![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
randomfandom93.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wintercompanion2009-07-27 03:48 pm
RandomFandom93: Ritual (Ten/Jack) [All Ages-Prompt 14]
Title: Ritual
Pairing: Doctor 10/Jack Harkness
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood belong to Russell T. Davies, though I think it's been proven beyond a doubt that he abuses them. Who's for a custody hearing?
Warning/Spoilers: Children of Earth
Prompt: Prompt Group 14-(Communication-Talk-Telepathy-Touch)
Rating: PG / All Ages
Summary: After the events of CoE and Planet of the Dead, the Doctor catches up with the Captain for a (Much Needed) drink.
Title: Ritual
Pairing: Doctor 10/Jack Harkness
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood belong to Russell T. Davies, though I think it's been proven beyond a doubt that he abuses them. Who's for a custody hearing?
Rating: PG / All Ages
Summary: After the events of CoE and Planet of the Dead, the Doctor catches up with the Captain for a (Much Needed) drink.
A/N: I feel bad for writing anything but Janto so close after seeing CoE. That's one more small evil it's caused. I feel guilty for writing one of my OTPs. Scene only slightly ripped off from Neil Gaiman.
************************************************************************
In a rundown, rather sleazy old bar on the edge of the Milky Way a man in a battered RAF overcoat sat in a corner booth, underneath a dying light. A half drunk glass hypervodka sat nursed in one hand, the last dregs of an empty bottle, sitting on the table, surrounded by its companions. The man sat, glass untouched, staring off into the distance. Even the bar's more cutthroat clientele stayed away from him, shying away from his gaze with a shiver and shrug towards their friends.
The bar's front door swung open again, and another man walked through. He looked so lost and out of place, and such an easy mark that all eyes in the bar instantly trained on him.
The man in the corner didn't look up.
The other man walked to the bar, leaning over and conversing with the bartender in conspiratorial tones, gesturing quietly towards the back room.
The man at the bar stool next to him couldn't resist, reaching into the unguarded pocket next to him to snatch any valuables, the rest of the bar watching intently.
The man at the corner booth didn't blink.
Within seconds, a grin lit up on the pickpocket's face, obviously having found something. He reached further in, apparently trying to get a good grip.
The man in the trenchcoat didn't seem to notice, arguing now slightly more heatedly with the man behind the counter.
Abandoning subtlety in his slightly inebriated state, the pickpocket let go of his grip on the bar, turning fully to face his prize.
While the rest of the bar stared in shock, the man seemingly slipped and fell into the pocket up to his shoulder.
Hastily, if a little clumsily, pulling his way out, the man turned to stare at the contents of his hand.
A rubber band ball, a miniature slinky, and a piece of gum.
The bartender threw up his hands, and walked off through the curtained door behind the counter. Seemingly pleased, the man in the trench coat stood up, and turned to face the room, leaning casually back, his legs crossed.
The rest of the room were still staring.
"Evening."
The pickpocket sat next to him, as dumbfounded as the others, making no move to hide his spoils.
"Oh, hallo! My slinky! I've been looking for that for ages!"
The bartender returned, holding a large, dusty green bottle he was sure he hadn't had before.
The man took the slinky and rubber band ball, replacing them in his pockets, before turning to accept the proffered bottle.
"Go on, keep that. It's yours."
And he strode off towards the corner table, given a wide berth by the other customers, the pickpocket staring dumbly at the piece of gum in his open palm.
The man in the corner didn't look up when someone slid in next to him.
"Doctor."
"Captain."
A slight wince. Hidden by a swig from the glass.
"Have you changed your name yet, then?"
"No. Not yet. What's in the bottle?"
"Y'know, I'm not sure. But every bar seems to have one. And it's always exactly what you need."
"I'll take some of that."
Bottle opened. Two glasses wiped down and filled. Drained without ceremony. Refilled.
They don't talk. They don't need to.
Another glass. Gone in two swallows.
They don't ask questions.
Rose and Donna?
Your Team?
They're both alone and they know it.
Fourth glass. A slight chink of glass on glass. A toast without words to those they have lost.
They don't joke.
Would this count as me buying you that drink?
Seventh glass. Jack somehow just knows this bottle never runs dry.
This seems to have all the hallmarks of a tradition that's been going on for a long time.
They just haven't done it before.
They've stopped using glasses. They just pass the bottle back and forth, back and forth.
They're sprawled across each other, feeling more comfortable then they have in recent memory. It's hot in the bar, and the coats and the doctor's jacket and tie are long gone.
They're going to have to leave soon. The bottle's running low.
Jack doesn't mind. He knows this'll happen again.
The Doctor will leave again. Jack'll find a new life. New names, new faces, new memories, gone in a heartbeat.
And they'll be here again.
A different bar, a different time, another grey hair for Jack and probably a different face for the Doctor, but essentially the same.
They won't weep for different people, different loves and guilts and responsibilities shattered and run away from.
Everything will be different, and they'll learn to cope as the universe changes around them.
Because Everything Changes.
But Nothing Really Does.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject