Hello, sweeties! I've been trying for three freaking days to finish this one up. But it's finally here! :D
Okay, first of all, yes, I left out "Father's Day". I hated to do it, because it was one of my favorite episode, but since Sam isn't really a real person, the Tylers never really existed, did they? So this is "The Empty Child"/"The Doctor Dances". (Hello, Jack! :D)
Second of all...I loved writing this. You might hate me, but I wrote it. If you think I moved them too fast at the end with the dancing, comment and I'll change it. I just couldn't resist though! :.(
This chapter, I decided to change things up. This chapter is from the point of view of the Doctor, rather than Sam.
Well, thanks to Mabudachi-trio, keepcalmandfangirlon, and a very special thanks to Alowl for commenting, and to anyone else who read. Enjoy!
Fantastic. As soon as I rid myself of one, he wanders off and picks up another stray! The Doctor grumbled inwardly, trying not to watch as Sam and Jack chatted. The captain, the Doctor could see, was shamelessly flirting with Sam, who was quite uncomfortable.
Funny, the Doctor couldn't help joke to himself. For a guy who claims so vehemently to be hetero, he sure does attract a lot of blokes. And I thought I was a…how did Sam put it? A "space pimp"?
But the Doctor had to back up a bit. He had left Adam back in his own flat back home after his little trick with the cell phone and the white noise on Satellite Five.
"I only take the best," he'd said fiercely. "I've got Sam."
Then he stormed back inside his TARDIS and flew away, only to stumble across a bright mauve capsule. Mauve, he explained to Sam, was the universal color for emergency. So, he locked onto the capsule's flight pattern, and wound up somewhere/when in London.
"What's the plan to locate this thing, then?" asked Sam, as they strolled through a back alley the TARDIS had turned up in. It was nighttime, and the city was unusually serene. "Gonna…scan for alien tech or something?"
"No, I'm gonna ask someone," he said, flashing Sam his psychic paper.
Sam looked at it. "Might want to get that fixed, mate. It's still not working."
The Doctor gaped at him quizzically. "Really? It's blank?" He looked at it himself, but identification papers for a "Dr. John Smith, Ministry of Asteroids" were present. Curiouser and curiouser.
In all honesty, matters had grown even stranger than usual (if possible) ever since the Doctor plucked up his latest companion. Not only did Sam seem telepathically endowed, as the encounter with the Nestene had proved, but the fact that the psychic paper didn't work on him showed that Sam might be a genius as well. Not surprising. The Doctor very rarely employed dim individuals. However, Sam, smart as he was, didn't necessarily show that type of prowess up front. It was almost as if Sam's mind was a precious, powerful jewel, concealed under layers of human-y rock and stone.
Sometimes, the Doctor caught Sam nursing his temples, or muttering to himself. The Doctor would inquire if he was alright, to which Sam always replied, "Yeah. Swell." Then the Doctor would just let the matter drop.
Outside of Sam, other things were odd too. For instance, the TARDIS had been acting very temperamental lately, especially when Sam touched the console. He failed to understand why. The old girl had never particularly shown a preference to or bias toward any of his traveling companions before. The Doctor prided himself on possessing a well-behaved, hospitable TARDIS. Perhaps she was still getting use to having others on board again; it had been several centuries, after all.
Not to mention…Bad Wolf.
The two, simple, non-threatening words had been stalking the Doctor ever since Platform One. He'd overheard the Moxx of Balhoon utter this simple phrase in passing, but had brushed it off. It simply had been irrelevant prattle at the time. But then in 1869's Cardiff, the Doctor had walked in on Sam and the servant girl, Gwyneth, in the kitchen, and there again were those two words. He didn't know what they'd been discussing beforehand, but the both of them had seemed very frightened.
Returning Sam home to London, he'd discovered several tags in the very alley he'd landed in sporting the phrase. Some little imp had even had the gall to brand, well, spray paint the damn words onto the exterior of his TARDIS. If that wasn't the universe trying to get the Doctor's attention, he didn't know what was.
