A.N. I'm currently editing this story to make it more readable. Thanks for checking it out!
Corrosive Dreams
The weevil snarled at the creatures stod at either end of the dark warehouse, blocking the only exits. Blood dripped from its snout and its head throbbed in time to an irregular, alien heartbeat, and its beady eyes rolling madly as thepain caused it to claw helplessly at its skull.
There was something in there.
"Jack, now!"
It turned towards the voice, shapes flitting away across the edges of its vision, but it was impossible to see both of its hunters at once. 'They're humans,' it suddenly knew, though never before had it put such a word to the noisy beings living on the surface of this planet.
'Come on, vermin. Show me how strong your species is.' Although it lacked any real understanding of language the voice managed to convey meaning, compelling the weevil into action as the humans circled closer, levelling their weapons.
"What's it- Gwen, watch out!"
It kicked off, charging full pelt at the smaller, long-furred one with a hollow scream, but before it could get even close a sharp stab stopped it dead as a syringe of tranquiliser strong enough to take down an elephant pierced its chest and coursed through its limbs, leadening them until it fell to the floor.
"Did I get it?" the human it had charged yelled from a safe distance, and the larger one- the alpha, it sensed- appeared in its quickly-fading line of sight, thrown into relief by a torch. He kneeled and pulled open one of its eyelids, shining the light into an unresponsive pupil.
"Yeah, the whole dose, should be out for a couple of hours-"
'Face identified: Captain Jack Harkness, associate of the Doctor.
Kill on sight.'
The voice-that-was-not-quite-a-voice sounded again, and though the weevil did not understand most of what it said, it got the gist.
Its eyes shot open and its claws snapped around the human's neck like a vice, his surprise at the burst of strength working to its advantage, buying it a split second to obey the intruding presence.
It buried its jaws in the man's throat.
"JACK!" The female's scream only fueled the creature's frenzy. Its victim's hands tried desperately to push it away, but his struggles became weak as his blood drained away. In its peripheral vision it saw the other human sprint towards them, dropping the tranq gun and pulling out something far more effective. It couldn't stop, though; the Voice was easy to follow, impossible to refuse.
The animal jerked back its head, rending the flesh, savouring the blood salving its tongue for only a moment before-
BANG!
Gwen's gaze lingered on the slightly shaking handgun before venturing to the twisted body of the weevil, the dark purple of the blood pouring from its blasted skull pooling with the red of her best friend's.
There was a moment of blind panic until her brain kicked in and she remembered who she was with. Jack, impossible Jack, who could live through anything, heal from any wound.
Seconds ticked by, Gwen never taking her eyes off him, her harsh breathing slowing but a hitch remaining in her breath at the sight. Her eyes blurred but she swiped them clear with the back of her hand.
'Don't get emotional, he'll come back, he always does. Any minute now,' she kept a tight grip on her gun, even as she clicked on the safety, her own reassurances a mantra in her head as she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Tracking down the weevil, cornering it, its crazed eyes as it shot off the floor - his memory came back in a trickle then a rush as his consciousness did the same. It was goddamn stupid, he berated himself, approaching the creature with so little caution, but he was relieved that it was his guts on the concrete, and not Gwen's; she was a hardy little Celt, but mortal all the same.
He often wondered if mortality really was a prerequisite of humanity, as the Doctor had often said, and if that meant he was as something more, now. Or something less... he pulled in his straying thoughts as the floor seemed to spin beneath him ('Always moving on', the Doctor said that too) and focused on regulating his breathing, keeping his eyes tightly closed, trying to stave off the post-resurrectional dizziness. 'Doubt they sell sickness tablets for that at Boots.'
But as the floor continued to move he became aware of something strange. It wasn't the same hard concrete he could feel against his back, nor was it the cold light of dawn that filtered through his eyelids. Had Gwen moved him? It even smelled different... he breathed in deeply, and his stomach did a flip. Leather, old books, the charged air before a thunderstorm: he'd know it anywhere, and as the unmistakable, beautiful wheeze of the engines set his heart beating madly he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Familiar laughter rang out over the engines as he sat, captivated by the impossible sight in front of him.
Leant against the railing to steady herself, Rose spoke animatedly to the Doctor as he dashed around the TARDIS's control panel, ears big and grin bigger, leather jacket gleaming in the column's glow.
He clambered to his feet, hanging on to the railing, feeling his coat swirl around his shins. He didn't... He just couldn't... For the first time in a long time, Jack Harkness was lost for words.
But characteristically, not for long.
"DOCTOR!"
God, how he'd missed his stupid, beaming, genius Time Lord. It didn't matter what he looked like, whether this face or his new-new, long-streak-of-nothing one, just that he was there, after months of waiting for him to come back, to change his mind about Jack's company.
Just as Jack himself did only weeks after the end of That Year, and his (stupid, stupid, why-did-you-say-no?) refusal. He loved his team, but being trapped on Earth wasn't right for him- not constantly, anyway. He needed a break. He needed to run.
His musings trailed off as the Doctor's dark blue eyes stayed fixed upon a point within the snarl of wires and maze of buttons, betraying no recognition. Jack moved further around the column, more hesitant than before.
'...Doctor? It's me. C'mon, Doc, I'm right he-"
"Why are you wearing that?" the Doctor's northern tones cut him off. Jack stared, bewildered, as he turned to the blonde stood nonchalantly nearby.
"This?" Rose looked down at her Union Jack T-shirt.
