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wintercompanion2008-07-26 12:55 am
ladyames.livejournal.com) wrote in wintercompanion2008-07-26 12:55 am
Entry tags:
ladyames: Five Times Jack Catches Up With The Doctor (And One He Doesn't) (Jack/Doctor) [PG-13]
Title: Five Times Jack Catches Up With The Doctor (And One He Doesn't)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyames
Beta:gigglestheblood
Challenge: AU
Rating: PG/PG-13
Spoilers/warnings: Let's just say everything through series three of DW and all of TW. (Better safe than sorry.)
Summary: See the title. Or think of it as Five times Ames messes with canon and Jack's timeline (and one time she just makes something up).
1. The dust slips between his fingers and his brows furrow. He can’t help but wonder what happened. He’s pretty damn sure that this little pile of dust used to be a Dalek. But he doesn’t have time to contemplate the why’s and how’s because he can hear the distinct sound of the TARDIS dematerializing. It’s like a kick to the gut after everything that’s happened and he can do only one thing. Run.
Although he’s running as fast as his legs can take him he barely makes it in time. He’s breathing so heavily--his heart pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears--that he fumbles in his pockets for his key. Perhaps later he’ll remember that leather--tight as he’s wearing--isn’t favorable to hastily retrieving things from pockets, but he doesn’t have time to think on that at the moment.
The door swings open not a moment too soon. A moment later and he’d be alone on a satellite full of Dalek dust. Instead he’s inside and Rose is rushing towards him, looking worried and frightened. When he finally lifts his gaze he sees the Doctor--who is glowing and not the good, post-orgasmic type glowing Jack tends to enjoy--he decides he can’t blame her for being upset.
He loops an arm around her shoulders and squeezes reassuringly, even though he knows as much about what’s going on as she does.
“Were you planning on going somewhere without me?” His voice is shaking and not at all as confident as he’d intended.
The Doctor finally seems to notice him--turning towards them and looking Jack square in the eye--and he takes a startled step back.
“No. No no no. No. This is not…” The Doctor’s breath hitches and he leans against the console, obviously in pain. “…not how it’s supposed to happen.”
~~~
2. The Hub is on lockdown. With a little help from his handy wrist-strap, of course. He’s fairly sure he knows what his team is doing right now. For once he isn’t in there to listen to the shouts and barely restrained panic.
Oh no, this time he’s standing discreetly behind the fountain, waiting.
Waiting for the occupants of the big, blue box that has just landed on the Plas to make their exit. He can hear the laughter and good natured teasing above the quiet drip of the fountain. It hurts a little, hearing Rose laugh, hearing himself tease her and Mickey and, of course, the Doctor. It hurts because he remembers. Oh, does he remember.
Perhaps another time he’ll realize how stupid his next move is and he’ll realize the Doctor glanced in his direction before following after the rest of them, but he’s too determined and too focused to think on that now. Besides he’ll be long gone by the time they get back.
His steps echo in his ears as he crosses the Plas, key at the ready by the time he reaches the TARDIS. As he gives one last glance around, he slides his key into the lock and swings the door open. Inhaling deeply, he feels the ghost of a shudder pass through him--he’s unsure if it was him or the TARDIS--as he steps inside for the first time in over a hundred years.
And it hurts, because it is not his time. No, it is his time but only a hundred years ago. He’ll have to wait a little longer. Waiting, it’s what he’s good at these days.
With one last fleeting touch to the console, he turns to leave. Only to find the Doctor standing in the door. His Doctor, not the man who’d been in the reports from Canary Wharf. His Doctor. And he can do nothing but stare for a moment.
He gives the Doctor a nod and makes his way towards the door. The Doctor takes a careful step out of his way. Jack notices that he’s stepped far enough away so that his coat won’t even brush him on his way out the door.
It hurts, but he has no choice. He has to leave.
