It has been 10 years since the Doctor has seen Jack Harkness. He's not quite at the point where he's putting things away or hiding them in the places of his closet, though he has cleaned up little things like coffee mugs and old shoes. He's also not at the point where he's properly accepted that he's gone. It's just something that happened. It won't be goodbye. It''s never goodbye. Not really. Not for them. They always find each other.

Of course, there's that voice in the back of his head, the one that tells him that this is the last time, that Jack won't seek him out, or forgive him if they ran into each other. Not now, not a hundred years from now. Never.

The blue light around the console flickers a little. The TARDIS keeps it lit, mostly for the Doctor's benefit. He thinks she might've given up on Jack, too. She might even hate the Doctor just a little for it (though being as she always is, she loves him too much to hate him too much.)

Still, he's got a lot to think about. He needs to find milk, fix the rotator cufflink on the console (again), and find himself another companion. He's at the point where any old humanoid will do. It's a somewhat cold way to think of his companions, but he knows he needs one. No time for sentimentality. Sentiment leads to loneliness.

He pulls the hand brake on the console and starts for the door. He hasn't the faintest idea where he is, but the TARDIS has decided it is precisely where he needs to go.
[text message to Jack Harkness's phone]

What is your favorite color?
From here on out, posts made for the Two Immortals, One TARDIS verse that I write with [ profile] quitehomoerotic will be posted into [ profile] twoimmortals! Please feel free to follow that comm if you like following the misadventures of Jack and the Doctor.

I should continue linking things in here, too!

Also! If anyone would like to help make us a layout, userinfo graphics, or a main community icon, we would appreciate it muchly! I give cookies and fanfic to those who can graphic (because graphic is so a verb!)
After this.

This was more than needed. Several days of sun, warm sand, exotic meals, and time with Jack that didn't involve feeling like they were being emotionally pulled through a meat grinder. It was so good, he didn't want it to stop.

Which was why, he figured, it would.

"Breakfast," he said, hopping back into the hut in the early morning. "With nights this short, do they still call it 'breakfast'? Should they call it 'it's morning again' or something like that?"
follows this.

The Doctor woke only a few short hours later and found himself positively disappointed at his lack of dreams. He'd spent years asleep without dreams, and now, when he really wanted them, he still had nothing. No memories, no twisting nightmares, not even a good brain-dump of nonsensical mental garbage. Just nothing. He was asleep next to Jack on the bed, and then he was awake.

He sighed. His memory was still swiss-cheesed with missing parts of the last two hundred years, but there seemed to be more gaps filled in. And that was something, wasn't it? It meant maybe a few more nights of dreamless sleep and he'd be back to himself completely.

He just hoped there weren't more memories like Mars to discover.

He looked over to Jack, asleep next to him. This was what Jack loved the most, he said. Not sleeping alone. Not being alone. In that instant, the Doctor understood it.
Subject: Rutens

Green and blobby. Not much change on this side of London.

Has anything happened at the Sontaran base? It still strikes me as too much of a coincidence that there are two secret bases at the same time in very nearly the same location.

Follows this.

During their time apart, the Doctor didn't dream. Dreaming wasn't common for Time Lords in general, but while Jack was away or in his extended coma, there was no accidental glimpse into the human part of the Doctor's psyche.

Now, he dreamed. Twisting storms and violent rainclouds and a ship that was coming apart. Somewhere he heard Martha calling for him, telling him they had to turn back. They had to turn back, there was too much damage in this section of water. The sentence itself didn't make sense, but to his dream-self it explained a lot of things that were wrong.

A spitfire shot above them through the storm, heading deeper in. The Doctor never dreamed of spitfires. He knew them, but not well enough to have such a beautifully detailed image in front of him. In the dream, he saw it as a sign.

We have to find him, the Doctor responded. He's in the storm.

But everyone was here, on the ship. Mickey, Martha, Donna, Rose, Wilf, they were all there. And the Doctor was steering them into danger and---

He blinked. He was awake in Jack's arms. How long had he been asleep? A few short hours, he imagined. How many more hours did Jack need?
Follows this.

It's time to say goodbye.

Jack Harkness is dead. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,171
Based on RP with [ profile] quitehomoerotic
Prompt: What makes you cry?
It was the way of things. He traveled with someone. He traveled alone. He traveled with someone. He traveled alone. This, the eve of his 1,600th birthday (though, if prodded, it was definitely his 914th birthday), was one of those times where he was alone.

He landed on the bar at Milliways. It had been at least 100 years since he'd been here last, but it was about 600 before that. Time being what it was, of course. Jack didn't own this place yet, and that disappointed him, just a little bit. It would've been nice to see him, just once. Maybe, eventually, he'd figure out a way to break that prophecy and see him again. Maybe---

Well, there was no use in dealing with maybes, was there?

