wintercompanion | ent_alter_ego: Locked Out 2/3 (PG) [Ten/Jack]

Title: Locked Out

Author:

Challenge: Domesticity

Rating: PG

Spoilers/Warnings: None besides the Thing About Jack

Summary: The TARDIS locks the Doctor out, forcing him to learn such tidbits as the limitations of late twenty-first century dishwashers.

SATURDAY

Freshly showered, he walked into the kitchen, only to find it hazy from smoke and the Doctor looking dejectedly at the stove. “What did you do?”

“I was making pancakes.”

That must’ve been the batter currently splattered on the Doctor and half of the kitchen. “I asked what you did, not what you were trying to do.”

“You need to change the batteries in your smoke detector.”

“Doctor.”

“There was a noise from the living room. A bird flew into the window. I think it survived that, but the fall killed it. Shame, it was a lovely robin.”

Jack waved ineffectually at the smoke. “You burnt the pancakes trying to rescue a bird.” Somehow, he didn’t find that at all hard to believe.

The Doctor shrugged and went to put the still-smoking frying pan in the dishwasher.

“That has to be washed by hand.” The TARDIS really did spoil the Doctor, except for locking him out. Jack’s dishwasher couldn’t handle the mass of smoldering charcoal currently caked on the frying pan. How long had the Doctor left the kitchen, anyway?

“By hand?” The Doctor looked at Jack, wide-eyed, as though the concept of washing dishes by hand in eras after the invention of dishwashers had never even occurred to him. Maybe it hadn’t.

In over two hundred linear years, Jack had gotten used to such things. “Yes, by hand.”

“What good is the dishwasher then?” It could’ve been asked by a sulking teenager. That it was instead asked, with genuine confusion, by alien who was over nine hundred (and halfway to omniscient besides) was enough to make Jack forgive the Doctor for nearly setting his kitchen on fire.

***

In the history of the Boston Aquarium, Jack doubted any one visitor had previously read every single word written on the informational signs. The Doctor – currently reading about Southern Rockhopper Penguins – was probably the first. Also, he really liked penguins.

“Approximately half the global population breeds on the Falkland Islands. Maybe I’ll pop in.”

“Avoid the 1980s,” cautioned Jack.

“I always try to avoid the 1980s. Except the fall of the Berlin Wall. Been there twice. Look at that, an adolescent. It looks just like its mother.”

“How do you – wait, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Spheniscus magellanicus. Aw, these don’t have crests. I rather like the crested ones, they remind me of my pet Darixantari.”

“You had a pet?” That Jack had trouble imagining. Although there was certainly enough room in the TARDIS, and she’d probably feed a pet during the Doctor’s frequent bouts of temporary captivity.

“When I was a child.”

One of the penguins dove into the water, effortlessly sleek. To Jack’s left a set of identical twin girls were watching the penguins with enthusiasm matched only by the Doctor. It was one of the mysteries of the Doctor – and one of his charms – that after nine hundred odd years he could still be completely enthralled by something as simple as a penguin.

“Let’s go see them underwater!” exclaimed one of the twins.

The Doctor spun around, expectant. “Ooh, there’s an underwater viewing area?”

“Of course there is. What planet are you from, anyway?” The twins’ mother gave the Doctor a look that just screamed ‘You’re an idiot.’

Before the Doctor could respond with mention of Gallifrey, the TARDIS, or something even more obscure, Jack intervened. “We’re just trying to enjoy the aquarium.” Diplomacy still wasn’t his strongest point, but he was learning that it could on occasion be useful.

“How did she know?” murmured the Doctor, quietly. He was still looking at the penguins, but his body language was poised to respond to a threat, as though he thought the woman was a hostile alien disguised as a human.

“She doesn’t. That’s a way of saying you’re out of touch.”

One of the twins tugged on the Doctor’s coat. “Do you want to come see the penguins underwater?”

With another cautious glance at the mother, the Doctor nodded. “Absolutely!”

While the Time Lord followed the twins down a ramp, Jack and the mother remained a few steps behind. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize your friend is…”

Jack had no idea where she was going with this. “Yes?” he prompted.

“Well, you know.” She looked around, nervous. “Differently abled.”