“No need to tell me just how incredibly stupid it is for me to be here, timelines and all that. Figured it out all on my own. It’d be best if you forget this,” he mutters on his way out.
The Doctor says nothing, but never once takes his eyes off of him.
From the other side of the Plas he can hear the door of the TARDIS close and the Doctor once again go to join the rest of the group.
As he’s about to turn and take one last look his earpiece crackles to life. Tosh’s quiet, worried voice brings him back to reality. His reality.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m working on it. Don’t worry. Everything is fine. I’ve got things under control.”
~~~
3. The conference room is white. It’s white and boring. And if he has to listen to one more person yammer on about funding and the allocation of said funding he’s going to go mental. But it’s a part of his job, reporting to the head honchos, and it bores him nearly to death. He hasn’t actually died during one of these meetings, but he’s been tempted on more than one occasion to just shoot himself in the head and be done with it. That might be just a little drastic, but he’s come to the conclusion that being leader of Torchwood Three definitely has its drawbacks.
He groans when Yvonne Hartman stands. He flips to a clean sheet of paper on his notepad--the previous page covered in scribbles and doodles and a half finished supply list for the Hub--and scrawls Here comes the crazy across the top. As much as he dislikes Hartman’s fanatical approach to Torchwood, he will actually listen to what she has to say. At least he might learn something and if there’s any information on the Doctor then she has his complete attention.
With his attention divided between her speech and filling the margins of his paper with naughty limericks and doodles, he’s the last one in the room to see the lovely, young secretary walk into the room. He doesn’t miss the secretary whisper something in Hartman’s ear and then make a swift exit. And what a nice exit it is.
Hartman’s eyes go round and she stands so quickly her chair tips over and clatters to the ground.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. I have an important matter to attend to. If we’re lucky I’ll return in a moment with some fantastic news.”
He watches her leave and shakes his head. Pushing his chair back, propping his feet on the long, glass conference table, he grins at the rest of the group.
“So, who’s up for a game of truth or dare?”
All he gets in response is a couple of shocked looks and gasps. Although there is one middle aged woman down the way who gives him a saucy wink.
Sadly, he doesn’t have time to properly chat-up the wonderful lady a few seats down, because Yvonne Hartman returns not ten minutes later. Of course she makes a grand entrance, what with the trio of armed guards that follow her into the room. They seem to be guarding a rather scrawny, bedraggled, brown-suited man. Or is that guarding everyone else from him? He can’t quite tell. That is until Hartman begins a very excited introduction.
“Now, everyone, this is your lucky day! I’d like to introduce you to…”
The final words haven’t even left her mouth but he can’t help noticing the way the man had all but been staring at him until Jack looked at him. And then…
“…the Doctor.”
Murmurs of shock and disbelief came from those around him but he isn’t listening. He’s staring at the man who is now returning his stare. It’s like the wind is knocked out of him. And it’s like they’re having a conversation without saying a word, but he feels like he’s missing something. This is the Doctor? He’s heard stories, but he hadn’t been prepared for this. A new face, a new everything.
Even so, it really is his lucky day. Perhaps later he’ll contemplate the excellent timing of the annual Torchwood Co. meeting, but he’s a bit distracted to do that now.
The Doctor tilts his head just so and turns to look at Hartman. He smiles and introduces himself, a long line of half-truths and babble follow.
Everything falls into place then. He’s to wait for a signal--whatever that may be--and then they’ll be on their way. There’s a spark of hope then and he counts the minutes until he gets his answers. He has so many questions, but they can wait. Torchwood cannot get their hands on the Doctor and he knows that as well as anyone else.
~~~
4. Clutching his shoulder, Jack slides the door closed. With his back against the door, he takes a moment to catalogue his injuries. Two dislocated fingers from when he’d slipped in mud and braced himself against a nearby tree, a nasty scrape on his left temple from said tree, and then there was the sizable bit of branch sticking out of his shoulder.
