ext_27351 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
dameruth.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wintercompanion2007-07-30 08:28 pm
dameruth.livejournal.com) wrote in wintercompanion2007-07-30 08:28 pm
Entry tags:
"New Look"
Title: "New Look"
Author: DameRuth
Prompt used: One of the "spoileriffics" (see below cut)
Rating: G
Spoilers/warnings: End of S3 for DW, casting spoiler for S2 of Torchwood
Summary: Jack lets Martha in on a secret.
Author: DameRuth
Prompt used: One of the "spoileriffics" (see below cut)
Rating: G
Spoilers/warnings: End of S3 for DW, casting spoiler for S2 of Torchwood
Summary: Jack lets Martha in on a secret.
Prompt: Martha tells Jack he is the head in the jar! What's Jack reaction and does he call on the Doctor to help him stop it?
A/N: not sure if this is Jack/Ten enough for the challenge -- mods can make a call on that one. I had to write this, though, to counterbalance the angst of "Polestar." :)
NEW LOOK
Jack came back from the bar and set their glasses on the table – a pint for her and soda water with lime for him – before settling down across from her at the table.
“So, Martha Jones,” he asked, flashing her his white, even smile. “How’ve you been keeping?”
It was their first chance to talk together in ages, here in this pub, after the day’s work was finished at Torchwood and they could relax for a bit. Martha happily filled him, in, and they swapped everyday stories (some of which wouldn’t be everyday to most people on the planet, but the two of them had rather different standards) about work, and relationships, and things past and future.
Martha was enjoying herself, when suddenly out of nowhere came a flash of memory, of watching an alien (or so she’d thought) die in a distant city with a shockingly familiar name. Once again, she found herself surreptitiously studying Jack’s features, wondering . . .
Jack noticed, and raised his eyebrows at her. “What? Have I got something on my face?”
That word, in this context, jarred Martha – to the point where she began, “You know, when the Doctor and I dropped you off here in Cardiff, that nickname you mentioned . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of the words to continue.
Jack blinked at her, and then a spark lit in his blue eyes, the corners of which crinkled in amusement as a slow smile began to spread across his face.
“Oh, you don’t mean . . .” The grin widened, and he began to chuckle. As he studied her face, the chuckle broke into a full-out belly laugh, and he leaned forward to bury his face in his arms. When he raised his head for air, he gasped, “Your expression . . . you didn’t actually believe that ‘Face of Boe’ crack, did you . . .? Oh, God, you did . . .!” and he was off again.
“What?” Martha snapped, disconcerted. “You mean, you made that up?”
Jack gasped again and straightened, slumping back in his chair, still grinning.
“Of course I made it up! I’ve got a lot of ambitions in my life, but being a giant head in a jar isn’t one of them! Not to mention I’m completely the wrong species.” He sniggered. “The Doctor didn’t buy it, did he?”
“Umm . . .” Martha equivocated.
“He did! Oh, if only I’d known you two were that gullible! I would’ve tried unloading a little real estate before I left. Been years since I sold anyone the Golden Gate Bridge!” He reached for his soda water and took a sip, obviously fighting another case of the giggles.
“Why? Why’d you tell us that?” Martha demanded, confused and a little irritated. “Just for kicks . . .?”
“No! Actually, I was trying to pump the Doctor for more info,” Jack told her, setting his glass back onto the table. At her confused look, he leaned forward on his elbows and explained.
“You know how he is – always dropping little hints, but if you press him directly, he clams up and you can’t pry anything more out of him with a crowbar. But,” Jack held up a sage forefinger, “if you’re lucky, you can fake him out. If you make a statement that’s completely, ridiculously wrong, his reflexes kick in, and sometimes he’ll correct you before he thinks about it. I’ve gotten a lot of good stuff out of him that way.”
“So you’d say, ‘I’m the Face of Boe,’ and he’d say something like, ‘Don’t be silly, you can’t be, you’re . . .” fill in the blank.”
“Yeah, exactly, only it didn’t work that time, and I thought he was on to me, playing a poker face. But instead . . .” Jack dissolved into laughter again.
Unable to help herself, Martha began to laugh, too. “You know what you should do, before he shows up the next time?” she asked.
--
When the unmistakable sound of a materializing TARDIS interrupted Jack’s work three months later, he was ready for it.
On his way out to the Plass, he swung by his desk and grabbed the fishbowl sitting on it. It’d gotten a lot of odd looks from the team, until Owen – the soul of discretion, as usual – had asked Jack why he was keeping something as daft as an empty fishbowl on his desk.
“Because I’m the Director of Torchwood Three, and you’re not,” was Jack’s rather frosty reply, which served to cut off the commentary, if not the funny looks.
The fishbowl was the result of a rather extensive shopping safari he’d taken with Martha – he hadn’t realized it would take quite so long to find a fishbowl with a large enough opening to accommodate his head, but it had been worth it in the end. He and Martha had nearly injured themselves, laughing.
