Second Chances (PG-13)

[cazthehobbit.livejournal.com]

Right, this has ended up a bit epic! I apologise for any typos because I had to finish it in a bit of a hurry (having lost my internet connection at home a couple of weeks ago I’ve been forced to use the ancient library computers to upload this!) so I hope it actually makes sense.

Title: Second Chances
Author: cazthehobbit
Word Count: 8,989 (I warned you it was long)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Nothing particularly graphic, just a fair smattering of four-letter words and abuse of alcohol. Pretty major spoilers for the end of S3 and casting spoilers for Doctor Who S4 and Torchwood S2.
Prompts: The second time to apologise, and Jack/Ten 100 year reunion
Summary: Jack’s waited a hundred years for the Doctor to say sorry.

Second Chances



Part One

Martha was sleeping.

Jack tucked a blanket around her, pushing a stray lock of hair off her fatigued face. The poor girl, Jack thought. Even after her family had been transported back to Earth, she had insisted on staying with the Doctor while he fixed the TARDIS and tried to repair the enormous damage caused by the Master. Martha had remained at the Doctor’s side, helping him until she was falling asleep on her feet and barely receiving a word of thanks in return. But she never once asked to be taken home.

Saying that, Jack had noticed a definite change in Martha since her year-that-wasn’t travelling the globe and the subsequent death of the Master. Gone were those hopeful little glances in the Doctor’s direction, the indulgent smiles at the Doctor’s frequent attacks of the technobabble, the pouting when he failed to acknowledge her or said something about Rose. She was quiet, and seemed more peaceful than before. Like Jack, Martha had evidently come to a decision.

The Doctor was, as usual, tinkering around with the damaged machinery in the TARDIS, fixing little bits together with a deep frown on his face and his tongue between his teeth. Jack remembered how he used to race around the TARDIS almost manically, with a wide grin on his face, flushed with the thrill of time travel. These days, however, he was far more sombre. He moved around quietly, almost reverently, tending the damaged TARDIS as though it was a sick child. This, Jack reminded himself, probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

There was just so much about the Doctor he didn’t understand. He was going to live forever, but he imagined that in all those uncountable years, he’d still never be able to fathom this Time Lord properly.

“Doctor?” Jack’s voice was tentative.

“Jack,” the Doctor said simply, pocketing his sonic screwdriver but not turning towards his friend.

“Martha’s asleep,” Jack said, “She’s exhausted, you know.”

“I’d love to be able to sleep like that,” the Doctor said quietly, sitting down on the floor of the TARDIS and looking up at Jack, who hesitated for a moment and then sat down beside him. The metal grille floor was just as uncomfortable as it looked. A few moments passed in silence.

“I’m assuming you’ve not sought me out to talk about the weather, Jack,”

“You’re right,”

“You’re gonna tell me you’re going back to join your pals at Torchwood –”

Jack opened his mouth to speak but the Doctor cut across him.

“– I’m not saying I blame you. What good’s happened to you while you’ve been travelling with me, really? Killed by Daleks, abandoned on a satellite, stuck at the end of the universe, and then strung up for a year to be killed over and over again. Loads of fun. Can’t say I really blame you for leaving.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

The question hung in the air between them. The Doctor fidgeted with a piece of loose machinery on the floor and then took a deep breath.

“We wouldn’t have got through this without you. No-one else would have been able to get past the Toclafane. Yeah, you’re pretty useful, Jack.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Doctor?”

Jack watched him closely. For someone who never usually shut up, he’d been very quiet since the death of the Master. The two of them had barely spoken to each other since the Doctor had borrowed Jack’s teleporting device to take the Master’s body to Earth for cremation.

His eyes were shining with tears again. The Doctor wasn’t supposed to cry. Even when awful things happened, he was always the one who rallied everyone around and sorted things out. But here, Jack felt he was intruding on a private grief he’d only seen in the Doctor once before, a very long time ago. Then, he’d thought Rose was dead, the dust they thought she’d been reduced to running through his fingers. But he hadn’t shown that grief to the others on the GameStation. He’d simply organised everyone and tried to come up with some way of defeating their enemy.

Perhaps it was the same now, to most people. They didn’t see the grieving Doctor as he fixed his beloved craft day and night; they only saw the rather manic, slightly cold, always different Time Lord trying to pick up the pieces of a failed invasion. They didn’t see the lonely, vulnerable man underneath.

Jack put his arm round this lonely, vulnerable man and didn’t press him for an answer. Words weren’t needed right now – the Doctor just needed a shoulder to cry on.

“I’m exhausted, Jack,” he said, “I wish I could sleep like Martha but sleeping… it’s not really a Time Lord thing.”

“Not really my kind of thing either,” said Jack, “Though I do miss it. Why don’t you try and sleep, Doctor? Human stuff’s not always so bad. A bit of sleep might do you good.”

“Well, seeing as I’m the only Time Lord left now, I suppose it’s me who defines what being a Time Lord is… oh, shit. Even when he was doing all those terrible things, murdering all those people, I still wanted to save him, Jack. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No.” Jack didn’t need to ask who the Doctor was talking about.

“I thought I was all alone. I’d lost Rose, and she was the first person who made me happy again after the Time War, so when I found someone who was my own kind… you can’t imagine how that felt. I wanted to help him. That’s why I forgave him. I’d forgive anything just so I wasn’t alone any more.”

Jack couldn’t even begin to imagine how that must have felt, so he just hugged the Doctor tighter. His arse was getting quite numb from sitting on the floor but right now, the Doctor needed rather more TLC than Jack’s arse.

Silence stretched out awkwardly between them. Twice Jack opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. The Doctor said nothing, taking deep shuddering breaths and occasionally sniffing. Jack let him cry, still marvelling at the Doctor’s once again youthful appearance. It still felt a bit strange to see him like that after a year of seeing a helpless old man, powerless and degraded like an animal. It was reassuring to see that young, sharp face again, although now it came to it, that profile reminded Jack of the Doctor’s cold reply, all the way at the end of the universe.

“You abandoned me,” Jack had said to him, voicing that bitterness and heartbreak he’d kept inside for over a century.

“I was busy,” the Doctor had shrugged, his voice emotionless. He’d turned away, and Jack had stuck to Martha’s side, reassured by her smile and readiness to talk. The Doctor had been so different – not only a new face but a different manner, sadder and colder. His blatant lack of remorse for what he’d done to Jack stung. A lot. Deep down, Jack knew how he really felt about this extraordinary man, but the way he’d dismissed Jack’s fate so easily had driven a wedge between them and things had certainly been awkward between them ever since. It had certainly made Jack’s decision to return to Torchwood a great deal easier.

The Doctor’s sobs had died away and he leaned into Jack’s shoulder, looking at the ceiling.

“I’ve done some terrible things, Jack,” he said softly, keeping his eyes fixed on some point far above and taking another deep breath.

But whatever he was going to say – and Jack knew what it was, he could feel it coming in the tenseness of the Doctor’s shoulders and see it in his expression – was left unsaid. Without looking at Jack, the Doctor sprang to his feet as though nothing was wrong.

Bewildered, Jack got to his feet too.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting the co-ordinates for Cardiff, of course. I’ve nearly fixed everything now, so you’d better go and get your stuff.”

There was something forced in his voice. Jack watched him fiddle with the controls for a moment before walking slowly away. The weight of words unsaid hung awkwardly between them. For a moment there, Jack had been certain the Doctor was about to say sorry. Instead, the Doctor hurried around the console, tweaking a few leavers and buttons and the whole thing lit up, bathing the whole room in a greenish light as the machinery joyfully came back to life.

Before leaving the console room, Jack glanced back at the Doctor. He was no longer at the controls, but leaning heavily against the console with his face in his hands.



Part Two

Donna wasn’t even going to begin to count the number of bruises she’d sustained thanks to this bloody thing. Her cheek was pressed against the uncomfortable metal floor of the TARDIS for the umpteenth time as the Doctor sprang to his feet with inappropriate amounts of enthusiasm and ran his hand through his hair, looking completely exhilarated.

Donna clambered gingerly to her feet. It seemed odd to be standing on something solid and unmoving. As she swayed precariously, the Doctor offered her a hand to steady her. Such gentlemanly manners, these Time Lords, considering they weren’t even human. Still, it was his bad driving that had knocked her to the floor in the first place, so she slapped him.

“Hey, what was that for?” the Doctor said incredulously, raising a hand to where a bright pink mark bloomed on his cheek.

“Your bad driving.” Donna snapped, “Is it really necessary to hurtle around like that? Didn’t you ever learn to drive this thing properly, if you’re such a genius?”

“Surely I didn’t deserve to be slapped this time, Donna. Come on! We’re safe. OK, it was a bumpy ride, but they’d tried to stop me entering the Vortex. It was never gonna be smooth!”

“Doctor. You didn’t answer my question.” After several bumpy trips and not a few coordinates gone awry, Donna was curious as to how the Doctor was so inept at driving his beloved ship when he was so good at everything else. He’d scared the shit out of her the first time she’d met him; now she found him completely intriguing as well as terrifying. It didn’t help that he was prone to getting into tight situations first and explaining them later. This time, he had rather a lot of explaining to do.

“Well,” he said, looking slightly awkward, “I never actually passed the test to drive this thing.”

“Yeah, well I failed my driving test five times, so I know how you feel. How come’s you even have it, then?”

“I kind of, erm, borrowed it, I suppose.”

“You nicked it?”

“Yep.” He turned away, running his hands over the console and glancing at the monitor. Donna longed to ask him why he’d stolen the TARDIS in the first place but like most things about the Doctor’s past, he seemed to prefer to keep it to himself.

“Where are we?” she ventured.

The Doctor was looking at the screen on the console with an odd expression on his face, half amused, half stricken. “Looks like the TARDIS has been up to her old tricks again –”

“Oh my God. You have not landed in the middle of somewhere being invaded by the Daleks again, have you?”

“Nope. Just Cardiff.”

“Cardiff?”

“Yep. No idea when. There’s a rift in space and time here, which helps refuel the TARDIS. And boy does she need refuelling after that chase.”

Donna hadn’t realised the TARDIS needed fuel. The way the Doctor spoke about his ship, it seemed to be – somehow – alive. Well, things that were alive generally needed fuel and rest, and Donna didn’t blame it in the slightest for landing somewhere to refuel after its master escaped across half a galaxy in it with the engines whining and groaning and protesting against the wards that had tried to hard to prevent it entering the Time Vortex.

“So, what do we do now? Just wait around?”

“You look like you could do with a cup of tea. I just hope we’ve landed in a Cardiff that actually sells tea. C’mon.” The Doctor offered Donna his hand, and they exited the TARDIS into a scene that was so reassuringly Earth-like that Donna nearly cried with relief. No Judoon, no guns, nothing horrible or alien. Just grey skies, drizzle and annoying Welsh accents. Donna never thought she’d be pleased to be in Cardiff, not after that fateful hen weekend. She’d never been able to look at a policeman – or a Welshman, for that matter – the same way after that night.