And there were more. Henry Van Statten's helicopter, christened "Bad Wolf One". And on Satellite 5, the Bad Wolf TV channel featuring some story on the Face of Boe being pregnant (rubbish, most probably). Wherever the Doctor went, two words followed. Bad Wolf.
And the Doctor had some sinister feeling that they had to do with Sam.
The Doctor had meant it when he'd said he was glad he'd met the lad; he was. The guilt of the Time War had lay heavily on his mind and hearts before he'd run across this little human. He still felt the ache sometimes, when he was by himself in the console room while Sam was sleeping. But the presence of this brilliant, curious, daring, funny bloke had somehow dulled the pain, the hollow loneliness. He could forget for a while. He could even start to forgive himself, for a moment.
But then he'd remember.
Of course, he'd never say any of this to Sam. The man (not to mention everyone else in the universe) was so convinced that the Doctor was out to shag him. Honestly, it wasn't as if the Doctor had never had platonic friends. Ian and Barbara, Zoe, Liz, little Jo Grant, the Brigadier, Sarah Jane (even though she'd fancied him), Adric and Tegan and Nyssa, Peri (although, she'd seemed sort of interested in his fifth incarnation-who wasn't?-but then he'd changed, and she was immediately turned off for some reason…), Ace…just to name a few.
This Captain Jack Harkness, on the other hand, seemed to be quite the opposite.
Sam had wandered off while the Doctor was inspecting the area (They'd somehow managed to land in 1941, smack dab in the middle of the London Blitz. Good grief!), and then got himself stranded by dangling from the rope of a barrage balloon soaring two hundred feet over London during a bloody German air raid! Good thing Prince Charming had been there to rescue Sam as if he were some princess trapped in a tall tower, all slick haired and coy winks and flashing those pearly whites around like the crown jewels. The Captain was almost too beautiful to be real.
And he was. As it turned out, the swashbuckling Captain Jack was the cause of their advent in this war-torn London, not to mention the reason behind the "plague", the transformation of the humans into these gas mask creatures. And all just to make a quick buck. A lousy con man. That's all he was.
Plus, he had the gall to make fun of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver! The Doctor's pride was still a bit wounded over that one.
And then, just when it seemed that the three men were trapped, stuck inside the Albion Hospital, Jack, with his sneaky little vortex manipulator, teleported out of there when Sam and the Doctor weren't looking.
"Oh great!" said Sam, looking disgusted. The Doctor thanked his lucky stars he hadn't picked up some mushy, doe-eyed bird who would fawn all over the charming rogue like some teenager. "He's gone!" continued Sam, pacing. "Why do all the smart guys do that?!"
The Doctor frowned. "I'm making an effort not to be insulted." Okay. So apparently, Harkness had had some kind of effect on Sam.
"Oi, don't even, you've done it too!"
"Have not!" argued the Doctor childishly.
"Oh yeah?" Sam crossed his arms. "Three words, mate: Hunt's Department Store!"
"Oh…well okay, there was that," admitted the Doctor sheepishly.
Sam sighed and turned away. "We need him."
The Doctor let slip a derisive scoff. "Like hell we do. Have you forgotten that he's the one who got us into this mess?"
"Yeah, but he's got a weapon," Sam pointed out.
"I don't need weapons."
"Sometimes weapons are a necessary evil," said Sam. Then his expression turned sour, like he remembering something bad. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed the sides of his head.
"You alright?" asked the Doctor.
"Yeah," grumbled Sam, slightly shaking his head. "Swell."
There it was again.
Suddenly, an old dusty radio sitting on a bookshelf in the corner crackled to life. For a moment, the Doctor feared it was the boy again. The empty child. But then, an irritatingly smooth voice came on over the speaker. "Sam? Doctor? Can you hear me? I'm back on my ship."
The Doctor jumped up and went over to inspect the radio as Jack continued. "Used the emergency teleport. Sorry I couldn't take you. It's security-keyed to my molecular structure."
