![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moogingDUDE OKAY SPOILERS FOR DOCTOR WHO: THE END OF TIME (PART TWO) IN THIS FIC. SPOOOOOIIILLLEEEERRS.
That said, happy new year!
Apparently I didn't cope particularly, er, well with that Doctor Who episode (My mother popped her head back in my room fifteen minutes after it ended and told me to stop crying. I threw a tissue at her.) Also apparently, my way of coping with that is to write some nonsense fic? I don't even know. I haven't written fic for months, and this is what happens? Pssh. Please accept my hearty apologies.
Title: tell me what you're looking for
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word count: ~1500
Disclaimer: SO NOT MINE IT IS RIDIC. The BBC/people who are not me own everything.
Hey, also, SPOILERS.
The Doctor disappears round a corner. Jack sees him go, watching him out of the corner of his eye. His heart races, like he's losing something.
Jack's never been one to lose anything, if he can help it.
"Hold that thought," he says to Alonso. "I'll be right back."
"Oh yes?" says Alonso, as Jack gets up from the bar.
Jack winks at him. "Oh yes," he says, and sets off at a pace.
He brushes past Slitheen and decorative pot palms - bar decor doesn't seem to change from galaxy to galaxy - and rounds the corner to the toilets, the part of the bar least draped under electric blue light, and there's the Doctor, real as anything, almost at the TARDIS. Jack runs.
He catches his arm. The Doctor turns, and his eyes are wild but his mouth is sad.
"Jack," he says.
And that's all, but Jack can feel it under the Doctor's skin, feel it sliding and waiting under the pad of his own thumb, pressed against the double pulse in the Doctor's wrist, one two three four. He looks up.
"You're dying," he tells him, on what would be a gasp if he were more virginal - but he's Jack Harkness, so he just sounds short of breath.
"I don't have much time," the Doctor says.
"I can tell," says Jack, and walks forward, still holding on. He bumps the Doctor's back against the TARDIS, but the Doctor doesn't pull himself away.
"I can't," says the Doctor, sharply, as Jack leans in, as he was always going to do.
Jack kisses him, on the corner of his mouth, testing. He tastes like radiation, but Jack has had higher doses. He kisses him again, stepping in closer, one leg between the Doctor's own.
The Doctor turns his head away, saying, "Don't."
Jack smiles, letting it turn predatory around the edges, the way he's good at.
"Jack, it's radiation. You can't be exposed to it. You'll die."
"What the hell," Jack says. "I've done it before."
"So have I," says the Doctor, and laughs, roughly.
"I've done this before, too," says Jack, hovering above the Doctor's mouth, intimate, "and so have you."
"I remember," says the Doctor, smiling, his voice catching. "Several memorable occasions present themselves, actually."
Jack kisses him again. He tastes like ash.
"I," the Doctor says, and stops. Gently, he lays his fingers one by one against Jack's temples - he has to be able to feel Jack's heartbeat thumping up like its beating into the spaces in his fingerprints; Jack can still feel the Doctor's erratic heartbeats where he's still got a hold on his wrist, and Jack isn't lord of time (or space) - and -
they are on the floor of the TARDIS, getting grate prints on their knees, on their palms, the Doctor throwing one hand up on the console like it's part of him, of this, and Jack nipping gently up his pale back with his teeth and - (one) -
a man is in a glass box, and the Doctor is shouting, grazed and bleeding, furious, sweeping everything off the desk next to him; it's a horrible, futile, impotent anger, and beneath that the dull, hollow knowledge that he still has to - because he could never do otherwise - (two) -
they tumble into the TARDIS, laughing so hard their lungs ache with it, and the Doctor is bursting with this happiness, grinning madly like Jack has seen with both bodies, and he throws a lever, hits a button, and they're off; the ground sweeps up and out from under their feet, and they stumble around the little metal room, and the Doctor knows Jack doesn't know where they're going, and they're breathing in gasps and gulps, giddy, and - (three) -
the Doctor hurts all over, but he's still standing, and he sees Donna, and he sees Martha, and he's hurting like he's dying, because he is and he hates it, and (four) -
- and the Doctor takes his fingers away.
Jack drops his wrist.
"I'm dying," the Doctor repeats, holding Jack's gaze. The expression on his face makes Jack want to look away.
"Get over yourself," he mumbles around the lump fearful and dark at the back of his throat, and grabs the Doctor's lapels to pull him in and close, wanting him nearer.
The Doctor makes a little sound like he didn't mean to make it, and Jack stops waiting. He kisses him properly, meaning it with his entire body and all his years of undying life and wanting the Doctor to know that, and all the years he looked for him and couldn't do just what he's doing now.
