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wintercompanion2007-08-27 09:47 pm
wojelah.livejournal.com) wrote in wintercompanion2007-08-27 09:47 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Departures (R)
Title: Departures
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wojelah
Spoilers/warnings: Spoilers for Utopia, The Sound of Drums, and The Last of the Time Lords
Summary: Jack makes a promise to Martha, after everything. There's something the Doctor needs to understand. It's something Jack clings to.
Author:
wojelahPrompts used:
Rating: soft R- "Stop it."
- "You're a fact." - What does that mean?
- I thought that Jack was a little anxious/nervous in that final scene, like the emotion was overwhelming him. What was Jack thinking and feeling as he walked away?
- Time and eternity
- Why does the Doctor always run away? And does Jack understand?
Spoilers/warnings: Spoilers for Utopia, The Sound of Drums, and The Last of the Time Lords
Summary: Jack makes a promise to Martha, after everything. There's something the Doctor needs to understand. It's something Jack clings to.
Jack isn't staying.
He's known it since he walked through the TARDIS doors with the Doctor, leaving the ship that never-would-be but somehow-had-been their prison. He knows it when the Doctor looks at him and asks him to wait with the TARDIS, to wait while he puts the match to the Master's pyre and watches it burn. Jack can just see the solitary column of black in front of the dancing flames; Martha stands with him, eyes wide and arms crossed, and Jack knows she isn't staying either, because the expression on her face is the twin to the one on his own.
She turns away from the blaze, just enough to catch his eye. "It isn't that I don't -"
He cuts her off out of kindness. Some things hurt too much to say aloud. "I know. It's because you do."
She laughs, just a little, but it sounds forced, just a little. "Yeah. And it isn't fair. To me. Or to him."
"We're not the first to wish for something we couldn't have," he says, by way of agreement.
"And he's not the first person too stubborn to know a good thing when he sees it," she retorts, but there's no heat in it. Jack chuckles. She's been gone a year, and clearly Martha Jones learned a few things about herself along the way. He hopes their paths will cross again. The Doctor turns back and looks at them, looks back at the fire, and then, with a reluctance that hurts Jack to watch, heads back towards the TARDIS.
"He knows it." Jack keeps his voice low; neither of them look away from the fire. "But when good things hurt that much?" He shrugs. "Hard to say it's worth it."
Martha tilts her head to the side. He watches her consider the point as she watches the Doctor. "They can be, though. He left you behind, from what I understand, but he was worth enough that you died trying to get back to him."
"Wouldn't have done it any differently." Hard to get those words out. He used to be a better liar. Before.
"You're still leaving." He knows she's not being judgmental, but it stings to hear it out loud.
Jack just looks at her. "So are you."
"I am." She sighs, and shifts to lean against the door. "I am." They're quiet, then, as the Doctor approaches, as he looks at both of them, eyes tired and sad and solemn, pausing only to put a hand on each of their shoulders, as he walks between them and into the TARDIS. They turn to follow him in, but Martha stops Jack with a hand on his chest. "Remind him," she says, "before you go. I can't. That's not who... that's not what I... that's not me, not for him. But he knows you now. Knew you, before. Try and make him remember, yeah?"
Jack looks down at her; five-foot-three-inches of complete determination stare back at him. She traveled around the Earth, he thinks. Around the Earth, undercover, and knew it wouldn't be enough. He knows, looking at her, that she's fully aware that she's not asking him anything that's going to be easy. That it's going to hurt him, and that it hurts her that she can't do it herself. When he remembers to breathe, when he remembers she's waiting for an answer, it hurts to speak. "Yeah." His promise delivered, she nods, and heads in. What the hell, Jack thinks. It'll hurt, in the end, but it'll be fun while it lasts.
They're supposed to be heading for Cardiff, to take him back to the team he left behind, but Martha begs to head home, just briefly, just for a night, before she and the Doctor drop him off. They land, and she leaves, and then it's the Doctor and Jack, in the quiet green-gold of the TARDIS, each watching the other across the console.