Jack was hit by a strange sense of nostalgia as he saw it, though that may just have been the sudden bout of queasiness he felt at his predicament; the countless incredible things he'd seen at the Time Agency and Torchwood, and he still didn't have the faintest idea what was happening.
"Y'know, bit of national pride. Me and Mum always watch the Olympics - usually just so she has something to talk about at the barbecues, mind you."
"Doctor!" he tried again, though it had no more effect. He stepped up, directly behind him. "Look at me, I'm right here!"
"I've always wanted to be in the intergalactic Olympics- what do you think? I bet I'd be a dab hand at the anti-grav motorbike..."
"Doc- GAH!" The Doctor, turning back to the console with a silly grin, reached forwards and straight through Jack.
He stared down at the arm thrust up to the shoulder into his chest, his whole mind grinding to a halt except that one stupid voice in the back making its- 'Didn't know you were so eager to be inside me, Doctor' -stupid freaking puns.
"Intergalactic? Anti-gravity? When? Where? You have to take me." Rose's excited voice ebbed into the background as he stood, immobile, and the Doctor's arm pulled away to fiddle with another part of the controls.
His body wavered as he watched, like a cheap twenty-fourth century hologram, but he didn't feel a thing; like he wasn't there at all.
The cogs in his brain began to click again and he stumbled back, avoiding touching his two companions. Maybe... some kind of hostile, telepathic creature had fallen through the Rift? No, that wouldn't work, mind control hadn't affected him since Satellite 5... then maybe just pure wishful thinking as he bled out on the pavement?
Still absently flexing his fingers as they regained opacity, he continued theorising, the cold logic calming him.
He was at least partly corporeal and able to interact with his surroundings (or he'd just fall through the floor), if not their inhabitants, and that he was being projected into the TARDIS whilst she was in flight, within the vortex itself... phew. Such an energy source was inconceivable.
He thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, then, but when he turned to look there was nothing. There was a noise by his ear too, an exhalation almost too quiet to hear.
"Save him..."
He didn't have time to ponder it or even be sure he heard it as the Doctor suddenly gave a yell. 'Rose! Rose, hold that lever, quick! No, that one!'
She looked startled and rushed forwards to comply, finding the correct handle after a few attempts. He grabbed the monitor, jabbing several buttons, his quasi-concern at whatever he saw quickly split by an anticipatory grin.
He yanked on something, and a shudder shook the TARDIS. It jarred Jack into one of the strangely-shaped beams (what were those anyway?) and he held on, as the other occupants of the ship did to the console; the engines grew louder and louder, their wheezing accompanied by the groans of the ship and the bright blue glow of the central piston.
He got the impression that they were quickly gaining speed, as the ship spun from side to side.
In that moment, he swore that his stupid smile could rival the Doctor's; he'd missed this, and no matter how insane the situation, he still got a rush of adrenaline from it. His heart felt as if it was ballooning in his chest.
'What's the emergency?' Rose edged over to the monitor, still pushing down on the machine whilst trying to keep her balance.
Jack felt it a good idea to do the same, and pushed off from the side and towards the screen. He was glad, for a second, that they couldn't see him, flailing clumsily in the vague direction of the Doctor; it'd ruin his flawless façade of grace and suavity. He stopped just in time to prevent himself falling into (and through) Rose, and craned his neck for a better view.
What he saw was more unbalancing than any amount of bucking the TARDIS could do.
'It's mauve,' the Doctor shouted over the racket, 'the universal colour for danger!' Jack stared at the screen showing the Chula ship, his Chula ship, hurtling through the Time Vortex. He suddenly realised why he recognised Rose's shirt; it was what she was wearing when he had rescued her from a barrage balloon, in the middle of the London air raid.
"Red's camp."
It semmed so long ago now, his days as a con artist, parking the wreck of the Chula ambulance in London to trick two unsuspecting 'Time Agents' into buying it. He'd almost doomed Britain, then, and maybe the entire human race. It only down to the Doctor that they weren't all gas-masked, half dead zombies. And it was down to him that Jack, too, was so different to the man he'd have otherwise have become.
Now he was thankful for his invisibility. If they could see him they wouldn't even recognise him- it was too early in their timeline- and he didn't think he'd be strong enough to bear that.
His ears seemed muffled suddenly, and he could no longer make out what the two were saying. He frowned at them, trying to focus on their moving lips, but his vision swam.
His head became light, the rushing in his ears punctuated by a growing TH-THUMP, TH-THUMP. Everything blurred into one brightly-coloured mass, and he felt like he'd just downed a bottle of Velarian vodka. The last time he'd done that he'd woken up in a different quadrant of the galaxy on a boat with the leaders of three different (warring) planets, £2,500 worth of luminescent candyfloss and a cyberman's head on his pillow.
'Really, Doc,' he thought, sounding drunk even in his mind, 'the most powerful ship in existence, you decorate it like the garage of a teen in the throes of his grunge phase, and you don't even have the decency to... have it in... focus...'
The mad colours whirlpooled into blackness, as the thumping in his head became unbearable, a great pressure built and pressed on his chest, his throat, his whole body burned in the aching, permeating pain he recognised as-
The aftermath of resurrection.
His eyes shot open and he arched on the concrete, gasping in the chilly, Welsh morning air.
A.N. Thanks for reading! Please review with comments and critisisms.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and Doctor Who are the BBC's, I get no profit from this unless anyone wants to pay me to shut up, you know the drill.