He licks up the side of the Doctor's throat, lingering on his jaw, kissing him sloppily and wet on his pulse, up behind his ear, tangling his fingers in his hair. There's nothing to stop someone from coming round the corner and seeing them, nothing to stop Alonso, say, from coming to see what's taking Jack so long, but this is the end, Jack knows, and he lets the Doctor hold him tight, hands gripping hard and desperate everywhere they touch. The Doctor tips his head back, and there are tears on his face that Jack kisses away, his own throat burning, but they don't stop.
The Doctor is dying; Jack is dizzy with it.
"Let me," he says, quietly, "I know you want to let me."
The music in the bar is just as loud out here as it was where Jack was cradling his drink, but here it matches the rush of Jack's blood, shot through fast with adrenalin, the way it always gets when the Doctor is around him. One two, one two: it's like a promise, or an exultation, and it's unstoppable. Inevitable.
"All right," the Doctor says, and he reaches out and kisses Jack back, harder than Jack expected.
It comes in rushes, the radiation, deep and ardent. Jack fights it. Against his lips, under his touch, braced beside him, he can feel the Doctor fight it too, fraught and determined; hopeless and proud. That's so like him, Jack thinks, to battle for more.
"I don't want you to die," Jack gets out, because the world is spinning a bit. The only thing keeping him steady is the Doctor's body against his - and he'd be willing to bet the TARDIS behind him is playing a large part in keeping the Doctor himself standing, because if he dies anything like as slowly as Jack dies, he'll need the support right now - and that's all right.
"Neither do I," says the Doctor, softly. "Still, maybe you'll see me again. Who better to tell me how I look?"
"Yeah," says Jack, "it'll be good to see a new face. This one's getting a bit old."
The Doctor says, "We both are."
Jack's vision is blurring. "You've not got long," he says. "You'd better get going, if you've got somewhere else to be."
"I'd better," the Doctor agrees, because they don't lie to each other now. He pauses, still scant inches from Jack's mouth. "Do you want to come in?" He gestures to the TARDIS waiting behind him.
Jack laughs. "Best not," he says. "I don't think she likes me very much."
"You just don't know how to treat her right," the Doctor says, and he smiles too, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The Doctor kisses him again, and again; it's a goodbye, Jack knows it is. Neither of them will say it. Death steals in between them, creeping into Jack's veins and drawing him down to the ground, faint with it. Jack's faced a radiation death before, more than once, and this is different: it's laced with the Doctor, strumming inside with his death intrinsic and toxic, one two three four.
Jack closes his eyes, and when he opens them, the TARDIS has gone but Alonso is there.
"Are you all right?" Alonso's voice is high-pitched.
Jack sits up with an effort and a groan. He smiles, letting it go predatory around the edges, the way he's good at. "You're cute when you're worried."
"I wasn't worried." Alonso is blushing. "You just - I wanted to see if you'd run off and left me waiting like a plonker."
"Me?" Jack says "Would I do that?"
"I don't know," says Alonso. "I'm not the mildly psychic one."
Jack laughs. "That you're not."
Alonso stands up, and offers his hand down to Jack. "Although," he says, "right now, you're thinking you should buy me a drink."
Jack grabs onto his wrist and pulls himself to his feet. "That's almost right," he says, with a charmingly executed leer.
Alonso smiles at him, seemingly despite himself (Jack often has that effect on people). He is still holding on to Jack's hand, and Jack can still feel Alonso's pulse beating just under the pad of his thumb where it rests at Alonso's wrist.
"Come on," says Jack. "I'll get you that drink."
"No," says Alonso, and Jack frowns, confused. Alonso grins, something cheeky, smug, in his eyes. "Almost right's not good enough for me. Show me what you had in mind."
Jack throws his head back with mirth. "All right," he says.
"Allons-y," says Alonso, and his pulse speeds up under Jack's touch, one two, one two.
*
That said, happy new year!
Apparently I didn't cope particularly, er, well with that Doctor Who episode (My mother popped her head back in my room fifteen minutes after it ended and told me to stop crying. I threw a tissue at her.) Also apparently, my way of coping with that is to write some nonsense fic? I don't even know. I haven't written fic for months, and this is what happens? Pssh. Please accept my hearty apologies.
Title: tell me what you're looking for
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word count: ~1500
Disclaimer: SO NOT MINE IT IS RIDIC. The BBC/people who are not me own everything.
Hey, also, SPOILERS.
The Doctor disappears round a corner. Jack sees him go, watching him out of the corner of his eye. His heart races, like he's losing something.
Jack's never been one to lose anything, if he can help it.
"Hold that thought," he says to Alonso. "I'll be right back."
"Oh yes?" says Alonso, as Jack gets up from the bar.
Jack winks at him. "Oh yes," he says, and sets off at a pace.
He brushes past Slitheen and decorative pot palms - bar decor doesn't seem to change from galaxy to galaxy - and rounds the corner to the toilets, the part of the bar least draped under electric blue light, and there's the Doctor, real as anything, almost at the TARDIS. Jack runs.
He catches his arm. The Doctor turns, and his eyes are wild but his mouth is sad.
"Jack," he says.
And that's all, but Jack can feel it under the Doctor's skin, feel it sliding and waiting under the pad of his own thumb, pressed against the double pulse in the Doctor's wrist, one two three four. He looks up.
"You're dying," he tells him, on what would be a gasp if he were more virginal - but he's Jack Harkness, so he just sounds short of breath.
"I don't have much time," the Doctor says.
"I can tell," says Jack, and walks forward, still holding on. He bumps the Doctor's back against the TARDIS, but the Doctor doesn't pull himself away.
"I can't," says the Doctor, sharply, as Jack leans in, as he was always going to do.
Jack kisses him, on the corner of his mouth, testing. He tastes like radiation, but Jack has had higher doses. He kisses him again, stepping in closer, one leg between the Doctor's own.
The Doctor turns his head away, saying, "Don't."
Jack smiles, letting it turn predatory around the edges, the way he's good at.
"Jack, it's radiation. You can't be exposed to it. You'll die."
"What the hell," Jack says. "I've done it before."
"So have I," says the Doctor, and laughs, roughly.
"I've done this before, too," says Jack, hovering above the Doctor's mouth, intimate, "and so have you."
"I remember," says the Doctor, smiling, his voice catching. "Several memorable occasions present themselves, actually."
Jack kisses him again. He tastes like ash.
"I," the Doctor says, and stops. Gently, he lays his fingers one by one against Jack's temples - he has to be able to feel Jack's heartbeat thumping up like its beating into the spaces in his fingerprints; Jack can still feel the Doctor's erratic heartbeats where he's still got a hold on his wrist, and Jack isn't lord of time (or space) - and -
they are on the floor of the TARDIS, getting grate prints on their knees, on their palms, the Doctor throwing one hand up on the console like it's part of him, of this, and Jack nipping gently up his pale back with his teeth and - (one) -
a man is in a glass box, and the Doctor is shouting, grazed and bleeding, furious, sweeping everything off the desk next to him; it's a horrible, futile, impotent anger, and beneath that the dull, hollow knowledge that he still has to - because he could never do otherwise - (two) -
they tumble into the TARDIS, laughing so hard their lungs ache with it, and the Doctor is bursting with this happiness, grinning madly like Jack has seen with both bodies, and he throws a lever, hits a button, and they're off; the ground sweeps up and out from under their feet, and they stumble around the little metal room, and the Doctor knows Jack doesn't know where they're going, and they're breathing in gasps and gulps, giddy, and - (three) -
the Doctor hurts all over, but he's still standing, and he sees Donna, and he sees Martha, and he's hurting like he's dying, because he is and he hates it, and (four) -
- and the Doctor takes his fingers away.
Jack drops his wrist.
"I'm dying," the Doctor repeats, holding Jack's gaze. The expression on his face makes Jack want to look away.
"Get over yourself," he mumbles around the lump fearful and dark at the back of his throat, and grabs the Doctor's lapels to pull him in and close, wanting him nearer.
The Doctor makes a little sound like he didn't mean to make it, and Jack stops waiting. He kisses him properly, meaning it with his entire body and all his years of undying life and wanting the Doctor to know that, and all the years he looked for him and couldn't do just what he's doing now.
He licks up the side of the Doctor's throat, lingering on his jaw, kissing him sloppily and wet on his pulse, up behind his ear, tangling his fingers in his hair. There's nothing to stop someone from coming round the corner and seeing them, nothing to stop Alonso, say, from coming to see what's taking Jack so long, but this is the end, Jack knows, and he lets the Doctor hold him tight, hands gripping hard and desperate everywhere they touch. The Doctor tips his head back, and there are tears on his face that Jack kisses away, his own throat burning, but they don't stop.
The Doctor is dying; Jack is dizzy with it.
"Let me," he says, quietly, "I know you want to let me."
The music in the bar is just as loud out here as it was where Jack was cradling his drink, but here it matches the rush of Jack's blood, shot through fast with adrenalin, the way it always gets when the Doctor is around him. One two, one two: it's like a promise, or an exultation, and it's unstoppable. Inevitable.
"All right," the Doctor says, and he reaches out and kisses Jack back, harder than Jack expected.
