Sojourn
Part two
Tea. There was something about tea. If he'd been asked, Jack wouldn't have guessed there was a TARDIS ritual revolving around tea.
The spatial locator was repaired, the bit of metal and wire the Doctor had found at Balen 6 responding well to the application of what Rose described as "jiggery pokery". The several suggestive, and one downright filthy, comments Jack had proffered in response had earned him a severe jab in the ribs from Rose.
Ship repaired and wardrobe returned she'd dragged them to the newly restored kitchen for tea.
He sat at the plain wooden table, surface scarred and battered, distinctly uncomfortable in his skin. His thoughts were racing, twisting around and back on themselves, old patterns forced painfully into new, breeding uncertainty; he felt balanced on a knife-edge.
Returning to the TARDIS had thrown him; he was still waiting for them to tell him it was time to go. Working with the Doctor, seeing respect on his face as he'd demonstrated his mechanical skills. Laughing with them, bound in moments of fellowship. His actions on the station replaying in his mind, like the actions of a stranger.
Rose had been so excited when they'd fixed the TARDIS, so eager for her clothes. The Doctor had grabbed her, tugging on the jumper, asking, "What's wrong with this, then."
She'd laughingly replied, "Nothing, except you own about fifty of them."
Simple words, meaningless, but he'd been unable to take his eyes off them. Watching them, always watching them, watching the emotion that echoed between them, a tangible thing.
She'd stopped in front of him, leaning up to touch his face, wiping at a bit of grease deposited during the repair. An unfamiliar possessiveness had suddenly ripped through him like wildfire, scorching him. Left him shaken and off-balance.
Sitting in the kitchen, the sources of his discomfort so close around the small table, he sought refuge in his most comfortable role; raising it as a shield, as armour while behind it his mind raced.
Rose passed him a cup of tea and he slid his fingers over hers, caressing gently before accepting it; flashed her a smouldering glance as he raised it to his lips. Leaned back in his chair, stretching his feet out under the table, sliding one casually along the Doctor's leg.
He was all predator; lean and hungry wolf grin, white teeth glinting, circling them. Every glance, every move, calculated to reduce any living, breathing being to quivering arousal.
The Doctor was a rock, granite faced; he couldn't tell if he was having any impact, but he'd made no move to pull away. Those dark eyes were watching him, though. Grinning madly and joking with Rose, those eyes didn't change.
Rose was not unaffected. Flushed cheeks, laughing a little too brightly; every time he aimed at her, the Doctor's eyes grew darker.
He ran his tongue slowly up the side of his cup, chasing an errant drop of tea, eyes half lidded and fixed on her. They were talking, but he wasn't listening. He'd tuned out their words, tuned out the sense of them, seeking distance, putting another barrier between them and him, avoiding the words, the feelings that were drawing him in, all against his will.
"...ask Jack?"
Eyes still shuttered, he swivelled his gaze to the Doctor. "What can I do for you?" He leaned forward, packed every ounce of suggestiveness he could into those six words. With no apparent effect.
The Doctor's eyes were dark and still, his voice deliberately casual. "Rose was wondering if you had any suggestions for where we might go next."
Where they'd go next? What they? What exactly was he being asked? He glanced at her; she was sipping tea and looking at him curiously.
"You weren't even listening were you?" Rose, face still slightly flushed, reached across and poked his arm where it rested on the table. "You were a million miles away."
Opportunity.
He nabbed her fingers before she could withdraw them, wrapping his hand around hers, sliding his thumb over the sensitive skin of her wrist, raising goose bumps. "Ah Rose, sweet Rose, why would I want to be anywhere but right here?"
She laughed but looked uncomfortable and tried to tug free. He held on briefly then let go, unwilling to push it any further.
Suddenly, this was all bitterness and ashes.
Graceless, he slumped slightly in his chair, the false vibrancy fading out of him. Something must have shown on his face despite his careful masks: the hand sliding free of his stopped, returned. Their roles were reversed as he drew away from Rose.
"Jack?" All concern and caring and he didn't know how to handle that. "You okay?"
He drained his cup quickly, choking on the bitter tannin of the dregs, and stood. "It's late." Dropping the cup on the table, he turned away from them. "I'm going to bed."
He made his way to the room they'd given him, closing the door carefully, turning to lean his forehead against its cool surface. He had to get off this ship.