Something wasn’t right, though. It didn’t look like the Cardiff she remembered, and surely tequila couldn’t distort one’s memory that much?

“Doctor? Are we in the future?”

“Looks like it. I’d say about, hmm, one hundred years ahead of your time. Welcome to the republic of Wales.”

“What?”

“Ah, Wales is independent now. Followed Scotland and broke away from England completely. Nasty war over the whole thing, actually.” The Doctor’s eyes misted over reminiscently. He’d probably been there himself. Wherever the Doctor went, trouble seemed to follow. Or perhaps the Doctor was the one who knew where to find trouble in order to put it right somehow. Donna’s uncertainty must have showed on her face because the Doctor’s expression softened and he said, “You’ll be all right, though. Everything’s peaceful now.”

“I damn well hope so, or you’re getting another slap. Do they still have tea in the 22nd Century?”

“Of course! Give you lot another couple of thousand years and you colonise an entire planet for the sole purpose of growing the best tea in the Universe…”

“Well, then. That looks like some sort of café, over there.” Donna pointed at a building where the windows were shaded by striped awnings and where a few plastic tables and chairs were clustered miserably outside in the puddles. It wouldn’t have looked particularly out of place in the 21st Century, but a lot of the nearby buildings were very obviously different. There were more curves, and glassy walls, and tall structures than anything she’d ever seen in 21st Century Cardiff, sober or otherwise.

The Doctor offered her a hand and they wandered over towards it. However, ten yards before they reached the entrance, Donna stopped in her tracks.

“What’re we going to do about money?” she asked.

“I’m sure the psychic paper will sort us out,” the Doctor said with a reassuring grin.

Once in the cafe, Donna sat down at a table close to the door while the Doctor went to buy drinks. She didn’t want to be too far from the exit in case there was trouble round the corner. She might have been imagining it, but the Doctor looked uneasy. He tapped at the glass on the top of the counter while he waited in the queue and kept running a hand through his hair, glancing through the grimy windows at the drizzly square outside.

The little café was pretty disappointing. Donna would have thought that it would have been all chrome and clean and futuristic, but after one glance around at the stained tablecloths and smoky air (the smoking ban had evidently been repealed at some point, then) she realised her situation was similar to that of a Victorian visiting a greasy spoon café in Croydon in 2007.

“You’re not impressed, are you?” the Doctor said, smiling, as he set down a large mug of steaming tea in front of her.

“Thought it might have been a bit more futuristic, really. But then again, Cardiff is always Cardiff, I suppose.”

The Doctor grinned, taking a sip from his own glass.

“What’s that?” Donna asked.

“Scotch. Turns out cafés also sell alcohol these days. Although,” he lowered his voice, “I shouldn’t really call it that any more. The barman nearly kicked me out when I asked for a double Scotch. I thought doubles were banned or something, until he told me what I was trying to order is actually called whisky, and any more of the racist talk and I’ll be out.”

Donna laughed. “Trust you!”

“That’s time travel for you, I suppose. Slang never stays the same for long. They even called it Scotch on Gallifrey, mind you, though it never really took off there. I’m not surprised really, it’s a bit tame for Time Lords. You should see some of the drinks out there. Of course, alcohol only affects carbon-based life forms… it’s quite funny really, because water – H2O – has exactly the same effect as alcohol on calcium-based life forms.”

“I take it you’re carbon-based, then?”

“Yep, but Time Lords can handle more than humans can. Something to do with the circulatory system. We’re certainly not immune to it, though…”

He carried on talking, flying off on tangents that Donna didn’t even bother to keep up with. She was marvelling at how much better she felt for having some tea inside her, even if it did taste a bit strange. The Doctor kept glancing out of the window, looking slightly flustered and finishing off his drink rather too quickly. Donna had learned, in her fairly short time with the Doctor (actually, she’d completely lost track of time since she’d joined him, but that was understandable given the nature of their travelling) that whenever he was flustered, in danger or upset, he talked and talked and talked to buy himself more time. Something was definitely not right here.

“What’s wrong?” Donna asked him tentatively when he paused to draw breath. “Do you think the Judoon followed us here?”

“Nah. There’s no way they can do that, thankfully. It’s just strange being back in Cardiff. I’ve got unfinished business here.”

“I knew it. More trouble.”

“Not trouble. Just someone I know, that’s all. It’s in the past now.”

“Who?”

“A friend. Well, he was a good friend to me. I’m not sure I was such a good friend to him.”

The Doctor did look rather sad. Donna reached out over the table, took his hand and squeezed it gently. He looked rather taken aback at the rare show of affection. It was true, Donna didn’t often hug or touch the Doctor of her own accord – after her disastrous experience with Lance she was pretty keen to keep things platonic – but she could tell he was pretty upset right now.

“Who is he, Doctor?”

“It’s quite a long story, and I’m still not entirely sure who he is myself. He’s probably moved on now, anyway.”

But Donna was intrigued. She was also keen to stay out of the TARDIS for a while – the luxury of being on solid, unmoving ground that was the same size on the outside that it was on the inside was one that wasn’t likely to wear off quickly after their torrid police chase – so she drained the last of her tea and grinned at the Doctor.

“Well, then. If it’s a long story, I’d better have some of whatever you’re drinking.”




Part Three

Jack was pretty close to banging his head against the desk. Hard. He was once again rueing the fact that he was only ever unconscious when he really didn’t need to be, and when he needed an escape, none was coming. He’d had some bad weeks since getting involved with Torchwood but this one ranked up there as one of the worst, the kind of week that threw into stark relief what a curse immortality really was.