It comes in rushes, the radiation, deep and ardent. Jack fights it. Against his lips, under his touch, braced beside him, he can feel the Doctor fight it too, fraught and determined; hopeless and proud. That's so like him, Jack thinks, to battle for more.
"I don't want you to die," Jack gets out, because the world is spinning a bit. The only thing keeping him steady is the Doctor's body against his - and he'd be willing to bet the TARDIS behind him is playing a large part in keeping the Doctor himself standing, because if he dies anything like as slowly as Jack dies, he'll need the support right now - and that's all right.
"Neither do I," says the Doctor, softly. "Still, maybe you'll see me again. Who better to tell me how I look?"
"Yeah," says Jack, "it'll be good to see a new face. This one's getting a bit old."
The Doctor says, "We both are."
Jack's vision is blurring. "You've not got long," he says. "You'd better get going, if you've got somewhere else to be."
"I'd better," the Doctor agrees, because they don't lie to each other now. He pauses, still scant inches from Jack's mouth. "Do you want to come in?" He gestures to the TARDIS waiting behind him.
Jack laughs. "Best not," he says. "I don't think she likes me very much."
"You just don't know how to treat her right," the Doctor says, and he smiles too, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The Doctor kisses him again, and again; it's a goodbye, Jack knows it is. Neither of them will say it. Death steals in between them, creeping into Jack's veins and drawing him down to the ground, faint with it. Jack's faced a radiation death before, more than once, and this is different: it's laced with the Doctor, strumming inside with his death intrinsic and toxic, one two three four.
Jack closes his eyes, and when he opens them, the TARDIS has gone but Alonso is there.
"Are you all right?" Alonso's voice is high-pitched.
Jack sits up with an effort and a groan. He smiles, letting it go predatory around the edges, the way he's good at. "You're cute when you're worried."
"I wasn't worried." Alonso is blushing. "You just - I wanted to see if you'd run off and left me waiting like a plonker."
"Me?" Jack says "Would I do that?"
"I don't know," says Alonso. "I'm not the mildly psychic one."
Jack laughs. "That you're not."
Alonso stands up, and offers his hand down to Jack. "Although," he says, "right now, you're thinking you should buy me a drink."
Jack grabs onto his wrist and pulls himself to his feet. "That's almost right," he says, with a charmingly executed leer.
Alonso smiles at him, seemingly despite himself (Jack often has that effect on people). He is still holding on to Jack's hand, and Jack can still feel Alonso's pulse beating just under the pad of his thumb where it rests at Alonso's wrist.
"Come on," says Jack. "I'll get you that drink."
"No," says Alonso, and Jack frowns, confused. Alonso grins, something cheeky, smug, in his eyes. "Almost right's not good enough for me. Show me what you had in mind."
Jack throws his head back with mirth. "All right," he says.
"Allons-y," says Alonso, and his pulse speeds up under Jack's touch, one two, one two.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:29 pm (UTC)(send help I cannot stop watching your icon)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:17 pm (UTC)Jack's desperation being not a million miles from jealousy, how simple it is for people who aren't him to die and make it stick, the differences in pulse and then Alonso, still waiting at the end, and how you manage to walk the line between hopeful and reminiscent and sad. Perfect.
I missed your writing! xx
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:32 pm (UTC)ANYWAY, thank you for your nice words, lady. I am away to read your latest BGM offering v. promptly (although I still don't know who these people are, good god, I should do something about that).
MOST PROMINENT REACTION TO LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE: WEEPING.
xxxxxxxx
no subject
Date: 2010-01-03 04:31 am (UTC)Cheers.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 10:53 pm (UTC)"Allons-y," says Alonso
god I'm so easily amused.
And and and everything. I am confident that your reaction to the appearance of Alonso in the episode was much the same as mine, i.e. MASSIVE INABILITY TO COPE WITH ANYTHING. Can he be in Torchwood or something now? I mean. seriously.
love you lady xxxxxxxxxx
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 11:24 pm (UTC)firstly: god I'm so easily amused. - you and me both. Genuinely made myself laugh when I wrote that, what is even wrong with me
Your reaction to Alonso appearing was indeed the same as mine. OH HAI ALONSO. It made me smile like a big spack despite the fact that I was weeping like a bigger spack at the same time. D: and :D
thank you for your kind kind words! I always wait like something of a loser to see what you and Loz have to say about anything writing-y I may throw up here, because I know you would tell me if I had gone wronger than normal. And also your fics render me unable to make proper words (you have seen this in person. Case in point: that time we wrote that thing and you had that line about Mark just sounding terribly sad, and I lost the ability to cope in any way with life or being awake or in fact telling you how much I had been spacked).
this comment is too long now, shut up, me. xxxxx love at your face