Gritting his teeth, he exhales slowly, and before he has time to think about it he pulls and has both fingers back where they should be. Then, after a flexing his hand a few times, he grabs the branch and pulls it out with one quick tug. He hisses and curses under his breath. That one’s going to bother him for while. Damn splinters.
Having finally found a place to lay low, he really doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself so he attempts to keep any noise to a minimum. Leaving a trail of blood is more than enough attention with these aliens, thanks. But he still finds the time and energy to curse Torchwood and the fact that he’s stumbled upon some aliens--of course, what else would they be?--on his way back to Cardiff from London.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Coincidence my ass.”
He presses the flat of his hand to the wound and surveys his surroundings. Just a shed, it seems.
Just a shed… with a big, blue box in it. A big, blue, familiar box.
The branch falls out of his hand, forgotten. He can’t help it, he laughs, maybe a little hysterically. Perhaps later he’ll take back every curse he sent towards Torchwood and coincidence, but right now he has other priorities.
Walking up to it, he presses his hand against the most beautiful thing he’s seen in years.
“Where’ve you been all my life, baby?”
He digs in his pocket for his key and it nearly slides out of his blood-slicked fingers in his haste. Slowing down a bit, he wipes his hand on his coat and rubs at the bloody handprint on the TARDIS door before letting himself in.
“Honey, I’m home!”
And he gets no answer.
“Right, off saving the world or something. First a hot shower and then I’ll find you and kick your ass.”
He’s talking to himself as he makes his way into the TARDIS. He doesn’t hear the door to the shed open or the gasp of a lovely girl dressed as a maid.
~~~
5. The pack on his back gurgles and twitches, bouncing awkwardly as he sprints across the Plas. It hurts--digs in and bangs against his spine--but that doesn’t matter now. He is a man on a mission. A man with a goal.
Perhaps later he’ll take the time to feel the bruises and realize he’s never run so fast in his too-long life, but he doesn’t have time for that at the moment. Not with that familiar, blue box starting to dematerialize. With over a centuries worth of desperation propelling him, he launches himself at the TARDIS…
“DOCTOR!”
…only to feel his hands clutching at pavement instead of wood and find that he’s a matter of seconds too late. With a growl, he tugs the pack off his back. It sails across the Plas and skids to a stop at the foot of the shining, silver tower.
An angry shout makes it’s way out of his throat as he slams his fist into the pavement.
“Don’t think you can run forever, you bastard! I’ll be waiting!”
After a few moments spent staring at the space where the TARDIS had been, he pushes himself to his feet. Flexing his hand, he winces but barely notices the scraped knuckles. He trudges towards the tower, picks up the pack and stands on the invisible lift. He looks across the Plas one last time before activating the lift from his wrist-strap. As the lift begins to lower he opens the pack and checks the contents for damage.
“What’s a few more years when it seems I’ve got eternity? One day, Doc, one day…”
He snorts disdainfully and wonders when the hell his life’s motto became something as cliché as ‘one day at a time’.
~~~
6. He sighs, kicking the pack sitting at his feet. It sloshes and gurgles, as if to say it doesn’t appreciate the harsh, unprovoked treatment. That thought makes him laugh, albeit bitterly. Leaning back on the bench, he stretches his arms above his head and yawns.
“Anytime now, anytime,” he mutters.
This has become a ritual for Jack Harkness. With Torchwood all but dissolved--first contact having been made and the government deciding it can defend Queen and country and the entire planet on it’s own--he’s closed up shop. The past three years have been spent sorting through the vaults, figuring out what needs to remain hidden and what’s safe to hand over. It’s tedious and desperately boring--nothing like the good old days of Torchwood Three with the unpredictable excitement--and he’s glad to have finally finished.
With that out of the way, he’s free to do as he likes. Which, really, isn’t much of a step up on the excitement scale. Not when all he’s doing is waiting. Waiting like he has been for nearly four hundred years, although at least he had some entertainment for most of it. Unlike now.