The Doctor looks... old. Older than he did when he lived in a birdcage, even if his physical appearance is much, much more appealing. Jack should be terrified, he thinks, but the truth of the matter is that he wants this, wants the freedom to take this risk, just this once, and his promise to Martha gives him exactly that. As the Doctor sighs and turns to the screen, Jack moves around the console slowly, step by deliberate step.
The Doctor's head goes up, and his eyes widen at what he sees on Jack's face. "Jack," he says, "Stop it." It's a warning, more than a plea, but it's not the absolute negative Jack was expecting, and that's encouraging, because it means the Doctor hasn't had time to retreat. Jack plans on getting in the way. He's good at that. He keeps walking.
"Jack," the Doctor says again, and there it is, the note of desperation, of "please, not now," of "I can't," that sends Jack forward, till the Doctor has his back against a strut. He looks at Jack once, then away, and then just... vanishes. His posture sags, his face is blank and turned away, and his eyes are closed. "Jack," he says a third time, "don't do this."
Jack's not touching the Doctor, won't; Jack's a master at using touch to win an argument, but somehow, this time, that would be cheating. He shifts away, just enough that the Doctor has some breathing room. "Why not? I'm not Martha, Doctor. I'm not Rose. I'm leaving tomorrow, and we both know it's my own choice." The Doctor's eyes open and his head turns so he's looking Jack in the face, staring him down. Jack Harkness hasn't even been so honest in his life - he's laid it all out for the Doctor to read. "I'm leaving," he says again, and watches the Doctor strive for distance, "but I'm not gone. Torchwood's here, and it's mine, and it's different, and with your track record, I'll probably see you three days from now, when the next strange event crops up. It isn't forever. Not unless you want it to be."
"What if I do?" The Doctor's voice is cold, freezing Jack through.
"That's your choice, I guess." Those words hurt to say, but he keeps it in check - Jack can be cold, too. Clinical. Calculating. He and the Doctor study each other. "But don't tell me you think it's a good decision."
"I left you behind, Jack. I'd do it again, in the same position. I ran away from you. Tell me why on earth you think I won't do the same now." Jack's never been so aware that the man in front of him isn't a man at all. He also knows that everything hinges on what he says next. "You're not alone."
The Doctor's eyes fly wide, and he goes bone white. Jack can't read him, not at all, and the only way out is through. "You're not," Jack insists, as the Doctor leans back against the strut. "The Master's gone, yeah, and I'm sorry about that - more than I can tell you. But this lonely god thing - it doesn't work. I'm not going anywhere. I'm a fact, you said. You can't change me. I'm always going to be here. So cut the pity party. You're not the only one living in a different timeline any more." Jack pauses for breath and suddenly, unbelievably, the Doctor starts to laugh.
The Doctor's laughing. His hand is over his eyes and his whole body's shaking with it, equal parts release and what sounds like honest, if slightly self-mocking, laughter. Jack flushes and backs away, but he doesn't get far. The Doctor reaches out and catches him by the arm, hauling him back in. "Jack, no," he says, and his hand falls away. His eyes are bright, and tears aren't far away, but the smile on his face is pure mirth. "It's just - someone told me something once. And I keep getting it wrong."
Jack shifts awkwardly, tries on a grin of his own. "Keep it up, Doc, and you'll be practically human."
The Doctor sobers, looks away. "Wish I was, sometimes."
"Nah," Jack says, relaxing. "I vote you keep the 'mysterious time traveler' vibe. Much sexier."
The Doctor looks back up, and Jack realizes he's very, very close. "That depends, I suppose," he says slowly, "on your point of view."
"From here," Jack says, leaning in, feeling the Doctor's breath ghosting over his own lips, surrounded by the smell of TARDIS oil and something a lot like cinnamon, "things look pretty good." When he finally kisses the Doctor, neither of them is looking at anything; it's a dance of lips and teeth and tongue, doubting, seeking, asking. When they finally touch, skin-on-skin-on-TARDIS grating that, Jack thinks, may leave permanent patterns on various body parts, it's a promise. When they both crash out, tumbling into some bed, through some doorway for a few hours of sleep, the shape of their bodies curled around each other is a certainty.