He’d spent a great deal of the evening feeling stupidly angry with the Doctor, who was in his own way the cause of the pain he felt right now. He was beginning to calm down now, but earlier, in his fit of rage and grief, he’d even thought he’d heard the TARDIS materialising, but he had to have been imagining that. He didn’t think the Doctor would ever come back, not now. And if he did – well, Jack wasn’t even sure he wanted to see him. Their last encounter had not been a pleasant one.

His coffee was cold. Cold, and bitter. Tilly was usually the one who went out to buy the sugar, the refreshments and those little things that reminded the staff of Torchwood Three that they were all, in fact, actually human (although, come to think of it, there was definitely something very odd about Gareth). Things like sugar reminded Jack that life wasn’t all grim and full of death and devastation, but the sugar had run out now and Tilly was dead.

Losing members of staff was never easy, and more than a hundred years of dealing with such incidences still hurt Jack inside, even if he never showed it to anyone else. Losing Tilly was more difficult because the pair of them had been carrying on an affair for the last few months, which their colleagues had pretended to be blissfully unaware of whilst sniggering about it behind their backs. It wasn’t the first time Jack had got involved with a fellow Torchwood employee, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

He wondered bitterly how much longer he could put up with this, and felt another stab of resentment towards the Doctor. He didn’t even like to admit to himself that the reason he’d kept himself based beside the rift in Cardiff for so long – too long – was in the hope that he’d meet the Doctor again. More than half a century had passed since the last fateful encounter; an encounter that Jack guessed was far in the Doctor’s future. At least, he hoped it was.

Actually, when he thought about it, every encounter he’d had with the Doctor since he’d returned to Torchwood Three after the death of the Master had been strange. Although it was only his most recent encounter with the Doctor that had been actually unpleasant, every time Jack had felt that there was a missing link somewhere: an encounter between the two of them in the Doctor’s past and Jack’s future that had somehow set things right. The Doctor no longer seemed cold and guilt-ridden (well, not as much, anyway) and Jack had felt more at ease with him – except for that last time. But that was different.

The Hub was horribly quiet. Usually Jack found that a comfort but tonight it was just oppressive. The silence seemed to mock him, to remind him of his loss. He toyed with the idea of going up onto the roof but the wind and rain put him off – being smashed to a pulp twice in a week wasn’t something he wanted to get used to – so after draining his cold coffee he pulled on his coat and headed upstairs and through the deserted reception area.

The drizzle was still falling when he got outside, creating a dank mist around the city. The few people outside huddled under umbrellas and hurried to their destinations, paying no attention to Jack, who stood very still, breathing in the damp, dirty air and telling himself once again that he needed to get out of here.

He rubbed his eyes. The mist had to be making him see things that weren’t there. There was absolutely no way a blue police box could be parked across the square, right over the Rift. No way at all. Perhaps this time – unlike so many others – his eyes weren’t deceiving him.



Part Four

“Ayate ther fubb-fuuuu-fucking Welsh, Doctaaaa… gobby basrads the lorrof ‘em…”

Donna lunged forward again and the Doctor struggled to prevent her from slipping on the damp ground. He’d forgotten quite how equally amusing and infuriating drunk humans were. After insisting on keeping up with what the Doctor was drinking, Donna was completely paralytic and they had been thrown out of the café-bar after she’d managed to miss the toilet when she’d staggered into the Ladies’ to be sick.

The Doctor felt quite sadistic for wanting to laugh at her, but if nothing else her drunken antics had distracted him from the guilty feelings that had been welling up inside him ever since he’d realised they’d landed in Cardiff.

Still, he needed to get her inside the TARDIS and quick. The anti-Welsh sentiments she’d started to come out with were attracting rather a lot of attention from passers-by and just this once, the Doctor wanted to leave somewhere without having got involved in some sort of trouble. Fighting off angry Welshmen was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat.

“Ohmygodimgonnabesick –” Donna slurred, putting a hand to her mouth. The Doctor tried to push her in the direction of the TARDIS, which was now only feet away, but she was digging in her heels.

“Need a hand there, Doctor?”

Both of the Doctor’s hearts nearly stopped and he let go of Donna in shock as he spun round to see Captain Jack Harkness standing there, resplendent in his usual World War II-style coat and looking at the Doctor with raised eyebrows. He had caught Donna in his arms and barely looked a day older than the last time the Doctor had seen him, even though a century had passed for Jack since then.

“Jack?”

“Doctor. It’s been a long time.” Jack was looking at Donna, who was clutching his shoulder and looking decidedly green. “Is this what you’ve had to resort to in my absence? Getting local girls fucked off their faces and taking them for a spin in the TARDIS?”

That glint in Jack’s eyes hadn’t gone, despite his rather cold tone. The Doctor laughed despite himself. “Nah, she’s travelling with me. We just stopped off to refuel and, erm, well – she thought she could keep up with a Time Lord in terms of consuming double Scotches.”

“Ah. And who may I be propping up?”

Donna made an unintelligible burbling noise.

“That’s Donna Noble. She’s not usually like this, I assure you. We need to get her to the TARDIS before she upsets the locals any more.”

“Are you inviting me in, then?”

The Doctor avoided Jack’s eyes. “Yes, perhaps I am.”

The truth was, he felt incredibly awkward as Jack helped him carry a now flailing Donna into the TARDIS. More awkward, in fact, than at any time when Donna had been saying less-than-complimentary things about the Welsh in a very loud voice. Jack didn’t speak as they helped Donna stagger over to a large metal basin in the corner of the console room that the Doctor had installed specially for travelsick companions. As Jack tenderly held back Donna’s hair as she was sick, the Doctor found himself staring at Jack’s hand a little wistfully.