After a few minutes spent staring up at the sky, he sighs again and nudges the pack with his foot. As if on cue, the contents of the pack gurgle and twitch erratically. But this time it doesn’t stop.
His neck cracks from the force at which he whips his head around. And for a few seconds he’s sure his heart stops beating. He’s waited so long, so long, what if it isn’t the right time? Swallowing the lump that’s lodged itself in his throat, he stands and grabs the pack. He stares across the Plas and waits.
Once the blue box fully materializes, a man steps out and surveys his surroundings. Jack’s heart suddenly resumes it’s rhythm when dark eyes meet his. From where he stands he can’t read the other man’s expression, but he knows who it is. It’s the Doctor. Perhaps not his Doctor, but the Doctor nonetheless.
A few quick strides and he’s across the Plas. Looking the Doctor up and down, he snorts.
“Here,” he tosses the pack at the Doctor, “you left something behind a while back.”
Without waiting for a response he walks past the Doctor and into the TARDIS. Perhaps later he’ll give the Doctor a good punch or two for making him wait so long, but right now he’s glad to finally be able to stop waiting.
The TARDIS hums and he smiles. Behind him, the door closes and he hears the Doctor gasp.
“My hand! All this time you’ve had my hand?!”
They both have stories to tell and explaining to do but for the first time in years, Jack finds that he doesn’t really mind. Besides, he has to make up for lost time and what better way to do that than with a kiss hello.
Author:
ladyamesBeta:
gigglesthebloodChallenge: AU
Rating: PG/PG-13
Spoilers/warnings: Let's just say everything through series three of DW and all of TW. (Better safe than sorry.)
Summary: See the title. Or think of it as Five times Ames messes with canon and Jack's timeline (and one time she just makes something up).
1. The dust slips between his fingers and his brows furrow. He can’t help but wonder what happened. He’s pretty damn sure that this little pile of dust used to be a Dalek. But he doesn’t have time to contemplate the why’s and how’s because he can hear the distinct sound of the TARDIS dematerializing. It’s like a kick to the gut after everything that’s happened and he can do only one thing. Run.
Although he’s running as fast as his legs can take him he barely makes it in time. He’s breathing so heavily--his heart pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears--that he fumbles in his pockets for his key. Perhaps later he’ll remember that leather--tight as he’s wearing--isn’t favorable to hastily retrieving things from pockets, but he doesn’t have time to think on that at the moment.
The door swings open not a moment too soon. A moment later and he’d be alone on a satellite full of Dalek dust. Instead he’s inside and Rose is rushing towards him, looking worried and frightened. When he finally lifts his gaze he sees the Doctor--who is glowing and not the good, post-orgasmic type glowing Jack tends to enjoy--he decides he can’t blame her for being upset.
He loops an arm around her shoulders and squeezes reassuringly, even though he knows as much about what’s going on as she does.
“Were you planning on going somewhere without me?” His voice is shaking and not at all as confident as he’d intended.
The Doctor finally seems to notice him--turning towards them and looking Jack square in the eye--and he takes a startled step back.
“No. No no no. No. This is not…” The Doctor’s breath hitches and he leans against the console, obviously in pain. “…not how it’s supposed to happen.”
~~~
2. The Hub is on lockdown. With a little help from his handy wrist-strap, of course. He’s fairly sure he knows what his team is doing right now. For once he isn’t in there to listen to the shouts and barely restrained panic.
Oh no, this time he’s standing discreetly behind the fountain, waiting.
Waiting for the occupants of the big, blue box that has just landed on the Plas to make their exit. He can hear the laughter and good natured teasing above the quiet drip of the fountain. It hurts a little, hearing Rose laugh, hearing himself tease her and Mickey and, of course, the Doctor. It hurts because he remembers. Oh, does he remember.
Perhaps another time he’ll realize how stupid his next move is and he’ll realize the Doctor glanced in his direction before following after the rest of them, but he’s too determined and too focused to think on that now. Besides he’ll be long gone by the time they get back.