Later that morning, when he walks away, the Doctor's offer ringing in his ears, a nervous smile on his lips, it's a mantra. It isn't forever.
He's known it since he walked through the TARDIS doors with the Doctor, leaving the ship that never-would-be but somehow-had-been their prison. He knows it when the Doctor looks at him and asks him to wait with the TARDIS, to wait while he puts the match to the Master's pyre and watches it burn. Jack can just see the solitary column of black in front of the dancing flames; Martha stands with him, eyes wide and arms crossed, and Jack knows she isn't staying either, because the expression on her face is the twin to the one on his own.
She turns away from the blaze, just enough to catch his eye. "It isn't that I don't -"
He cuts her off out of kindness. Some things hurt too much to say aloud. "I know. It's because you do."
She laughs, just a little, but it sounds forced, just a little. "Yeah. And it isn't fair. To me. Or to him."
"We're not the first to wish for something we couldn't have," he says, by way of agreement.
"And he's not the first person too stubborn to know a good thing when he sees it," she retorts, but there's no heat in it. Jack chuckles. She's been gone a year, and clearly Martha Jones learned a few things about herself along the way. He hopes their paths will cross again. The Doctor turns back and looks at them, looks back at the fire, and then, with a reluctance that hurts Jack to watch, heads back towards the TARDIS.
"He knows it." Jack keeps his voice low; neither of them look away from the fire. "But when good things hurt that much?" He shrugs. "Hard to say it's worth it."
Martha tilts her head to the side. He watches her consider the point as she watches the Doctor. "They can be, though. He left you behind, from what I understand, but he was worth enough that you died trying to get back to him."
"Wouldn't have done it any differently." Hard to get those words out. He used to be a better liar. Before.
"You're still leaving." He knows she's not being judgmental, but it stings to hear it out loud.
Jack just looks at her. "So are you."
"I am." She sighs, and shifts to lean against the door. "I am." They're quiet, then, as the Doctor approaches, as he looks at both of them, eyes tired and sad and solemn, pausing only to put a hand on each of their shoulders, as he walks between them and into the TARDIS. They turn to follow him in, but Martha stops Jack with a hand on his chest. "Remind him," she says, "before you go. I can't. That's not who... that's not what I... that's not me, not for him. But he knows you now. Knew you, before. Try and make him remember, yeah?"
Jack looks down at her; five-foot-three-inches of complete determination stare back at him. She traveled around the Earth, he thinks. Around the Earth, undercover, and knew it wouldn't be enough. He knows, looking at her, that she's fully aware that she's not asking him anything that's going to be easy. That it's going to hurt him, and that it hurts her that she can't do it herself. When he remembers to breathe, when he remembers she's waiting for an answer, it hurts to speak. "Yeah." His promise delivered, she nods, and heads in. What the hell, Jack thinks. It'll hurt, in the end, but it'll be fun while it lasts.
They're supposed to be heading for Cardiff, to take him back to the team he left behind, but Martha begs to head home, just briefly, just for a night, before she and the Doctor drop him off. They land, and she leaves, and then it's the Doctor and Jack, in the quiet green-gold of the TARDIS, each watching the other across the console.
The Doctor looks... old. Older than he did when he lived in a birdcage, even if his physical appearance is much, much more appealing. Jack should be terrified, he thinks, but the truth of the matter is that he wants this, wants the freedom to take this risk, just this once, and his promise to Martha gives him exactly that. As the Doctor sighs and turns to the screen, Jack moves around the console slowly, step by deliberate step.
The Doctor's head goes up, and his eyes widen at what he sees on Jack's face. "Jack," he says, "Stop it." It's a warning, more than a plea, but it's not the absolute negative Jack was expecting, and that's encouraging, because it means the Doctor hasn't had time to retreat. Jack plans on getting in the way. He's good at that. He keeps walking.