“I think she’s done now,” Jack said softly as Donna slumped over the basin, breathing heavily but mercifully no longer being sick. “Have you got a bed for her?”

“Of course,” said the Doctor. “This way.”

Ignoring Donna’s protests that she wasn’t really that drunk and should be allowed to stay up, they managed to get her into a soft bed.

“Why are the lights on the wall?” she asked dreamily, staring at the ceiling with a look of childlike wonder on her face, before promptly falling asleep.

As the Doctor looked up, his eyes met Jack’s. Jack grinned rather mischievously.

“Don’t start,” the Doctor said warningly.

“I wasn’t going to,” said Jack.

“C’mon,” the Doctor said quietly, leaving Donna to sleep and wandering through the labyrinth of passages and spiral staircases that made up the TARDIS. He soon found the room he’d been looking for – a fairly comfortable room with a couple of armchairs, a drinks cabinet and a gramophone.

“Quaint,” said Jack uncertainly, hovering in the doorway and looking wrong-footed.

“Well, it would be terribly rude of me not to offer you a drink,” the Doctor said, “When you said ‘it’s a long time’, how long exactly did you mean? A hundred years?”

“Fifty-three.”

The Doctor stared at him. “But I thought –”

“It’s a hundred years since I took my leave of you, you mean? Well, the last time I met you, I’m assuming – hoping, really – is rather a long way in your future.”

“May I ask why?”

“Your new regeneration’s scary. And has terrible dress sense. I’d better not talk about it any more, though, huh? Might cause the universe to implode or something if you know what you’re going to regenerate into before it’s even happened.”

“Possibly,” said the Doctor, rubbing the side of his head. That kind of thing was far too confusing to think about whilst sober, even for someone who was used to timelines being a bit out of order.

“I hope you don’t plan on regenerating any time soon,” Jack was saying. “I still haven’t quite got over the last one.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack sighed, and plonked himself in the nearest armchair. He looked angry, and the Doctor had a shrewd idea why. He opened his mouth to speak, and then spotted the drinks cabinet.

“Drink, Jack?”

Jack grunted. “Anything but hypervodka,” he added as an afterthought.

“Fair enough,” said the Doctor, rapidly mixing a couple of run-of-the-mill Cosmopolitans and handing Jack one of them.

“Very Sex and the City,” Jack said, grinning momentarily and then taking a sip. “Christ! What the hell did you put in this?”

“It’s the version we drink – drank – on Gallifrey. Cocktails was one thing the Time Lords couldn’t resist, erm, borrowing from other civilisations, and then improving them.”

“Oh, right. I take it this is a privilege, then.”

“I suppose it is, seeing as I’m the only person alive who still knows the recipe.”

“It’s good. I prefer it to the Earth version, I think. Has more of a kick to it.”

The Doctor sat down opposite Jack, still feeling decidedly awkward. Jack was looking surly again and the Doctor reflected on how right he’d been when he told Donna he’d got unfinished business here.

“So, Jack. Have you stayed at Torchwood all this time?” He had to admit, he was surprised Jack was still in Cardiff.

“Yes. Though, I’m beginning to think it’s time to move on. I’ve seen rather more of Cardiff than I’d ever have wished to, to be honest. It’s a while before humankind start exploring other parts of the galaxy, so I might as well explore Earth a bit more in the meantime.”

“That’s the thing about a long life, you think you have time to do everything,” said the Doctor a little sadly.

“What do you mean? I’m certainly beginning to find that a long life is a curse rather than a blessing, thanks to you.” Jack’s voice was bitter.

“You’d be surprised. I’ve been roaming around the universe for more than nine centuries yet it’s strange how seldom you get a second chance at something if you mess up the first time. I’ve spent most of my life picking up the pieces of the stupid things I’ve done in the past.”

“You call saving the world stupid?”

“No, but most of the things in between were. Half the time I end up saving worlds and people from situations I’ve created myself.” The Doctor had never voiced this to anyone before. Seeing Jack so unchanged, yet so fed up with a life that would never end, and knowing that it was all his fault, the Doctor thought that Jack deserved some honesty, rather than cold comments and spineless excuses.

It had, after all, been a hundred years for Jack since the Doctor had been too much of a coward to say sorry. It had only been a few weeks for the Doctor, but the guilt was already eating him up inside.

“Jack,’ he said slowly, “I said I’ve never had many second chances to put things right. Certainly not with people, anyway. But I think this might be one of them.”



Part Five

Jack stared at the Doctor. His eyes were shining with tears and Jack was instantly reminded of the moment the Doctor seemed to be thinking of, the first chance he’d had and messed up.

“Jack,” the Doctor said again, leaning forwards in his chair and looking Jack squarely in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, and I’m sorry I didn’t apologise sooner.”

Jack stood up. The Doctor looked stricken, almost afraid, as though he expected Jack to walk out in disgust. His shoulders were tensed under the pinstriped suit, his fingers tight around the slightly trembling cocktail glass. Part of Jack – the angry, resentful part that remembered the increasingly dismal century he’d lived through since the first time the Doctor should have apologised – did actually want to turn away and leave, to teach the Doctor a lesson. To tell the arrogant bastard that he deserved to learn the hard way that it was better to take a bit of responsibility.

