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Title: The Doctor Still Dances
Disclaimer: Sadly, being a bloke who slashes gents doesn't make me RTD. Or the BBC. Or anyone with any rights whatsoever. (Well, okay, I might have a few in parts of Europe, but that's not what I meant.)
Pairings: Jack/10 with implied Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13 for not-at-all-explicit sexuality.
Notes: Because I can't wait for June 16. Damn it. Inspired by "Moonlight Serenade," the Glenn Miller song in "Boom Town" and "The Doctor Dances".
It was late. Well, relatively speaking, at any rate. Martha had long gone on to bed. The Doctor himself might have contemplated a bit of a lie-down, but Jack's return had given him a pretty good startle. He needed to think.
The big questions were answered, more or less. Jack's immortality, how he'd escaped the Game Station, Canary Wharf, Torchwood, etc. Even so, there were still things left unsaid, and that left both men on edge. Worse, Jack didn't seem to sleep anymore. Instead of relying on his companions' circadian rhythms to give him downtime, The Doctor found he had to prowl more and more arcane sections of the TARDIS for privacy until the others started making noise.
Jack, as it turned out, was still an expert at making noise.
"I'm surprised she lets you work on her like that, Jack." The Doctor said, stepping into the console room. He watched as Jack worked, elbows deep in an access panel.
"I have a way with people," Jack replied.
"Martha certainly seems to think so."
Jack pulled his right arm free of the wires and peered down at his work.
"Do I even want to ask what you're doing to my ship?"
"You'll see." Jack winked.
"Hm."
In his last life, he'd loved Jack. Well, sort of. It had all been a happy sort of accident, and it had ended badly. Well, fatally. For both of them. And yet, while he felt a distant sort of regret, he had no solid sense of how that emotion was meant to work in context. He was a new man. Had been for two consecutive Christmases. Still, he could sort of see why his previous self had been inspired.
"Got it." Jack pushed the panel back into place and secured it.
"And?"
Jack stood up and brushed away the dust on his trousers. With the flick of a wrist, he clicked a switch on the console. Almost immediately, the sounds of a jazz orchestra crackled to life.
"You installed a stereo system?" The Doctor was aghast.
"No, I found the stereo system. And repaired it." Jack waited for a response, then crossed his arms and sighed. "You're welcome."
"I'd forgotten about it," the Doctor said quietly.
"It looks more like you broke it, actually." Jack chuckled, resting a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You know, I remember there was a time when you liked dancing."
"That was a lifetime ago."
"Well, then," Jack whispered as he stepped in close to face the Doctor. "Maybe it's time for a refresher."
"I'm not who I was before, Jack." The Doctor's shoulders stiffened. It was a warning.
Jack was unperturbed. In fact, he wrapped one arm around the Doctor's waist and began to lead them, cheek to cheek. The Doctor sighed and relented.
"Do you remember how we'd dance?" Jack whispered dreamily into his ear, reaching down to clasp his right hand. They began to sway in time with the music. "That first night after we met in the Blitz? Just you, me, and --"
"Rose." The Doctor stumbled. Jack recovered for them.
"You miss her."
"Completely."
"Me too."
They danced slowly around the center pillar, Jack humming along to the woodwinds.
"How long has it been?" Jack asked.
"About two minutes, thirty six seconds."
Jack chuckled. "No, since you've danced."
The Doctor caught Jack's double meaning immediately. He wasn't sure he wanted to have this discussion. No, he was certain he didn't. And especially not with Jack Harkness. "A long time."
"How long?"
"I don't remember."
"Since Rose?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He merely took a half-step back, leaving a stricken looking Jack holding his hand. He was shocked by the raw openness of the pain he saw in the younger man's face. Was Jack weeping?
Leave it to the children of the 51st century to re-create the requiem as a physical act. Human beings. Honestly.
"It's okay, Jack. I wasn't telling you to go away." He embraced Jack and held him, let him sob until his tears soaked the lapel of the Doctor's blue suit. Cautiously, The Doctor began to lead the younger man's hands into his jacket. He told himself this was for Jack. Just once, to help the man let go of his pain, to help him do something the people in the "slow lane" didn't know how to do.
The act was not formal in the ordinary sense, but still a ritual. They whispered their pain between gasps. So many names. So many years. Tears mingled with and dissolved into sweat and were kissed and licked away. Smoothed out. Diminished. And while the Doctor didn't lose himself -- perhaps he was too old and too hurt and too afraid of Jack Harkness -- he had to admit that it was nice, and that the kindness of the thing did him good.
After they finished, the Doctor held Jack and let him weep again, crying himself to sleep in a tangle of limbs and shed clothing. The Doctor stayed with him, ignoring the bits of utility panel that dug at his shoulder and the crick developing in his neck. What he couldn't ignore was the name Jack had cried out at the end. A name that felt a little bit too alive for comfort, and that made Jack hold back, if only for an instant.