"Jack," the Doctor says again, and there it is, the note of desperation, of "please, not now," of "I can't," that sends Jack forward, till the Doctor has his back against a strut. He looks at Jack once, then away, and then just... vanishes. His posture sags, his face is blank and turned away, and his eyes are closed. "Jack," he says a third time, "don't do this."
Jack's not touching the Doctor, won't; Jack's a master at using touch to win an argument, but somehow, this time, that would be cheating. He shifts away, just enough that the Doctor has some breathing room. "Why not? I'm not Martha, Doctor. I'm not Rose. I'm leaving tomorrow, and we both know it's my own choice." The Doctor's eyes open and his head turns so he's looking Jack in the face, staring him down. Jack Harkness hasn't even been so honest in his life - he's laid it all out for the Doctor to read. "I'm leaving," he says again, and watches the Doctor strive for distance, "but I'm not gone. Torchwood's here, and it's mine, and it's different, and with your track record, I'll probably see you three days from now, when the next strange event crops up. It isn't forever. Not unless you want it to be."
"What if I do?" The Doctor's voice is cold, freezing Jack through.
"That's your choice, I guess." Those words hurt to say, but he keeps it in check - Jack can be cold, too. Clinical. Calculating. He and the Doctor study each other. "But don't tell me you think it's a good decision."
"I left you behind, Jack. I'd do it again, in the same position. I ran away from you. Tell me why on earth you think I won't do the same now." Jack's never been so aware that the man in front of him isn't a man at all. He also knows that everything hinges on what he says next. "You're not alone."
The Doctor's eyes fly wide, and he goes bone white. Jack can't read him, not at all, and the only way out is through. "You're not," Jack insists, as the Doctor leans back against the strut. "The Master's gone, yeah, and I'm sorry about that - more than I can tell you. But this lonely god thing - it doesn't work. I'm not going anywhere. I'm a fact, you said. You can't change me. I'm always going to be here. So cut the pity party. You're not the only one living in a different timeline any more." Jack pauses for breath and suddenly, unbelievably, the Doctor starts to laugh.
The Doctor's laughing. His hand is over his eyes and his whole body's shaking with it, equal parts release and what sounds like honest, if slightly self-mocking, laughter. Jack flushes and backs away, but he doesn't get far. The Doctor reaches out and catches him by the arm, hauling him back in. "Jack, no," he says, and his hand falls away. His eyes are bright, and tears aren't far away, but the smile on his face is pure mirth. "It's just - someone told me something once. And I keep getting it wrong."
Jack shifts awkwardly, tries on a grin of his own. "Keep it up, Doc, and you'll be practically human."
The Doctor sobers, looks away. "Wish I was, sometimes."
"Nah," Jack says, relaxing. "I vote you keep the 'mysterious time traveler' vibe. Much sexier."
The Doctor looks back up, and Jack realizes he's very, very close. "That depends, I suppose," he says slowly, "on your point of view."
"From here," Jack says, leaning in, feeling the Doctor's breath ghosting over his own lips, surrounded by the smell of TARDIS oil and something a lot like cinnamon, "things look pretty good." When he finally kisses the Doctor, neither of them is looking at anything; it's a dance of lips and teeth and tongue, doubting, seeking, asking. When they finally touch, skin-on-skin-on-TARDIS grating that, Jack thinks, may leave permanent patterns on various body parts, it's a promise. When they both crash out, tumbling into some bed, through some doorway for a few hours of sleep, the shape of their bodies curled around each other is a certainty.
Later that morning, when he walks away, the Doctor's offer ringing in his ears, a nervous smile on his lips, it's a mantra. It isn't forever.
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just wows.
*dies*
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Thank you!
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Very nicely done!
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"Remind him," she says, "before you go. I can't. That's not who... that's not what I... that's not me, not for him. But he knows you now. Knew you, before. Try and make him remember, yeah?"
That is just awesome. And the "You are not alone", and the Doctor's reaction to it? OMG fabulous. I want to read things like this all the time. You really need to write Ten/Jack more often! *nudge, nudge* :D
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