But Jack hadn’t waited by the Rift for a century just to get revenge. Anyone else, and he might have done that, but not the Doctor. No, the Doctor had been honest with him – and that had cost him a lot. He joked about it, liked to pretend otherwise, but Jack knew that the Doctor was proud by nature. He was a Time Lord – the name itself dripped with arrogance. He didn’t like to admit he was wrong. What was the point in being petty when the Doctor had swallowed his sizeable ego to say sorry?

He went and sat down on the arm of the Doctor’s chair, giving in to the temptation and running his hand through the Doctor’s impressive mop of dark hair, which was still damp from the drizzle outside. The Doctor looked up at him and smiled slightly, looking rather relieved.

“I forgive you,” Jack said, and he meant every syllable of it. “I think I forgave you a long time before you even said sorry.”

“I don’t deserve that,” the Doctor said quietly.

Jack smiled, twisting a lock of hair around his finger. “You’re an endangered species. I think you ought to have a bit of slack cut for you, hey?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? The mighty Time Lords, the only species Captain Jack Harkness failed to shag in all of his immortal years.”

“I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, Doctor. Cheeky.”

“No, seriously, Jack,” the Doctor said, looking slightly flustered as he always did when Jack tried to flirt with him. “Thanks. I don’t really deserve forgiving after all I’ve done to you.”

“Well, considering how long I’m going to live, a hundred years isn’t that long.” Jack wasn’t being entirely honest there – the last century really did feel like it had lasted an eternity. But he now had the satisfying feeling that the pieces had fallen together – the reason why the Doctor was more at ease around him in other encounters now made sense. The atmosphere in the room had lightened considerably and the Doctor had slumped back in his armchair looking content for the first time, his shoulders a little more relaxed and his expression peaceful.

Jack slid off the side of the armchair and went to pick up his cocktail glass again. Whatever the Doctor had put in this Gallifreyan version of a Cosmopolitan, it was bloody strong. Bloody good, as well. Jack hadn’t tasted a decent drink for more than two hundred years and since immortality had greatly increased his alcohol tolerance, he was quite happy to find that this strange cocktail was actually beginning to get him tipsy.

The Doctor was still sipping his own cocktail slowly, looking a bit uncomfortable. His eyes were downcast again.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Doctor. I said I forgave you,” Jack said firmly.

“I’m a complete bastard, aren’t I?” the Doctor said, looking glum. As though the idea had only just occurred to him after nine hundred-odd years of bumming around the universe and causing chaos.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. “I was going to say,” he said after a moment’s thought, “That you’re only human and everyone makes mistakes, but of course you’re not human.”

“Thanks, Jack. Really comforting. Much appreciated.”

“Who was it who once said that being cleverer than most men meant his mistakes tended to be –”

“‘Correspondingly huger,’” the Doctor finished, a smile finally playing on his lips. “Albus Dumbledore. Page one hundred and eighty-seven of the UK hardback edition of Half-Blood Prince. I had no idea you’d read Harry Potter, Jack.”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Anyway, I think that quote just about sums you up, and yes – you are a bastard.”

Jack’s tone was light and slightly mocking and the Doctor seemed to respond to it. He drained the rest of his cocktail, grinned, and made for the drinks cabinet again.

“Any particular preference, Jack?” he asked, picking up the cocktail shaker again.

“You wouldn’t have the ingredients for the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, would you?”

“That’s fatal to humans.”

“I can’t die, remember?”

“Of course. And to answer your question, yes, I do have the ingredients.”

“I just hope the Gallifreyan version isn’t any stronger.”

“We stuck to the original recipe. I knew someone who once tried to improve it and he ended up so fucked that he had to regenerate.”

Jack laughed. “Don’t do that, will you?”

“Is my new regeneration really that bad?”

“I wouldn’t say bad, I’d say different. And at the moment, for me, with you – different is bad.”

“Are you drunk, Jack?”

“No. I’m just trying to say that you’ve grown on me. This regeneration, I mean. Skinny, stupid suits and spiky hair. It’s taken a bit of getting used to. I always thought that the leather jacket looked good next to my coat. I was a bit shocked when I woke up at the end of the universe to find bloody geek chic here saying he’d been busy.” Jack hadn’t meant to sound so bitter but he couldn’t keep it out of his voice.

The Doctor glared at him. “Well, I couldn’t exactly choose my new appearance to complement your coat, Jack. But I do admit I was a bit of a tool at the end of the universe. You just seem to have this habit of making my companions prefer you to me.” He sounded resentful, and was pouting in a way that reminded Jack of a spoilt, rich girl he’d once dated – very briefly.

“I wonder why,” Jack muttered sarcastically. When the Doctor didn’t laugh, he continued. “Doctor. You know that isn’t true. Rose always loved you and I think Martha was just pleased to see someone who didn’t compare her to Rose all the time. Christ, didn’t you ever think I might have been a bit jealous?”

“Jealous of what?” The Doctor looked confused. Jack rued his big mouth and said nothing else. He’d come dangerously close to actually admitting to the Doctor something he’d always been a bit – cautious – of admitting. How he really felt.

“Oh, nothing,” he said airily after a while, “And by the way, you’ve not seen the last of Martha.”

“Oh, good,” said the Doctor, looking a bit more relaxed. “She gave me her phone when she left but – well, after the way I’d been with her I wasn’t sure she’d be too keen to call.”

“She dropped in on me not long after she left you, actually.”

“And there was me thinking she had some sense.”

“More sense than you. She didn’t keep running away from me.”

“Excuse me, you are my guest here. And incidentally, here’s your drink.”

The Doctor handed Jack a fresh cocktail glass containing a clear but lethal-smelling concoction. He had one in his other hand as well, and grinned as Jack sniffed it tentatively.