His steps echo in his ears as he crosses the Plas, key at the ready by the time he reaches the TARDIS. As he gives one last glance around, he slides his key into the lock and swings the door open. Inhaling deeply, he feels the ghost of a shudder pass through him--he’s unsure if it was him or the TARDIS--as he steps inside for the first time in over a hundred years.
And it hurts, because it is not his time. No, it is his time but only a hundred years ago. He’ll have to wait a little longer. Waiting, it’s what he’s good at these days.
With one last fleeting touch to the console, he turns to leave. Only to find the Doctor standing in the door. His Doctor, not the man who’d been in the reports from Canary Wharf. His Doctor. And he can do nothing but stare for a moment.
He gives the Doctor a nod and makes his way towards the door. The Doctor takes a careful step out of his way. Jack notices that he’s stepped far enough away so that his coat won’t even brush him on his way out the door.
It hurts, but he has no choice. He has to leave.
“No need to tell me just how incredibly stupid it is for me to be here, timelines and all that. Figured it out all on my own. It’d be best if you forget this,” he mutters on his way out.
The Doctor says nothing, but never once takes his eyes off of him.
From the other side of the Plas he can hear the door of the TARDIS close and the Doctor once again go to join the rest of the group.
As he’s about to turn and take one last look his earpiece crackles to life. Tosh’s quiet, worried voice brings him back to reality. His reality.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m working on it. Don’t worry. Everything is fine. I’ve got things under control.”
~~~
3. The conference room is white. It’s white and boring. And if he has to listen to one more person yammer on about funding and the allocation of said funding he’s going to go mental. But it’s a part of his job, reporting to the head honchos, and it bores him nearly to death. He hasn’t actually died during one of these meetings, but he’s been tempted on more than one occasion to just shoot himself in the head and be done with it. That might be just a little drastic, but he’s come to the conclusion that being leader of Torchwood Three definitely has its drawbacks.
He groans when Yvonne Hartman stands. He flips to a clean sheet of paper on his notepad--the previous page covered in scribbles and doodles and a half finished supply list for the Hub--and scrawls Here comes the crazy across the top. As much as he dislikes Hartman’s fanatical approach to Torchwood, he will actually listen to what she has to say. At least he might learn something and if there’s any information on the Doctor then she has his complete attention.
With his attention divided between her speech and filling the margins of his paper with naughty limericks and doodles, he’s the last one in the room to see the lovely, young secretary walk into the room. He doesn’t miss the secretary whisper something in Hartman’s ear and then make a swift exit. And what a nice exit it is.
Hartman’s eyes go round and she stands so quickly her chair tips over and clatters to the ground.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. I have an important matter to attend to. If we’re lucky I’ll return in a moment with some fantastic news.”
He watches her leave and shakes his head. Pushing his chair back, propping his feet on the long, glass conference table, he grins at the rest of the group.
“So, who’s up for a game of truth or dare?”
All he gets in response is a couple of shocked looks and gasps. Although there is one middle aged woman down the way who gives him a saucy wink.
Sadly, he doesn’t have time to properly chat-up the wonderful lady a few seats down, because Yvonne Hartman returns not ten minutes later. Of course she makes a grand entrance, what with the trio of armed guards that follow her into the room. They seem to be guarding a rather scrawny, bedraggled, brown-suited man. Or is that guarding everyone else from him? He can’t quite tell. That is until Hartman begins a very excited introduction.
“Now, everyone, this is your lucky day! I’d like to introduce you to…”
The final words haven’t even left her mouth but he can’t help noticing the way the man had all but been staring at him until Jack looked at him. And then…
“…the Doctor.”
Murmurs of shock and disbelief came from those around him but he isn’t listening. He’s staring at the man who is now returning his stare. It’s like the wind is knocked out of him. And it’s like they’re having a conversation without saying a word, but he feels like he’s missing something. This is the Doctor? He’s heard stories, but he hadn’t been prepared for this. A new face, a new everything.