Convenient, mused the Doctor.
"I'm working on it," said Jack. "Hang in there."
"How are you speaking to us?" asked the Doctor, fiddling with the broken wires, which weren't attached to anything.
"Om-Com," explained Jack simply. "I can call anything with a speaker grill."
"Now there's a coincidence," said the Doctor.
"What is?"
"The child can Om-Com too," replied the Doctor.
"He can?" asked Sam.
"Anything with a speaker grill," said the Doctor, nodding. "Including the TARDIS phone."
"Wait, you mean the child can phone us?"
"And I can hear you," called a little voice on the radio that was definitely not Jack's. "Coming to find you. Coming to find you."
"Doctor, can you hear that?" crackled Jack's voice.
"Loud and clear," said the Doctor, hiding his nervousness. In all his nine hundred years, he'd never encountered anything likeospHo these zombie things. And usually, he was fascinated by new things. But not in this case.
"I'll try to block out the signal," said Jack, then he added a little sheepishly, "It's the least I could do."
Damn right, thought the Doctor.
"Coming to find you, mummy…"
"Remember this one, Sam?" A song began to play on the radio from Jack's ship: "Moonlight Serenade", by Glenn Miller. Not exactly the kind of tunes a 51st century kind of guy listened to a regular basis, the Doctor mused. Or was it actually possible that this Captain Jack actually had some culture?
The Doctor looked at Sam questioningly, who was looking down at his feet. "We were…just listening to it on his ship," he muttered. The Doctor heard the Captain chuckle softly over the radio and decided not to ask any further. He really didn't want to know.
The Doctor set himself to scanning the dimensions of the room with his (not stupid) sonic screwdriver, as Sam lounged in a wheelchair, absentmindedly wheeling himself back and forth as the song played on. He'd asked if he could help, to which the Doctor had gruffly replied no. Then he'd suggested, in a slightly less tight voice, that Sam just keep out of the way.
Why did the Captain have this effect on the Doctor? Why did the thought of him and Sam, together on the con man's ship, "listening" to Glenn Miller and doing God knows what else, gnaw at his insides like he'd swallowed a live rat?
Because he's a piece of scum. He's a piece of scum and Sam's impressed by him. No. Sam has nothing to do with it. You just don't like Jack because he's scum, that's all. You're not…that. That would be silly. Because that would imply that you had…feelings for Sam. Which you don't. You most certainly do not have feelings for Sam. He made it clear from day one: platonic. And you firmly agreed. Right? Right.
"What are you doing?" Sam's voice surprised the Doctor.
"Er…trying to set up a resonation pattern in the concrete, loosen the bars," answered the Doctor, recovering quickly.
"You don't think he's coming back, do you?" asked Sam.
The Doctor held back a snort. "Wouldn't bet my life."
"Look…the guy just…made a mistake. That's all. It's not like you've never made a mistake."
"Why do you trust him?" asked the Doctor suddenly. He hadn't meant to ask the question, but for some reason, he had to know.
"Saved my life," answered Sam. "Isn't that good enough?"
The Doctor let out an indifferent psh of air and continued scanning the window.
Sam sighed heavily and said, "Alright, look…I trust him because…he's like you."
A small, nasty little part of the Doctor's brain said, And the insults keep rolling in. But the other 93 percent made the Doctor pause and turn to look at Sam, a bemused expression on his face.
Sam cleared his throat. "Except…you know…with drinking and dancing."
"Oh, so that's what you two were doing?" said the Doctor, raising his fantastic eyebrows that were usually reserved for scowling. An invisible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Yeah, yeah, it's not like that," grumbled Sam, waving his hand dismissively and trying hard not to blush. "The guy had a couple beers on board, and then he turned on the radio and asked me to dance. I said I didn't know how." Sam gave the wall to his right a put-upon grimace. "So…he was just teaching me! You know I'm-"
"Straight, I've heard," said the Doctor, repressing an eye roll. Honestly, he really didn't care. Nine hundred years of time and space, and you've pretty much seen everything. Done everything, too. He was from a planet where gender was subjective, for Christ's sake. These humans and their labels.