“I’ve always wanted to try one of these,” he said. The smell alone was frighteningly intoxicating and he had to concentrate to keep his eyes focused.

“You do know it’ll kill you, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Considering my last death was to be ripped to pieces at the hands of a gang of out-of-control Weevils, I think I could do to get that out of my system.” Not to mention the fact that Tilly had died beside him. That was going to haunt him for a long time. What had been even worse, if that was possible, was how he’d felt when he’d woken up four days later without a mark remaining on his body, completely healed, while Tilly’s mangled corpse lay in the morgue, never to move again. Survivor’s guilt was something Jack had been dogged by even before he’d become immortal. Looking at the Doctor he suddenly had an inkling of how the poor guy must have felt every time someone he loved died or was lost as he lived on. He didn’t know how the Doctor had put up with that for nine hundred years. One day he would know. But right now they were in this together, and that was a small comfort.

“To friendship!” he said, holding his glass high, banishing his dark thoughts and breathing in the heady fumes from the cocktail.

“I was going to say ‘to the future’, but it’s all a bit confusing,” said the Doctor, laughing. “So, I second friendship!”

“Long live alcohol!”

“Long live the Time Lords!”

Laughing maniacally, they raised their glasses and then downed their drinks in a single gulp.

Jack came round on the floor, his head feeling oddly separate from the rest of his body. He gingerly moved a hand up to his neck to reassure himself that everything was still attached, which – thankfully – they still were. He couldn’t remember anything after the first drop of the cocktail had touched his lips.

The Doctor’s face swam into view in front of him. He was grinning broadly, although his eyes looked a little unfocused.

“That was fantastic!” he said chirpily, his voice breaking into a falsetto. “Never seen anything like it! You drank the drink, and then just fell right over! Fucking hilarious.”

He was slurring his words slightly and laughing in a rather pathetic way. Jack didn’t actually feel particularly drunk. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the drink had killed him. Maybe dying also killed off most of the effects of the alcohol. Well, that was a bit crap. But his head certainly felt rather odd. He’d tried a thousand different cocktails – many of them of dubious legality – in his stint as a Time Agent but none with quite as strange an effect as the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He grinned back at the Doctor.

“Definitely one of my better deaths,” he said. Immortality had instilled in Jack a rather twisted sense of humour. More twisted, at least, than it had been when he was mortal.

The Doctor helped him to his feet. “It’s not every day you actually get killed by a cocktail, you know.”

“Only problem is,” Jack said, glancing at the Doctor slyly, “That was supposed to be the best drink in the whole universe. Everything else we drink now will be rubbish.”

“Well, I think the TARDIS should have recovered from her ordeal by now. Perhaps we should go on a little trip?”






Part Six

Jack perched on the seats while the Doctor tinkered with the controls, the TARDIS leaving the 22nd Century and entering into the Time Vortex, going forwards…

“What’s with all the secrecy, Doctor?” asked Jack, standing up.

“Just stay where you are,” the Doctor said, hitting a switch with a hammer and then kicking the side of the console when nothing happened.

“Or what?” said Jack, laughter in his voice. “You’ll tie me up?”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” muttered the Doctor, jerking a couple more levers and ducking as he was showered with sparks. The ship shook violently as they hurtled through the Vortex, throwing the Doctor backwards onto the floor. He felt a pair of strong hands grip his shoulders and turned round to look into Jack’s grinning face.

“I’d missed this,” Jack said softly, his face barely inches from the Doctor’s. There was dark stubble on his chin and upper lip where he obviously hadn’t shaved that morning, expecting just another ordinary day. Looking into Jack’s bright blue eyes, the Doctor suddenly realised what he’d done, abandoning those eyes – this man – to an eternity living in the fading hope that perhaps one day the right sort of doctor would turn up… well, he was here now. The Doctor moved even closer, his lips brushing against Jack’s, his hand snaking around his waist –

The TARDIS gave an almighty lurch, hurling them apart. Jack landed with a barrage of curses several feet away and the Doctor fell back into the console as the TARDIS came to a sudden halt at their destination.

The TARDIS really did have a twisted sense of humour, the Doctor thought irritably as he clambered to his feet, swaying clumsily. A glance at the screen told him they’d managed to land at their intended destination, which was something to be thankful for, at least.

“Right, Jack, c’mon. We’re here.” The Doctor brushed down his suit and then ran a hand self-consciously through his hair, feeling slightly awkward. He wasn’t actually as drunk as he was pretending to be – Time Lords had a ridiculously high tolerance to alcohol and sobering up was irritatingly swift and simple – but Jack didn’t have to know that just yet. The fact that he’d finally had the balls to get some closure on the messy situation he’d created with Jack was a huge relief and now that he’d actually apologised he wondered why he’d found it so difficult to say sorry in the first place. But then again, he was a Time Lord, and he was proud. He was used to being the cleverest one, the person with all the answers and solutions. He knew, deep down, that he made a lot of very stupid mistakes but when everyone expected you to perform a miracle every time something went wrong it was just bloody hard to admit that. Especially to someone whose life he had, in many ways, completely ruined.

Bringing him here was his attempt at apologising; his attempt to remind and reassure Jack that actually his endless future wasn’t going to be all that bad.

They stepped out onto a honey-covered pavement, which turned out to be the flat roof of an extremely tall building.

“Where are we?” Jack asked, looking a bit disorientated.

“Rome,” the Doctor answered.

“Doesn’t look like Rome to me,”

“They didn’t call it the Eternal City for nothing. We’ve travelled forward about ten thousand years and this is the heart of the New Roman Empire.”