The bar was having a black tie special, so the Doctor vanished back into the TARDIS and reappeared in his tuxedo, which was just a little worse for wear after his last adventure in it. Still, it looked good, and he looked quite good, if he did say so himself. Even with the slight twinge of white in his sideburns and the small, puckered scars that dotted his cheek and forehead. He was getting used to aging in this body and watching himself change.

He headed off to the bar and ordered a bright pink drink with a peppermint stick in it. Very nearly midnight. After this, he'd get something birthday-cake-flavored.
Follows this.

The Doctor did not often shop.

There were plenty of other interesting places to go, things to do, people to see. Like, the crosswords. He could easily do the crosswords and that would be miles more interesting than shop. Or flossing! Good for the teeth, very fun, better than shopping.

Still, right now, the Doctor was shopping. The fact was, if he correlated going out for lunch (A) to the number of disasters he and Jack had to face (B), he'd come to the conclusion that B was directly related to A, meaning that (B|A) could be drastically reduced if he instituted C, groceries.

So, (B|A)=(A-C), would mean that B would have a negative quantity of C. So the Doctor attached a Follow Me drone to carry as many groceries as he could afford.

"One credit for a Churro," the Doctor commented, biting on the sugary concoction. "I'm not sure if that's even how much it costs to make one."
After this.

There was something utterly nerve-wracking about not being seen. It made the Doctor feel like he was doing something wrong, like he was spying on the people around him. Even Jack, who was aware he was there, still couldn't see what the Doctor was up to. It should've felt freeing, and sometimes it did, but mostly it just felt wrong. Like he suddenly had no one to account for.

Which, considering his ability to touch anything had also vanished, wasn't too terrible, he supposed. He couldn't exactly do anything to be accounted for. Except watch and make the odd comment.

Also, not piloting the TARDIS was up there on the unpleasant scale. Not because Jack was a bad pilot (quite the contrary), but because it was just another sign of how utterly out of control he was now. No idea where his physical form was, no idea what that storm could be, and unable to even touch his ship.

As a whole, he'd had better days.

"Well, you couldn't get rid of me," he told Jack, teasingly. "Too much to do just yet."
Follows this.

When the Doctor woke, he was prepared to feel stiff and uncomfortable. Usually, when reaching that point of exhaustion, he usually found himself on the floor or on the console, in some sort of an awkward position that left him sore for the next day. This morning, however, he was out of his clothes and stretched out on his bed, under the covers with a heating blanket.

A breathing heating blanket.

He raised an eyebrow and looked to where Jack had an arm around him as he slept. The previous day came rushing back. Pearl Harbor, the goodbyes, the return of Gallifrey, being captured by the Shadow Proclamation, and finally nearly killing Jack. They came so very close. Too close.

Without really thinking about it, the Doctor found himself wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulder. Jack, who was ready and willing to die the previous day. And the Doctor was willing to give him that. He had been willing to give him that. Not anmymore.

Where could they go, now?

Onwards, of course. It was the only way they could go.

The TARDIS wasn't moving anymore, and the Doctor slowly extracted himself from Jack's embrace. He grabbed his trousers and shirt and threw them on quickly, heading towards the console, hopefully before Jack woke.
Follows this.

The warm air of the Pacific hit the Doctor as he pulled open the door to the TARDIS. A beach, as promised. It was about time he managed that. He'd always been so preoccupied with this disaster or that disaster, he'd often forgotten the little things in life, like watching the sun set over an ocean.

"Hawaii, as promised," he said, grinning to his companion. "The island of Maui, to be precise. Should be April 5, 1973. And not a bad landing, either."

He nodded back to the TARDIS, sitting comfortably in some soft, silty sand. It would be good for them, Jack and him, to stay somewhere touristy, he thought. To take away from the strange but very real fact that time had been altered, removing Jack and the Doctor from each other's timelines.

Jack must've meant a lot to the Doctor, considering how loudly his emotions rippled back to him.

"Had planned to land us in the morning," he said. "But! The nightlife in Maui can't be that bad, don't you think?"
Follows this.

The Doctor didn't really like doing things in halves.

So, he promised Jack a proper Christmas, so he plugged the keyword "Christmas" into the randomizer and set the TARDIS to land wherever she deemed would be appropriate. He thought they'd land somewhere on Earth, maybe a classic Victorian Christmas, or one of the neon-light Christmases of 4333. That would be nice.

As she flew, he opened up one of the compartments on the console and quietly tucked away the cufflinks Jack had given him. Sentimental, he'd said before. Sentimental, but they were a gift. For all the Doctor knew, with the Marquis chasing them they might be the last thing he ever got from Jack.

He hoped not.

Ding. The console fell quietly and the Doctor raced over to the monitor.

Not even Earth. Odd.

"Christmas Eve," he said, grinning despite it all. "12136 AD. Not a bad year for Christmases, I think."
Follows this.

Somewhere fixed and somewhere sunny. And, the Doctor decided, somewhere they could have a good time. So, scratching off a number of natural disasters and wars, he picked out a particularly famous and particularly fixed large concert in New York.

He even had a tie-dyed tie that clashed beautifully with his suit.