Hm. Maybe he and this Jack Harkness were alike…a little.
"So…what did he teach you?" said the Doctor, turning back to his scanning.
"Waltz, mostly," said Sam. "It was simple enough."
"Yeah, I know the waltz," said the Doctor. He heard a cough that sounded suspiciously like it was covering a laugh. "Something funny?"
"You dance?" asked Sam incredulously. "Lemme guess…the Time Warp, right?"
I practically invented the Time Warp. "Yes, I can dance," he said irritably.
"Doesn't the universe implode or something if the Doctor dances?" said Sam, almost genuinely laughing at him now.
Hmph. Lot you know. I'll have you know, I taught some of my "partners" their best tricks. "Well, I've got the moves, but I wouldn't want to boast," said the Doctor, biting back a haughty smirk.
The Doctor heard the wheelchair creak as Sam got up from it. He listened to Sam's footsteps as he walked over to the radio and turned up the dial, and the slow music became louder. "Alright," said Sam, and the Doctor was surprised at how close Sam's voice seemed, as if the man was standing right behind him. "Impress me."
"Huh?" The Doctor turned around, slightly taken aback.
Sam shrugged, trying to look impassive. He casually held out a hand. "You said you got the moves. So show me your moves." He grinned a little, raising an eyebrow playfully.
"Sam, I'm…I'm trying to resonate concrete," said the Doctor, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable.
"Jack'll get us, come on," prodded Sam. "The world doesn't end 'cause the Doctor dances.
Okay. Definitely uncomfortable now. The Doctor, after putting his sonic screwdriver back inside his jacket, covertly wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans and swallowed. Were his heart rates accelerated?
Calm down. It's nothing. Just a lark. Nothing to sweat.
He put on a fake sense of bravado as he swaggered down off the ledge. He took Sam's outstretched hand, then, surprising the both of them, pulled Sam in close. He heard Sam gulp slightly.
The Doctor smiled one of those cheekily, sarcastic smiles that had so become a part of this incarnation's persona, and they started to sway to the music.
"Hm," said Sam, slightly bobbing his head side to side bemusedly. "Not bad…though I will admit, Captain Jack could probably teach you a thing or two."
"What, like this?" On an impulse, the Doctor suddenly dipped the man, tango style, and held him there. "And he's 'Captain Jack' now, is he?"
"Well…" Sam's breath was slightly hitched as the Doctor hung over him, still clutching him firmly. "His name's Jack. He's a captain. It's very…Pirates Of The Caribbean, isn't it?"
"Yes, but he's not really a captain, is he, Sam?" said the Doctor, pulling Sam upright again and heard him give a faint sigh of relief.
"Maybe you're just jealous," muttered Sam.
"Of what? His 'captaincy'? I don't mean to sound arrogant-"
"You never do."
"-but I personally think 'Doctor' sounds more impressive than 'Captain'. More original. More mysterious."
"It's definitely unusual, I'll give you that," smirked Sam. That earned him an impromptu spin around. Sam, unprepared for it, stumbled into the Doctor, hands splayed on the man's chest.
Sam slowly looked up at the Doctor, cheeks red as roses. Their faces were extremely close.
"Er…sorry," breathed Sam, pulling back quickly.
"Quite alright," said the Doctor, releasing Sam's hands completely. This dance was over.
"You know," said a voice that made them both jump. The Doctor looked up to realize that they were no longer standing in the hospital. "Most people notice when they've been teleported," commented Jack, sticking his handsome head out from behind the pilot's chair in the front of the ship. He smirked at them. "You guys are so sweet."
"It's…totally not like that," Sam automatically began to sputter, but Jack disinterestedly cut him off. "Sorry about the delay. I had to take the Nav-Com offline to override the teleport security."
"You spent ten minutes overriding your own protocols?" asked the Doctor. "Maybe you should remember whose ship it is."