“History really does come back and bite you on the arse, doesn’t it?” Jack was gazing at the glittering cityscape with an awed expression on his face. Granted, the view didn’t really stand up to the Citadel of the Time Lords but the Doctor knew a pretty place when he saw one.

It was the middle of the night, but the city lights were so bright that no stars were visible and the moon was just a pale disc in a dark orange sky. They were surrounded by countless tall buildings, many of them ornately carved and with jewel-like lights winking the names of companies, families and gods. Music wafted through the still, rather smoggy air and opposite them a party was being held on the roof of a skyscraper in a sumptuous garden full of fruit trees and dim, pinkish lamps. No-one over there had noticed the sudden appearance of a blue police box on the skyscraper opposite, for which the Doctor was grateful. It was pushing his luck hoping for two consecutive trips without any aggro, but stranger things had happened.

“Are you telling me I have to wait ten thousand years for this?” Jack said.

“’Fraid so,” said the Doctor.

“You couldn’t just leave me here now, could you?”

“You’re probably already here somewhere, Jack, knowing you. All those New Roman soldiers…”

A grin spread across Jack’s face. “You’re probably right,” he said. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You looked as though you could do with a bit of reminding that the future isn’t completely bleak and depressing,” the Doctor said.

“Thanks,” said Jack, “It won’t be anyway, if you actually ever bother to turn up.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And yes, I’ll try to drop in. In fact,” the Doctor leaned over and grabbed Jack’s wrist. “You still wear this bloody thing, even after all these years?” He stared at the broken Vortex Manipulator strapped to Jack’s wrist, pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the Manipulator.

“There,” he said after a few moments, “A new Doctor detector for you. Saves you having to carry around a severed hand and having to answer awkward questions.”

“Your end of the deal being that you actually have to come see me once in a while,” Jack said.

“I’ll try,” said the Doctor, staring out at the city. “Y’know,” he added as an afterthought, “I would have let you stay that time, after the Master…” His voice trailed off as unpleasant memories came flooding back.

“I thought you deserved a taste of your own medicine. And besides, I had a team to go back to. I actually enjoyed being at Torchwood back then. Now it’s all gone a bit stale.”

“You’ve stayed in the same place too long,”

“I was waiting for you, and you never turned up.”

“I’m flattered, Jack. Surely some people noticed that you never aged, though?”

“Well, yeah. After a few decades people start to whisper. These days it’s common knowledge, and I wish it never was. I mean, there have always been people who have known, but it was never something that everyone just took for granted. It gives people a false sense of security when they know they’re with someone who can’t die. Makes them feel invincible too. Just this week, my colleague – well, my girlfriend, really – she died. Alongside me. She’d never have done anything as reckless as that if I hadn’t been immortal. I feel like it’s my fault she died, and she isn’t the first person either.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor, putting an arm tentatively around Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s expression was pained and there was something in the way his shoulders were hunched and his mouth set that betrayed the years of guilt he was carrying. The Doctor knew exactly how he felt. It was odd to think that despite being the last Time Lord in existence, there was still someone there – someone who would always be there – who knew how he felt.

Shit, even when the other Time Lords had been alive, there hadn’t been anyone else on the Doctor’s wavelength. Except one, but he’d turned away from that a long time ago.

“You can come with us, you know,” the Doctor said softly after a while. “Travel, Jack, with me and Donna. Just like old times.”

“I dunno,” said Jack heavily. “You always cared more about Rose, about Martha, than me. That time, on the GameStation… it was Rose you sent home.”

“You can look after yourself, Jack, that’s why I didn’t send you home and you know that. You really are jealous, aren’t you?”

“Me? Jealous?”

“Jack. Look at me.” Their eyes met. For several minutes neither of them said anything. It was Jack who cracked first.

“OK, OK!” he laughed, holding his arms up in defeat. “Maybe I just want you to myself for a bit.”

“Well, you’ve got that now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jack smiled, and looked away. The air around them seemed to buzz and crackle with tension. It seemed to the Doctor that they were both bursting to say the same thing, but neither dared to do it. This was strange in itself, considering how reckless both of them could be.

But the effects of the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster hadn’t quite worn off yet. Although the Doctor didn’t feel particularly drunk, there was still a bit of that drunken bravado within him, the kind of bravery where you think that you can do anything brilliantly and that there is absolutely no way whatsoever that you might look stupid. So he kissed Jack.

Jack’s face tensed in surprise momentarily as their lips met. But unlike when they were in the TARDIS, there was nothing to interrupt them or throw them apart this time. Jack leaned into the Doctor’s kiss, his breath hot and tasting of alcohol.

The kiss was long, and passionate. The Doctor couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself go in such a way, given in to feelings that he usually kept hidden away, locked away behind the façade of a traveller who didn’t really need other people. That façade was a lie, a safety blanket, but it hadn’t stopped him from being hurt in the past. He’d never had a chance to tell Rose how he really felt about her, and she’d been snatched away forever. Who knew what was going to happen to him, or Jack? At least if something happened and they never saw each other again, they wouldn’t be haunted by words left unsaid.

They broke apart, gasping in the muggy air. Jack grabbed the Doctor’s shoulders, grinning, with a wicked glint in his eyes. The Doctor grinned too.

“I’m surprised at you, Doctor,” Jack said, a little breathlessly.

“Not as surprised as I am at myself. The offer still stands, if you want to travel with us, you know.”

Jack’s eyes strayed down to the Doctor’s crotch. “We don’t need to go anywhere just yet.”