As Jack sprinted for the familiar blue box, he couldn’t wait to see the Doctor’s expression when he dropped the fishbowl into place and asked the Doctor what he thought of Jack’s “new look.”
It’d probably be a good thing he was warmed up from his first sprint – he might have to bolt in the opposite direction about as quickly when the Doctor realized he’d been completely, monumentally had.
Time Lords were funny that way.
A/N: not sure if this is Jack/Ten enough for the challenge -- mods can make a call on that one. I had to write this, though, to counterbalance the angst of "Polestar." :)
NEW LOOK
Jack came back from the bar and set their glasses on the table – a pint for her and soda water with lime for him – before settling down across from her at the table.
“So, Martha Jones,” he asked, flashing her his white, even smile. “How’ve you been keeping?”
It was their first chance to talk together in ages, here in this pub, after the day’s work was finished at Torchwood and they could relax for a bit. Martha happily filled him, in, and they swapped everyday stories (some of which wouldn’t be everyday to most people on the planet, but the two of them had rather different standards) about work, and relationships, and things past and future.
Martha was enjoying herself, when suddenly out of nowhere came a flash of memory, of watching an alien (or so she’d thought) die in a distant city with a shockingly familiar name. Once again, she found herself surreptitiously studying Jack’s features, wondering . . .
Jack noticed, and raised his eyebrows at her. “What? Have I got something on my face?”
That word, in this context, jarred Martha – to the point where she began, “You know, when the Doctor and I dropped you off here in Cardiff, that nickname you mentioned . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of the words to continue.
Jack blinked at her, and then a spark lit in his blue eyes, the corners of which crinkled in amusement as a slow smile began to spread across his face.
“Oh, you don’t mean . . .” The grin widened, and he began to chuckle. As he studied her face, the chuckle broke into a full-out belly laugh, and he leaned forward to bury his face in his arms. When he raised his head for air, he gasped, “Your expression . . . you didn’t actually believe that ‘Face of Boe’ crack, did you . . .? Oh, God, you did . . .!” and he was off again.
“What?” Martha snapped, disconcerted. “You mean, you made that up?”
Jack gasped again and straightened, slumping back in his chair, still grinning.
“Of course I made it up! I’ve got a lot of ambitions in my life, but being a giant head in a jar isn’t one of them! Not to mention I’m completely the wrong species.” He sniggered. “The Doctor didn’t buy it, did he?”
“Umm . . .” Martha equivocated.
“He did! Oh, if only I’d known you two were that gullible! I would’ve tried unloading a little real estate before I left. Been years since I sold anyone the Golden Gate Bridge!” He reached for his soda water and took a sip, obviously fighting another case of the giggles.
“Why? Why’d you tell us that?” Martha demanded, confused and a little irritated. “Just for kicks . . .?”
“No! Actually, I was trying to pump the Doctor for more info,” Jack told her, setting his glass back onto the table. At her confused look, he leaned forward on his elbows and explained.
“You know how he is – always dropping little hints, but if you press him directly, he clams up and you can’t pry anything more out of him with a crowbar. But,” Jack held up a sage forefinger, “if you’re lucky, you can fake him out. If you make a statement that’s completely, ridiculously wrong, his reflexes kick in, and sometimes he’ll correct you before he thinks about it. I’ve gotten a lot of good stuff out of him that way.”
“So you’d say, ‘I’m the Face of Boe,’ and he’d say something like, ‘Don’t be silly, you can’t be, you’re . . .” fill in the blank.”
“Yeah, exactly, only it didn’t work that time, and I thought he was on to me, playing a poker face. But instead . . .” Jack dissolved into laughter again.
Unable to help herself, Martha began to laugh, too. “You know what you should do, before he shows up the next time?” she asked.
--
When the unmistakable sound of a materializing TARDIS interrupted Jack’s work three months later, he was ready for it.
On his way out to the Plass, he swung by his desk and grabbed the fishbowl sitting on it. It’d gotten a lot of odd looks from the team, until Owen – the soul of discretion, as usual – had asked Jack why he was keeping something as daft as an empty fishbowl on his desk.
“Because I’m the Director of Torchwood Three, and you’re not,” was Jack’s rather frosty reply, which served to cut off the commentary, if not the funny looks.
The fishbowl was the result of a rather extensive shopping safari he’d taken with Martha – he hadn’t realized it would take quite so long to find a fishbowl with a large enough opening to accommodate his head, but it had been worth it in the end. He and Martha had nearly injured themselves, laughing.
As Jack sprinted for the familiar blue box, he couldn’t wait to see the Doctor’s expression when he dropped the fishbowl into place and asked the Doctor what he thought of Jack’s “new look.”
It’d probably be a good thing he was warmed up from his first sprint – he might have to bolt in the opposite direction about as quickly when the Doctor realized he’d been completely, monumentally had.
Time Lords were funny that way.
no subject
Your characterization of Jack is absolutely great and very spot on, complete with his tongue in cheek-humor and the way he knows how to read the Doctor.
Great work!
no subject