"Ianto."
Disclaimer: Sadly, being a bloke who slashes gents doesn't make me RTD. Or the BBC. Or anyone with any rights whatsoever. (Well, okay, I might have a few in parts of Europe, but that's not what I meant.)
Pairings: Jack/10 with implied Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13 for not-at-all-explicit sexuality.
Notes: Because I can't wait for June 16. Damn it. Inspired by "Moonlight Serenade," the Glenn Miller song in "Boom Town" and "The Doctor Dances".
It was late. Well, relatively speaking, at any rate. Martha had long gone on to bed. The Doctor himself might have contemplated a bit of a lie-down, but Jack's return had given him a pretty good startle. He needed to think.
The big questions were answered, more or less. Jack's immortality, how he'd escaped the Game Station, Canary Wharf, Torchwood, etc. Even so, there were still things left unsaid, and that left both men on edge. Worse, Jack didn't seem to sleep anymore. Instead of relying on his companions' circadian rhythms to give him downtime, The Doctor found he had to prowl more and more arcane sections of the TARDIS for privacy until the others started making noise.
Jack, as it turned out, was still an expert at making noise.
"I'm surprised she lets you work on her like that, Jack." The Doctor said, stepping into the console room. He watched as Jack worked, elbows deep in an access panel.
"I have a way with people," Jack replied.
"Martha certainly seems to think so."
Jack pulled his right arm free of the wires and peered down at his work.
"Do I even want to ask what you're doing to my ship?"
"You'll see." Jack winked.
"Hm."
In his last life, he'd loved Jack. Well, sort of. It had all been a happy sort of accident, and it had ended badly. Well, fatally. For both of them. And yet, while he felt a distant sort of regret, he had no solid sense of how that emotion was meant to work in context. He was a new man. Had been for two consecutive Christmases. Still, he could sort of see why his previous self had been inspired.
"Got it." Jack pushed the panel back into place and secured it.
"And?"
Jack stood up and brushed away the dust on his trousers. With the flick of a wrist, he clicked a switch on the console. Almost immediately, the sounds of a jazz orchestra crackled to life.
"You installed a stereo system?" The Doctor was aghast.
"No, I found the stereo system. And repaired it." Jack waited for a response, then crossed his arms and sighed. "You're welcome."
"I'd forgotten about it," the Doctor said quietly.
"It looks more like you broke it, actually." Jack chuckled, resting a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You know, I remember there was a time when you liked dancing."
"That was a lifetime ago."
"Well, then," Jack whispered as he stepped in close to face the Doctor. "Maybe it's time for a refresher."
"I'm not who I was before, Jack." The Doctor's shoulders stiffened. It was a warning.
Jack was unperturbed. In fact, he wrapped one arm around the Doctor's waist and began to lead them, cheek to cheek. The Doctor sighed and relented.
"Do you remember how we'd dance?" Jack whispered dreamily into his ear, reaching down to clasp his right hand. They began to sway in time with the music. "That first night after we met in the Blitz? Just you, me, and --"
"Rose." The Doctor stumbled. Jack recovered for them.
"You miss her."
"Completely."
"Me too."
They danced slowly around the center pillar, Jack humming along to the woodwinds.
"How long has it been?" Jack asked.
"About two minutes, thirty six seconds."
Jack chuckled. "No, since you've danced."
The Doctor caught Jack's double meaning immediately. He wasn't sure he wanted to have this discussion. No, he was certain he didn't. And especially not with Jack Harkness. "A long time."
"How long?"
"I don't remember."
"Since Rose?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He merely took a half-step back, leaving a stricken looking Jack holding his hand. He was shocked by the raw openness of the pain he saw in the younger man's face. Was Jack weeping?
Leave it to the children of the 51st century to re-create the requiem as a physical act. Human beings. Honestly.
"It's okay, Jack. I wasn't telling you to go away." He embraced Jack and held him, let him sob until his tears soaked the lapel of the Doctor's blue suit. Cautiously, The Doctor began to lead the younger man's hands into his jacket. He told himself this was for Jack. Just once, to help the man let go of his pain, to help him do something the people in the "slow lane" didn't know how to do.
The act was not formal in the ordinary sense, but still a ritual. They whispered their pain between gasps. So many names. So many years. Tears mingled with and dissolved into sweat and were kissed and licked away. Smoothed out. Diminished. And while the Doctor didn't lose himself -- perhaps he was too old and too hurt and too afraid of Jack Harkness -- he had to admit that it was nice, and that the kindness of the thing did him good.
After they finished, the Doctor held Jack and let him weep again, crying himself to sleep in a tangle of limbs and shed clothing. The Doctor stayed with him, ignoring the bits of utility panel that dug at his shoulder and the crick developing in his neck. What he couldn't ignore was the name Jack had cried out at the end. A name that felt a little bit too alive for comfort, and that made Jack hold back, if only for an instant.
"Ianto."
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