Even so, it really is his lucky day. Perhaps later he’ll contemplate the excellent timing of the annual Torchwood Co. meeting, but he’s a bit distracted to do that now.
The Doctor tilts his head just so and turns to look at Hartman. He smiles and introduces himself, a long line of half-truths and babble follow.
Everything falls into place then. He’s to wait for a signal--whatever that may be--and then they’ll be on their way. There’s a spark of hope then and he counts the minutes until he gets his answers. He has so many questions, but they can wait. Torchwood cannot get their hands on the Doctor and he knows that as well as anyone else.
~~~
4. Clutching his shoulder, Jack slides the door closed. With his back against the door, he takes a moment to catalogue his injuries. Two dislocated fingers from when he’d slipped in mud and braced himself against a nearby tree, a nasty scrape on his left temple from said tree, and then there was the sizable bit of branch sticking out of his shoulder.
Gritting his teeth, he exhales slowly, and before he has time to think about it he pulls and has both fingers back where they should be. Then, after a flexing his hand a few times, he grabs the branch and pulls it out with one quick tug. He hisses and curses under his breath. That one’s going to bother him for while. Damn splinters.
Having finally found a place to lay low, he really doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself so he attempts to keep any noise to a minimum. Leaving a trail of blood is more than enough attention with these aliens, thanks. But he still finds the time and energy to curse Torchwood and the fact that he’s stumbled upon some aliens--of course, what else would they be?--on his way back to Cardiff from London.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Coincidence my ass.”
He presses the flat of his hand to the wound and surveys his surroundings. Just a shed, it seems.
Just a shed… with a big, blue box in it. A big, blue, familiar box.
The branch falls out of his hand, forgotten. He can’t help it, he laughs, maybe a little hysterically. Perhaps later he’ll take back every curse he sent towards Torchwood and coincidence, but right now he has other priorities.
Walking up to it, he presses his hand against the most beautiful thing he’s seen in years.
“Where’ve you been all my life, baby?”
He digs in his pocket for his key and it nearly slides out of his blood-slicked fingers in his haste. Slowing down a bit, he wipes his hand on his coat and rubs at the bloody handprint on the TARDIS door before letting himself in.
“Honey, I’m home!”
And he gets no answer.
“Right, off saving the world or something. First a hot shower and then I’ll find you and kick your ass.”
He’s talking to himself as he makes his way into the TARDIS. He doesn’t hear the door to the shed open or the gasp of a lovely girl dressed as a maid.
~~~
5. The pack on his back gurgles and twitches, bouncing awkwardly as he sprints across the Plas. It hurts--digs in and bangs against his spine--but that doesn’t matter now. He is a man on a mission. A man with a goal.
Perhaps later he’ll take the time to feel the bruises and realize he’s never run so fast in his too-long life, but he doesn’t have time for that at the moment. Not with that familiar, blue box starting to dematerialize. With over a centuries worth of desperation propelling him, he launches himself at the TARDIS…
“DOCTOR!”
…only to feel his hands clutching at pavement instead of wood and find that he’s a matter of seconds too late. With a growl, he tugs the pack off his back. It sails across the Plas and skids to a stop at the foot of the shining, silver tower.
An angry shout makes it’s way out of his throat as he slams his fist into the pavement.
“Don’t think you can run forever, you bastard! I’ll be waiting!”
After a few moments spent staring at the space where the TARDIS had been, he pushes himself to his feet. Flexing his hand, he winces but barely notices the scraped knuckles. He trudges towards the tower, picks up the pack and stands on the invisible lift. He looks across the Plas one last time before activating the lift from his wrist-strap. As the lift begins to lower he opens the pack and checks the contents for damage.
