For rude_not_ginger:Two Immortals One TARDIS Insert scene. Valent

[quitehomoerotic]

It had been 50 years since Jack had seen the Doctor. It had been 50 years since Jack had been Jack. 50 years, and he still felt the same. Some days he hated that, it frustrated him and annoyed him and made him want to scream. And some days, it just made him lonely. This was one of those days.

It was Valentines day. A stupid Earth holiday that really meant nothing, but people put so much stock into. Everywhere you went there were balloons shaped like hearts and people holding hands and declaring their love. It made Jack grumpy, and he could never and would never explain why.

So he shut himself away from it. He was in a small flat in a city that seemed to be nothing but small flats. Somewhere full of people where he could at the same time, be completely alone.

And he sat on his own, watching broadcasts on a television with a bottle of scotch to soothe his pains.

50 years, and it still felt like yesterday.

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Jack shifted and wrapped an arm tightly around the Doctor, closer, pulling him near. He leaned in and pressed a kiss softly against the Doctor's forehead.

And there was no response. Jack knew what that meant. He knew.

He closed his eyes tightly and breathed out a shuddering breath.

"I know," he said, though he was answering nothing that had been said. And he did, he knew. He knew how painful it was now and how painful it would be. Oh it would be painful. And Jack? Jack didn't know if he could do it.

"Do you think we can?" he asked quietly.

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They didn't have a choice, did they?

The Doctor wouldn't let what he knew destroy Jack, beautiful Jack, his Jack, but he also couldn't think about leaving, think about giving this up. His mind was too sober, his ability to recognize his own consequences began to come back to him.

He'd spent another few years in the vortex, he figured. Spend some more quality time with the TARDIS, eventually go back and pick up Majenta. She wouldn't even realize time had passed for him at all. And he would...survive it. It was all they could do.

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There was always a choice.

Or at least Jack wanted to think that. They couldn't be bound by other peoples rules, or by rules Jack didn't even understand. He wished he understood. But the Doctor's mind was a complete block there, a blank space that Jack felt was almost tangible in the way that it kept something from him. And Jack couldn't push into that, he just couldn't.

So he breathed out a long breath and made a block in his own mind. He knew what he had to do. Horrible horrible as it was. But he couldn't let the Doctor live with more regret, and he wasn't sure he could live with it himself, knowing that the Doctor was out there, saddened by their encounter.

And so he pressed another kiss to his forehead and whispered.

"Warm in here. Just going to get a glass of water."

And he carefully detached himself from him and slipped out of the bed.

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The Doctor nodded and let Jack go. He didn't want to think about the morning. He didn't want to think about what had to be. He just wanted to think about what was right then and how happy they could be like this, together.

And he was just drunk enough to believe that it could be enough.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

This was not what Jack wanted to do. It was about the very last thing Jack wanted to do. So much so that his steps from the bedroom to the kitchen seemed to hurt. His feet were heavy and his footfalls sore.

He walked to the kitchen and stood in front of a cabinet, his head ducked. He didn't look as he opened it and reached in, taking out a small, rarely used, container.

He might not have lived as Jack Harkness for the last 50 years, but he didn't lose everything. There were still precautions, and still a small container full of small white pills. Just a short one, that's all it would need. A short one for the night, make it cloud and disappear in both of their minds. Fade away that moment together.

And he didn't want to do it.

But, right now, he was Jack Harkness, and Jack Harkness had to do many things he didn't want to.

In his mind he could still feel the Doctor. He was asleep, Jack could tell, but he was there. He wished that would stay. It felt better that way, the two of them. But he had to ignore it now. Ignore it as he selected the right sort of pills. Closing his hand around them, he moved back to the bedroom.

When he got there, he just watched him. He looked at the Doctor and felt numb. Could he do this? Should he do this? Was it fair on either of them? But could either of them cope with the knowledge? He didn't know.

And so he slid back onto the bed and up against the Doctor, moving down to him and over, and he touched his cheek.

"Hey," he whispered, and kissed him just gently. "Open your eyes."

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The Doctor grumbled as he heard Jack, somewhere through the haze of banana liquor and sex that kept him in a very happy state of unconsiousness. A happy state that would no doubt lead to a very unhappy hangover in the morning.

He waved his hand up.

"Sleeping, go away," he mumbled.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

It was hardly a happy position in his mind, but Jack couldn't help but smile a little. Wouldn't it be so nice just to laugh and cuddle up to him and have that be that?