"Oh, I do," chuckled the Captain. "She was gorgeous. Like I told her, be back in five minutes." He ducked down to inspect some wiring in the console.
The Doctor took that moment to look around the craft. The structure, the lights, the wiring… "This is a Chula ship," he said.
"Yeah, just like that medical transporter," said Jack. He looked up at them. "Only this one is dangerous."
The Doctor snapped his fingers suddenly. A golden swarm of tiny light particles gathered around his hand. "Oh yeah," said Sam. "I'd gotten rope burn from the barrage, and Jack used those things to fix me up."
"Nanogenes," said the Doctor, watching as the light specks danced around his hand. "Sub-atomic robots. There's millions of them in here, see? Burned my hand on the console when we landed. All better now. They activate when the bulk head's sealed. Check you out for damage, fix any physical flaws." The nanogenes disappeared as quickly as they'd come, and the Doctor, hand newly healed, looked at Jack. "Take us to the crash site. I need to see your space junk."
They found the ambulance…and Nancy. Jack got the capsule open. "It's empty. Look at it."
"Chula ambulance? What did you expect to find? Bandages, cough drops?"
"Nanogenes!" exclaimed Sam.
"It wasn't empty, Captain," said the Doctor, spitting the name. "There were enough nanogenes in there to rebuild a species."
Horror bloomed on the Captain's handsome face as realization dawned on him.
"Getting it now, are we?" said the Doctor coldly. "When the ship crashes, the nanogenes escape. Billions upon billions of them, ready to fix all the cuts and bruises in the whole world. But what they find first is a dead child, probably killed earlier that night, and wearing a gasmask. So they bring him back to life. Because what's life? Life's easy. A quirk of matter. Nature's way of keeping meat fresh. Nothing to a nanogene. One problem though. These nanogenes, they're not like the ones on your ship. This lot have never seen a human being before. Don't know what a human being's supposed to look like. All they've got to go on is one little body, and there's not a lot left. But they carry right on. They do what they're programmed to do. They patch it up. Can't tell what's gasmask and what's skull, but they do their best. Then off they fly, off they go, work to be done. Because, you see, now they think they know what people should look like, and it's time to fix all the rest. And they won't ever stop. They won't ever, ever stop. The entire human race is going to be torn down and rebuilt in the form of one terrified child looking for its mother, and nothing in the world can stop it!"
"I didn't know!" exclaimed the Captain helplessly.
Mummy…mummy…mummy…
They looked out into the dark courtyard to find that the empty people had found them. A whole legion of them, emerging from the shadows, all moaning the same innocent plea: Mummy.
The girl saved them.
"Yes," she whispered to the little boy. "I am your mummy. I will always be your mummy." She took the boy in her arms and hugged him tightly.
Suddenly, a swirling of golden light surrounded mother and child. "Doctor, what's going on?" said Sam.
"Life," said the Doctor, feeling like he could cry. "Everybody lives, Sam. Just this once…everybody lives!"
The Doctor was happy. No, ecstatic. No, fantastic! "I need more days like this," said the Doctor, merrily dancing around the console of the TARDIS. "Go ahead, Sam. Ask me anything. I'm on fire!"
"Doctor…what about Jack?"
So, the Doctor saved the Captain. And now, here they were. Three men and a TARDIS.
"Much bigger on the inside," commented Jack.
"You'd better be," said the Doctor.
Jack smirked. "So Doctor…Sam tells me you're quite the dancer."
The Doctor grinned mischievously and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, some lively jazz music came on. "Care to give it a go?" asked the Doctor, offering his hand.
"Well-" But Jack was suddenly cut off as Sam took the Doctor's hand instead. "Actually, I think I'll be cutting in, if you don't mind."
"Jack," said the Doctor, as he and Sam began swaying to the music. "What did you do to my companion?"
Jack chuckled to himself as he watched the two men dance. That's the thing, Doctor. I don't think I had to do anything at all.