Damn'd Spot
Chapter 1
This has been "borrowed" and altered from a scene in chapter 26, "Oh, Baby…" of Cravings. I decided it in itself could stand as a two-chapter bit. So, here it is, unedited except by myself.
DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who isn't mine. Pity.
The title is stolen from the Shakespeare passage incooperated into the plot, from the Scottish Play. This takes place shortly after Boom Town, and after Mickey officially breaks off with Rose. We don't see her too upset on screen. This is what I'd have liked to see happen.
Rose/9/Jack.
The silence was unbearable. In separate sections of the ship, the two were privately mourning their losses. Regardless of the distance, Jack keenly felt their combined misery, and it bothered him to no end. So he sought to fix it.
Ever since seeing the pair together in that hospital, he had felt their chemistry, their undeniable bond. From the start he'd assumed her attachment had been far deeper than his, then just as quickly changed his guess when he observer the gruff Time Lord's tenderness toward the 21st century human girl. His was possibly a profounder connection, deeper than Jack could fathom. Rose was a sweet thing, yes. Nice on the eyes, easy on the figure. But a human. A relatively simple human.
Each to his own. Though, the Doctor hadn't seemed to keen on actually claiming "his own," as Jack found out while discussing Rose's relationship with Mickey. Rose, who usually prattled on about the distant stars, was rather reluctant to discuss her home life. Maybe it was a general distaste, or the brooding look cast over her alien companion's face when ever her boyfriend's name arose in conversation. Whatever it was, Rose didn't like it. And it was clearly Mickey who was preventing the pair from coming together-so Jack thought. That's where he'd been horridly wrong. The misassumption was proved to be incorrect in Cardiff, while they were attending to one particularly troublesome Slitheen.
The relationship had ended in Cardiff, though he never knew the exact circumstances. Rose had retreated to a good cry and an even better cuppa in the drawing room. She thought she had been so sneaky, leaving at the first chance. But both of her companions had seen the glassy eyes—she was in pain. It did not take anyone too long to deduce the cause of that pain.
The Doctor had been altered, full of scowls and snapping words when he'd just been bouncing from the success of the day a few seconds before. Even with the risk of his own life, Jack pushed the grumpy Time Lord to speak with her.
"C'mon. She could really use a friend."
"Then you go to her."
"I think you'd be more welcome." Far more welcome.
"I disagree." The Doctor said brusquely, pushing himself off from the grated floor of the console room, where he'd been making some minor repairs prior to their trip to Raxacoricofallapatorius. He rubbed his greasy hands on a bit of cloth, legs firmly apart as he observed the ex-Time Agent from top-to-toe, who just looked back. The heavy leather jacket lay slung across one of the rails, exposing a toned torso hidden only by a blue jumper, which was damp from sweat. The underside of the console was void of air currents and air conditioning, and could be quite stifling on the best of days. The Time Lord's forehead was a tad blackened with grease. His muscles strained under the shirt. In a word, he was delicious. Unfortunately for Jack, he was also mostly taken.
The alien continued. "In fact, absolutely not. S'not my place."
Dumbfounded, Jack barked out a laugh. "Not your place?"
"No. Not my place."
"Why?"
The Doctor turned away, occupying himself with the knobs and levers of the consol, still rubbing his hands with the raggedy cloth, though they were long clean. For a moment, Jack was reminded of Lady Macbeth, washing her hands of Duncan's blood.
Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky.—Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
pow'r to accompt?—Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him?
Jack recalled learning that passage in school, long ago. The crazed woman had repeatedly washed herself of a bloody sin, but to what aim? She had committed it fully informed. What was the Doctor was cleaning his hands of? The intentional destruction of Rose's relationship? Guilt? He couldn'tve actually done it, he wasn't nearly that selfish.
Would he allow himself to have her, now that Mickey was out of the way? Rose wouldn't refuse him, wouldn't even dream of it. If he had thought to try before all of this, without a doubt she would have accepted. But he hadn't tired, hadn't even thought of trying.
"'S just not." He said quietly, still rubbing his hands. "Leave her alone, Jack. She needs a chance to cry it out."
"She needs a friend!" Jack crossed his arms, bracing himself. "And you know her better than I do. I'd get all awkward about it."
"And I wouldn't?" The Time Lord chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, I'd make a right mess of things. Bulky old me, probably prattle on about how everything has its end, how he was never good enough for her, how she deserved someone smarter, better, more ambitious and able. Tell her she needs someone more than a pretty boy, needs someone like-Leave her alone." He repeated suddenly, stopping himself with unnatural abruptness. "Just-leave her alone."
"I will." Jack promised. "But you can't. You can't, and you shouldn't. For both your sakes."
And then he made his exit, hoping his imparting words might lead the Doctor toward some sort of action. They really did deserve one another.
Please review. Thanks! Chapter two should be coming up within a day, if not hours.