A gift for YouCleverBoys, who adores Jack. Thank you, my dear friend, for all your help and support!
It's in the year one-hundred-trillion, in a chamber beneath a rocket of all places, when decades of patience finally pays off. Jack gets his chance to question the Doctor.
"She's gone, Jack." Now that he's started, his words flow on like a steady stream, like he's grateful to have someone he can share this with. "She's not just living on a parallel world, she's trapped there. The walls have closed."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
"I went back to her estate, in the nineties, just once or twice. Watched her growing up. Never said hello. Timelines and all that."
"Do you want to die?" is all the Doctor says to that, capricious as ever.
Jack forces the handle, muscles trembling with exertion as he buys himself a moment to think. "Oh, this one's a little stuck."
The Doctor's forehead bumps the glass. "Jack."
"I thought I did. I don't know. But this lot. You see them out here surviving, and that's fantastic."
"You might be out there, somewhere."
With a snort, Jack keys in the code to the next coupling. "I could go meet myself."
"Well. The only man you're ever going to be happy with."
"This new regeneration, it's kind of cheeky."
The Doctor hums, amused. Their banter has given Jack courage, the impetus to push things just a little further. "Speaking of cheeky, I...uh, I saw you once, too. This you, not all that long ago. You were with Rose."
"You recognised me even then?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
"Was pretty sure, yeah." Jack's eyes fall back to his work, though he allows a rather lascivious grin to creep over his face. Waits for a reaction.
It comes quickly. "Bit strange that you didn't say hello."
Jack doesn't look up, though his smile grows. "Intended to, but then, well. Let's just say that you two were occupied." He infuses the word with an impressive amount of innuendo (if he does say so himself). "And I wasn't in the mood to be killed. Again."
Silence or spluttering is what Jack expects most, so he isn't at all surprised when he's greeted by the former. A few dozen seconds pass before he gives in and glances over, dying to see if this cheeky new Doctor is more prone to blushing or glaring (truth be told, he'd be delighted with either).
All his glee fades as their gazes lock. Large and expressive, the Doctor's eyes gleam with hurt, his face gone so pale that even in the reddish light, Jack can make out his spattering of freckles. "Sorry Doc," he says, the apology past his lips before he can even begin to puzzle out where he's gone wrong.
The Doctor's eyes flick away. "You shouldn't joke about that."
"I'm sorry," he says again, and sighs when he gets no response. "It's not a joke...I was happy for you, okay? That's why I didn't say anything that day. All that time, all that waiting around to find you again, and I missed my chance, all because I didn't want to burst your sweet little bubble. Or mine, for that matter. I mean, for the longest time I thought I'd never catch you kissing that girl."
The Doctor's eyes are on him again, wide and intense, and Jack softens his voice. "But you did, you made the most of your time with her. That's got to be a comfort for you now, right?"
His Adam's apple bobs, his nostrils flare, and when his reply comes, the words are slow and weighted. "I never did kiss Rose, Jack."
Jack sucks a quick breath, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his system, because he knows exactly what this means. Because he was the one who sparked the joyful fire that was blazing to life in the Doctor's eyes. Without even trying, he rotates the final coupling and it falls into place.
Seconds later, everything else falls to pieces, and he loses his chance to ask about it again.
During the nightmarish time that follows, he passes countless hours thinking about it, though. Wraps himself up in it, a blanket of hope, and waits for better times to arrive.
And he feels good, because he's certain the Doctor is doing the same.
It's the end of a year that never was, and they're standing in Roald Dahl Plass.
Surprisingly, the Doctor invites him along.
Even more surprisingly, Jack says no. Because his team does need him.
And the Doctor doesn't, not really.
He never has.
It's six weeks later when he finds out he's wrong about that.
"I need your help, Jack," the Doctor says- no, admits, with reluctance, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Studiously avoids the pointed stare of his new ginger-haired companion, who stands alongside him, hands firm on her hips.
Jack is half in love with her already.
It's marked only by the piles of debris -dirty mugs and plates and sandwich crusts which litter the console room (which Donna refuses to clean up, because she's neither their maid nor their mother)- the endless length of time it takes before they finally figure it out.
And in the end, it's a wild scheme of Jack's which sends the TARDIS hurtling across the Void. With white-knuckles, they all clutch at coral struts and the Doctor curses him out, sentence fragments like "collapsed the universe" and "all your fault" cutting through the rumble and roar.
The telling-off is forgotten once they crash to a halt- and so is Jack, as the red-eyed, stubble-cheeked Time Lord races outside without so much as a backwards glance.
Jack and Donna manage to share a smile.
"Run?" he suggests, offering his hand, and she hauls him out the door.
It's a hell of a hassle to get in there. He and Donna are panting and bruised by the time they find them, and Jack has been forced to either outwit or overpower nearly a dozen Torchwood guards.
Rose doesn't see him.
No, she's facing the other way, shining blonde hair tumbling down her back, freed from its pony-tail by determined, questing Time Lord fingers.
The Doctor doesn't see him either. Eyes closed, he plunders Rose's mouth, tilts her head again, in restless pursuit of the best angle. Armed agents fill the corridor and neither of them notice.
Jack merely smiles as his arms are yanked behind him, as cold steel handcuffs bite into his wrists, and stays quiet. When it comes to those two, he's always been an observer at best; it's nothing he's not used to. He'll take what he can get. It's worth it.
Donna obviously feels (very) differently, but her shouts fall on deaf ears as they are dragged back toward the lift.
It's all over, the lift doors sliding shut, when out of nowhere, the Doctor raises his head.
Looks straight at Jack, his eyes bright and wet and earnest.
"Jack," he mouthes, the dark roughness of his cheek catching on Rose's light hair. "Thank you."