Jack’s eyebrows reached previously unexplored heights. “You think he’s… oh, no.” Holding back a laugh, he shook his head. The idea of the Doctor as – well, the current politically correct term was apparently “differently abled” – whatever you called it, the idea was ridiculous. The Doctor was smarter than all of Earth’s geniuses put together!

Right up against the glass, the Doctor was attempting to explain the basic science of why penguins were such good swimmers. The twins looked at him as though he’d stopped speaking English, and their mother looked at Jack as though her point was proven. She was completely convinced the Doctor was some kind of a math genius with no social skills… there was a name for that on the tip of Jack’s tongue… savant, that was the word.

He grabbed the Doctor’s arm. “Come on, let’s go see the seals.”

“But -” the Doctor caught Jack’s meaningful gaze, and his protest went unfinished. “Right. Seals it is. Lead the way, Captain.”

When Jack explained the situation en route to the seals, he had a very irate Time Lord on his hands. It took an appeal to the natural development of humanity to keep the Doctor from turning around and giving that woman a piece of his considerable mind.

Nothing was boring with the Doctor around.

SUNDAY

Even the Doctor had to sleep sometime, and he’d finally fallen asleep on Jack’s futon. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem familiar with the dual nature of futons. Over breakfast, Jack mentioned, “You know, the whole point of a futon is that it folds out to be a bed.”

“Really? How…” Here the Time Lord trailed off, searching for the right adjective.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘domestic,’” suggested Jack with a small grin.

The Doctor scowled minutely and continued eating his banana. After swallowing another bite, he said, “The TARDIS still won’t let me in. I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Maybe she wants a pet.” It wasn’t his most intelligent suggestion ever, but it was possible. Besides, the Doctor’s slightly sleep-mussed look was kind of sexy and thus distracting Jack, who was admittedly easy to distract that way.

“What would my ship need a pet for? She’s got me.”

Jack burst out laughing.

“That came out wrong,” muttered the Doctor. “I meant, she’s got a Time Lord pilot, a pet would be dull compared to me.”

“Right, Doc.”

Changing the topic, the Doctor went on, “I haven’t found any disturbances to the timeline, not even a pigeon out of place. There aren’t any fixed events that happen in Boston for sixty years.”

“Could there be something you need to do?”

“I’d know if there was, or at least I’d know there was something to be done. This is completely unprecedented.”

Jack had nothing useful to say in response to that. He did, however, have another idea. “In the meantime, maybe you should wash your suit.”

“Have sonic washers been invented yet?”

“No, but there are water machines and dryers in the basement.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, and Jack figured he’d be the one doing the Doctor’s laundry.

In the end, Jack would’ve wound up doing the Doctor’s laundry even if there had been a machine the Doctor knew how to use, because the Time Lord flatly refused to leave Jack’s apartment without his own clothing on. Wearing Jack’s t-shirt and sweatpants, with his hair still sticking up at all angles from his shower, the Doctor looked almost like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes. He was distinctly unhappy about the situation. At this rate, he was probably going to start keeping a change of clothes in his pockets as well. (Jack’s kitchen table was currently covered in an assortment of things from the Doctor’s suit pocket.)

“How long before my clothes are clean?”

“Clean? Twenty minutes. Clean and dry? Forty-five.” Jack sat down on the futon next to the Time Lord. “I’ve got a poker group tonight.”

“Poker?” The Doctor was surprised by that.

Shrugging, he said, “Felt like a bit of a social life. Want to come?”

“I don’t gamble.”

“It’s low-stakes.” High-stakes gambling was currently out of fashion anyway, much to the horror of Las Vegas.

The Doctor shook his head slightly. “Poker’s too easy. Now, a good game of three-dimensional chess, that’s fun. Or recreational mathematics… what’re you doing?”

Jack paused before dialing his phone. “Calling to say I won’t be there for poker tonight.”

“Oh, don’t let me interfere with your social life.”

“If you’re sure.” He wasn’t certain about leaving the Doctor alone. The Time Lord was bound to be bored, unless some threat to Boston (or possibly the entire planet) came up. Which, considering how things tended to go with the Doctor, was not at all unlikely.

“Jack. Go, have fun. Win some poker. I’ll be here, arguing with my ship. Well, it’s a pretty one-sided argument at this point, but I’m working on that.”

ent_alter_ego: Locked Out 2/3 (PG) [Ten/Jack]

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