, and he smiled, nudging the Doctor playfully by the shoulder.
"Hmm, either that or with me," he teased.
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He raised an eyebrow and found himself smiling lazily over at Jack.
"Hmm. I had thought about that. Course, it would require actually figuring out some way to properly apologize or ask you back onto the TARDIS properly and I really think that this time around the drug in the food is making me talk rather than simply think."
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The Doctor's smile made that warm feeling swell even more, and his head buzzed as though that one brandy was more like ten.
It was the words though, rather than the look that really made him happy.
"Is that an invitation?" he asked, grinning like a fool. And then belatedly, he realised what else the Doctor had said.
"Oh you'd thought about that? What, inviting yourself into bed with me now are you? Careful, Doctor, you're getting as forward as I am."
Jack shifted on the ground, turned his body a little to twist and face the Doctor a little more full on.
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That sort of a grin, that was something he'd missed since the flat back on Cardiff. A real, genuine Jack grin. Before he could stop himself, he found he was saying exactly that. "See, that's what I missed. Smiles like that, we need more smiles like that from you."
He found himself feeling suddenly terribly embarrassed by that admission. "That's not the sort of thing I say," he said. "It's the sort of thing that ends up thought not said, and I'm saying these things anyway. Fairly embarrassing, actually."
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Jack laughed at the admission, and his glance fell down, still a smile on his face, a private little happy smile. He didn't think he'd get any more of those with the Doctor again. It was nice that he was. Very nice.
"Well you do make me smile, Doctor," he said, reaching his hand up to find the Doctor's.
When he blinked, his eyes swam and yes, that's definitely the effect he was getting this time, a drunken happy high.
"Between you and me?" he whispered as though it would be more private that way. "You don't have to worry what you say to me. I mean, I think I've said kinda a lot to you, don't you?"
Jack could quite easily take advantage of this situation, he thought. What would he like to ask the Doctor? What wouldn't he like to ask the Doctor would have probably been a shorter list. But it would be wrong to take advantage, wouldn't it?
Jack never claimed to be perfect. "So you want me to travel with you, do you, Doctor? Or would you prefer I travel with you?" He laughed, well, giggled. Oh he really did feel happy.
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But Jack's happiness was infectious. He found himself smiling, despite his own embarrassment. He imagined that if they were struggling to go through that maze or out amongst those monsters, both of these effects would've put them in a fair amount of peril. Fortunately, hidden here? They were safe. For the moment.
And, of course, that entire line of thinking came spilling out of his mouth.
"...hidden here, we're safe for the moment. I really don't think I like this effect at all. I'd like whatever's happening to you, that looks like fun."
He tugged off his coat and bundled it under his head like a pillow. The cave was just wide enough for him to stretch out his legs. He couldn't sleep, but he could at least rest.
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Jack shifted too, following the Doctor's lead he moved out of his own coat and lay it out in front of him, lying on top of it on his side, lounging as though he were in front of a fire and not in a dank old cave.
"Mmm it feels fun," he nodded, "bit like I've had a drop too many. Which, considering my proximity to you and our behaviour lately... could be a little bit dangerous."
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"It's nice to watch you, happy and relaxed. I don't think we get enough of it, even when I promise a simple breakfast in the 50's or a trip to Barcelona, everything ends up with one of us or both of us running. And I do like the running and I suspect you're not too adverse to it, either, but once, just once it would be nice to land somewhere and not have anything terrible happen."
And, finally, as a response to what Jack said rather than a flowing stream of consciousness, the Doctor said, "And you haven't had much to eat, probably worsens the effect---that would've been really funny if I hadn't had to say everything beforehand!"
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He started to blush a little as the Doctor went on, and he glanced down, playing with a bit of the fabric on his coat. "You know I think I like the effect it's having on you too," he told him. "I like you being honest with me. You don't do it enough, but I think you should. You do the whole stiff upper lip thing that I do with everyone else. Now I know why they get so annoyed with me. It's infuriating. I might get you high on this stuff more often."
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He paused. "No, should not be talking about that, should alter subject now."
"Or perhaps now."
He groaned. "Uuuugh, I keep saying what I'm thinking I can't think at all!"
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