But then they never did seem to get what they wanted, even what seemed so utterly simple.

"I know you are," he whispered and kissed him again. He had one of his hands against the Doctor's cheek, brushing gently with the backs of his fingers.

"I'm so sorry for this," he whispered to him, and with one more small kiss, he moved the hand against his lips, the small pill in his fingertips. And he pushed it between the Doctor's lips.

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The Doctor acknowledged the kiss, smiling against it. It felt good, being like this, being able to be with him. And maybe, just maybe if he told Jack what he knew---

Then, something strange slipped into his mouth, dissolving almost instantly. There was nothing but a strange trace taste in the back of his throat. It wasn't something he recognized, and it certainly wasn't something Jack had warned him about.

His eyes flew open.

"What was that?"

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"I'm sorry," Jack said again, his eyes already full of tears and voice cracking.

"I don't want you to regret it."

His eyes glanced away, and he hadn't felt so terrible in quite a long time.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"What?" the Doctor snapped, reaching up to take Jack's shoulders. "What was it? What did you do?"

Even as he spoke, though, his body felt very heavy. His mind felt like it was water, and part of it was being frozen and set aside. The night from the point where he picked up the phone until now began to fade.

He struggled away from him, and reached down to grab his trousers. Everything was a haze, but he pulled them on and lurched towards the TARDIS.

"What did you do, Jack?"

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Jack squeezed his eyes tightly closed as the Doctor grabbed him. Almost like the touch hurt. He felt like it did.

"It's too hard. It'd be too hard," he said, shaking his head. He felt terrible. Had he done the wrong thing? He was sure he probably had. He always did, always with the things that mattered. No doubt he deserved to be alone.

But quickly he was up, following and reaching out for the Doctor.

"Careful," he said. The sedative acted quickly, and he didn't want him hurt.

"Retcon," he said finally, like the word itself was hard to say. "It was retcon. It'll erase about 12 hours or so. I'll send you back. It'll be like you never came. Nothing to regret."

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"No! You can't!"

The Doctor reeled back from where Jack reached out for him. He stumbled as his legs gave out, the sedative quickly taking over. He was stronger than a sedative, wasn't he? Maybe without all the alcohol still in his system.

Everything was fading, going fuzzy. He struggled to drag himself over to the TARDIS. There had to be something in there, something he could use to keep his memory intact. He had to remember. He had---he had---

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"I had to," Jack stressed through tears. "I'm sorry, I had to. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I'll be better this way." He tried to sound sure of it. He had to sound sure of it.

Oh but what if he was wrong?

He moved forward again and reached out for him once again, trying to stop him from falling.

"I'm sorry," he said again, moving down to him. "You can't beat it," he said, because of course he knew that's what he was trying to do. He knew it even without a steadily declining connection in his mind.

"You'll forget," he said. "And I will too. We'll both just... carry on. And we feel the same, we can still feel the same. We just won't know. Not yet. Maybe one day. Because it can trip. You can trip it and something... one day. I will see you again."

He hoped. He hoped.

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The Doctor swung to try to block Jack from coming near him. Anger pumped through his veins, furthering the drug he was desperately trying to beat along. Things were fading, he was feeling tired. But when he went to sleep, he'd wake up without a memory of this.

"Jack," the Doctor said, defeated and pained. "My memory of us is all I have."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"And you still have it," Jack urged. "You still have it."

He moved to him again, and this time he pressed a kiss to his lips, whether the Doctor would shy back from it or not.

"Remember, Doctor. Remember everything back then. Remember the running and you and me and you remember you are everything to me. Everything. And how you feel? That won't change. Nor will how I do. I love you, Doctor, and you love me and one day we'll work it all out."

He cupped his cheek, stressing to him. "You're just forgetting this. Not us. Never forget that. Never."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

He didn't shy from the kiss, but he was too tired to return it. The alcohol and the retcon and his emotions all swirled together to make the world a very fuzzy, sleepy place.

Jack didn't understand, he had nothing but this. No place to call him, no photographs, nothing but Jack's coat and the room he never went into. And this drunken, sloppy, wonderful memory, he decided, just as it was fading, that he desperately wanted it.

"I don't want to forget," he murmured, and he fell asleep.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack had made a mistake. An awful, terrible mistake. But what could he do? It was too late. He realised it now, but too late. His own fear, too strong, certain there would just be regret and not realising that there could be something better. A memory used as a positive, something to cling to.