“What’s a few more years when it seems I’ve got eternity? One day, Doc, one day…”
He snorts disdainfully and wonders when the hell his life’s motto became something as cliché as ‘one day at a time’.
~~~
6. He sighs, kicking the pack sitting at his feet. It sloshes and gurgles, as if to say it doesn’t appreciate the harsh, unprovoked treatment. That thought makes him laugh, albeit bitterly. Leaning back on the bench, he stretches his arms above his head and yawns.
“Anytime now, anytime,” he mutters.
This has become a ritual for Jack Harkness. With Torchwood all but dissolved--first contact having been made and the government deciding it can defend Queen and country and the entire planet on it’s own--he’s closed up shop. The past three years have been spent sorting through the vaults, figuring out what needs to remain hidden and what’s safe to hand over. It’s tedious and desperately boring--nothing like the good old days of Torchwood Three with the unpredictable excitement--and he’s glad to have finally finished.
With that out of the way, he’s free to do as he likes. Which, really, isn’t much of a step up on the excitement scale. Not when all he’s doing is waiting. Waiting like he has been for nearly four hundred years, although at least he had some entertainment for most of it. Unlike now.
After a few minutes spent staring up at the sky, he sighs again and nudges the pack with his foot. As if on cue, the contents of the pack gurgle and twitch erratically. But this time it doesn’t stop.
His neck cracks from the force at which he whips his head around. And for a few seconds he’s sure his heart stops beating. He’s waited so long, so long, what if it isn’t the right time? Swallowing the lump that’s lodged itself in his throat, he stands and grabs the pack. He stares across the Plas and waits.
Once the blue box fully materializes, a man steps out and surveys his surroundings. Jack’s heart suddenly resumes it’s rhythm when dark eyes meet his. From where he stands he can’t read the other man’s expression, but he knows who it is. It’s the Doctor. Perhaps not his Doctor, but the Doctor nonetheless.
A few quick strides and he’s across the Plas. Looking the Doctor up and down, he snorts.
“Here,” he tosses the pack at the Doctor, “you left something behind a while back.”
Without waiting for a response he walks past the Doctor and into the TARDIS. Perhaps later he’ll give the Doctor a good punch or two for making him wait so long, but right now he’s glad to finally be able to stop waiting.
The TARDIS hums and he smiles. Behind him, the door closes and he hears the Doctor gasp.
“My hand! All this time you’ve had my hand?!”
They both have stories to tell and explaining to do but for the first time in years, Jack finds that he doesn’t really mind. Besides, he has to make up for lost time and what better way to do that than with a kiss hello.
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I also liked the other ones and how you managed to interweave Doctor Who episodes into them. Very nicely done.
And the end just makes my romantic heart happy :-).
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Thanks for reading and commenting.
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Liked this line: “What’s a few more years when it seems I’ve got eternity? One day, Doc, one day…”
He's really desperate but in the end...yay for Jack!
Brilliant to read stories from you again :D And no drabble? ;)
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Thanks, hon.
Torturing Jack like this was fun.Umm... what? Nevermind. >_> Yeah... At first I didn't have the last bit, but I couldn't resist a fluffy (even mildly so) ending. I'm such a sap. XPDrabble? What do you mean drabble? >_>
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Aw. Liked the ending. Fluff is nice especially for tortured Jack ;)
Drabble? Nevermind. Story of 100 words. Random :D
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Ohhhh... drabbles. I know those thingies. Oddly enough I haven't written very many of them for DW yet and usually I write quite a few. Perhaps I'll have to fix that. On a random note, this fic was supposed to be a set of 5 or 6 drabbles but turned into one of the longest fics I've written in a long while. Guess I got kinda carried away. Seems Jack and the Doctor are having a tendency to make me do that. Not that I mind... XD
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Great job!
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Jack's relationship with the hand is fascinating to me and... oh nevermind, I won't go there now. XPyeah... the bit with the hand is my favorite part. >_>)Once again, thanks. ^___^