"It's a bit muddy," he said as he attached an 'Out of Order' sign to the TARDIS. "But I think we're just in time to listen to Santana. Janis should be up in a bit, I might be able to introduce you two." A beat. "If she's met me yet, I can never remember, what with that whole mix-up with time..."

Still! No reason not to have a good time. He tinted his glasses and slipped them on, grinning madly at Jack as he did so. At least three days of fun, without the worry of something terrible happening, just so long as they stayed within the concert.

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired and so old

The anger swells in my guts
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
'Cause I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes

Jack was born in 5070 century on the Boeshane Penninsula.

Jack will die in the year 5,000,000,056 in the city of New New New New New New New New New New New New York.

He doesn't die now.

There are timelines.

There are timelines and the Doctor will preserve them.

He holds the syringe of morphine unsteadily in his hand. He's not a doctor but he knows, in theory, that this should work. It should.

But then again, Jack shouldn't be dying right now. He should not be this close to death. He shouldn't be having a heart attack of all things. Of all things! It's too simple, too mortal. And Jack is immortal. This may not be how things should be, but it is how they are.

He takes a breath and presses the tip of the needle against Jack's chest. Into the heart. Just do it, Doctor. Quickly, don't stop. Save Jack's life.

He doesn't die now.

Time doesn't snap into place around Jack like it should. Time doesn't seem to move around him like he's wading in fluid. Jack is not who he should be and right now, right now Jack is dying. Open your eyes, Jack, he silently wills him. Open your eyes. Live. For me, Jack, please.

He doesn't die now.

The Doctor takes a breath and rams the needle through. It resists against flesh and muscle, but once it's about deep enough, he pushes the drug through. Morphine dialates the blood vessels and it should stop the heart attack. It should. It should work. It has to work. Jack doesn't die now. He can't die now. He can't die now because the Doctor saw him die in the future. He can't die now because the Doctor can't function in this half-memory state alone. He can't die now because---because---

Jack's eyes snap open and he takes in a deep, labored breath.

"You have to get back to the TARDIS," Jack says, his voice raspy and pained. Stupid bastard, caring more about the Doctor than himself. The Doctor could kiss him right now, but he has a feeling that's not a good idea while he's in his state.

He puts an arm around his shoulder. "Not without you." They've still got a long way to run, and the Doctor isn't about to leave him behind.

Jack doesn't die now.

Timelines aren't the only reason the Doctor is keeping it that way.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 406
Based on RP with [ profile] quitehomoerotic in this thread.
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.
rude_not_ginger: (doctor/jack right behind you)
( Nov. 4th, 2009 01:27 pm)
Wow! I love it when fun inspires creativity! Here's a lovely piece of artwork made by [ profile] endlessdrums, inspired by the RP [ profile] quitehomoerotic and I have been doing in our "Two Immortals" verse. It made my morning, thank you!

Following this. &hearts

The Doctor dreamed.

He didn't often dream, as Time Lords didn't often dream, but seeing as his mind was slowly reconstructing events of his life, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised.

The first dream was pretty standard brain-dumping. The Doctor was late for class and looking for Zac Efron at a Beatles concert, and Ringo Starr chased him around with a hypodermic needle. Dreams of that level of absurdity were pretty easy to ignore.

The second dream, not so much. He was standing on a beach. It was Norway, or was it Boeshane? It was hard to tell. Everything was fuzzy at first, but the further he walked along the beach, the clearer it became. The single sun (or the twin suns) obscured by clouds, the biting cold. He tucked his hands into his pockets for warmth, but it kept getting colder. The lights kept fading.


He spun around, and there was Jack. Standing with his feet in the icy water. The Doctor knew Jack was supposed to be a fact, but he couldn't shake the strong, petrifying worry that Jack might die of hypothermia. The tide rose quickly, too quickly.

"Jack," the Doctor said. "Get away from there."

"Doctor, it's coming," Jack said. Only, Jack didn't call him Doctor. He called him his name, the name he never used, the name he'd all but forgotten after so many years.

Curiosity overtook worry for one moment. "Who's coming?"

Jack shook his head, but didn't move. The water level kept rising, quickly overtaking his companion. The Doctor raced towards the shoreline, but it wasn't getting closer.

"Jack!" he called. "Jack!"

"He will knock four times," Jack said, firmly, right as the water overtook his head.


The Doctor sat up from his curled position in the center of the Zero Room. It was colder than he remembered, but he could feel the TARDIS had fallen back into a restorative hibernation. Jack hadn't come back and from the amount of stubble on his chin, the Doctor imagined he'd actually slept a good few hours this time.

He struggled to his feet and hobbled to the door. With a tug, it came open to reveal the dark, cold corridors lit by fuzzy, organic nightlights. He headed back towards the bedrooms, intent on his own room for a shower and a long-needed shave. He stopped as he passed Jack's room. Would he be in here? Would he be gone?

He gave the door a quiet knock.


rude_not_ginger: (Default)
The Doctor


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