But Jack? Jack had erased it.

He felt sick.

The Doctor was slumped in Jack's arms and it was all his fault. He could have stopped his panic. He could have just let himself sleep, holding him, and then maybe in the morning there would have been no running. Maybe there would have even been-- But no. No, he couldn't possibly allow himself to think that. Because what if it was true?

There was a way around it, of course. There was a pill, an anti-retcon of sorts. But Jack didn't have it to hand, and even if he did, it was too dangerous. It would make him remember indiscriminately and with the Doctor's memory, Jack could unwittingly un-bury any number of memories. He wouldn't do that to him.

So there was nothing left but to collect the Doctor's discarded clothes and scoop him up in his arms, carrying him back to the TARDIS and inside.

The TARDIS, he'd missed her almost as much as him, and there she was, living and breathing and it was the same as ever. He didn't address her though, not yet. He simply carried the Doctor in and to his bedroom. He didn't care if he'd have gone there himself, but he wouldn't leave him lying on the floor.

Gently, he placed him down on the bed and dropped his clothes in a pile beside it. He pulled the covers back and tucked him in a little, trying not to cry at his own forced goodbye.

He leaned down to him and kissed him again; a soft press against sleeping lips, and he whispered, "I love you, Doctor."

And on that, he forced himself back. But it wasn't enough. Something. He wanted something that would mean this was real. So he reached down for the Doctor's discarded clothes and reached into the suit jacket for a pen. He pulled it out and reached for the tie. And on it, just on the lining, just out of sight, he drew a small 'J'.

Something. Something small, but something.

Taking a deep breath, he left the clothes, left the Doctor, and made to leave the TARDIS, pausing briefly in the console room to look over.

"I'm sorry," he said to her. "I really am. But take him back where he was. Please. And don't tell him. It'll be like we never knew."

He touched his hand briefly to the coral and he walked to the door.

"I miss you," he said as he left. And it was a message to them both.

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"Wake up, Scrummy."

The bang on the Doctor's bedroom door was irritated. Majenta didn't need to sleep, and when he overslept---in her opinion---there was just no excuse. She banged a few more times and then vanished, probably to mess about with the console. The last thought woke the Doctor up instantly.

His head was pounding with what had to be one of the top five worst hangovers he'd ever had. At some point in the night, he'd undressed himself and then pulled on his trousers without his pants. Brilliant. His clothes were in a little pile by the bed. At least he managed to somehow get himself into the bedroom without collapsing in the console room. Majenta would've probably drawn on his face with a marker if he had.

He stood, his body sore and stiff and sticky in uncomfortable places. He couldn't figure out exactly why he was sticky in said uncomfortable places, but he had a funny feeling he'd been acting really, really inappropriately while he was here by himself.

Strange, though. He almost never got so drunk he couldn't remember what he did, but the whole night was a complete blank after he'd finished off the first bottle of liquor. Vowing never to get that drunk again, he scooped up his clothes to drop them into the laundry.

His tie fell, unnoticed, from the pile and landed by the side of the bed. As he went back to straighten his covers, he kicked it under.

"Scrummy!" Majenta's shrill voice cried again. "I don't pay you to lie around all day!"

"You don't pay me at all," the Doctor called back. He sniffed his shoulder. Were those pheromones? And the smell of--- No, no, must've just been his imagination on overdrive. He needed a shower.

And then off, back into the vortex.

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Jack closed his eyes tightly as he stood, leaned against the wall as the TARDIS dematerialised. Those engines he adored fading away into the distance.

He felt, oddly, like he was Jack Harkness again. He had all that weight on him, all the pain of it, a struggle and a mistake. Such a huge mistake. He was alone again, the man he loved gone, gone like he'd never been there and that was his own fault entirely.

So he moved slowly back to his bed, and he stared at the pill that he'd left on the bedside table. And with eyes closed, he took it. Took it and lay down in the bed, waiting for the sedative to take hold. Waiting to forget.

Some time later, he was waking. His body felt stiff, and he couldn't remember going to bed. He must have been drunk, he thought. It wouldn't have been the first time, of course. He shifted on the sheets and pushed himself up. But he paused, strange, it was almost as though he could smell...

No. No, had to be his mind playing tricks on him. Thinking it was funny to toy with him.

Because the Doctor hadn't been here. He never would be.