Title: Between Dreams
By: Sphinxey
Pairings: Ten/Jack & Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Doctor never did answer Rose about what had become of Jack.

***

The Doctor never did answer Rose about what had become of Jack.

Her memory was a little vague, to start with. Bits came back; bits he gave her after too much prompting to stand. ("You blew up the whole Dalek fleet, if you must know," he'd said one afternoon, to which she stared at first, then nodded, then offered an "oh," "I thought I remembered that" and "did I shout 'exterminate' at any of them?", at which point he nearly choked on a perfectly good sandwich.) But she was never exactly clear about Jack. These days she seemed to know he was alive, somewhere, and that she and the ship had something to do with saving him. He wasn't about to tell her anything else. He wasn't sure she should know.

It was easier than telling Rose that Jack shouldn't be alive.

The Doctor could just about hear what she'd tell him: You cheat death all the time! Why should he be any different? Good question, if Jack weren't human, but....

No, it was better not to bring it up, or answer any questions. If they didn't, she'd get distracted by the next alien planet, or a jaunt into prehistoric Earth, or better yet, him --

And maybe if he got sufficiently distracted, his own dreams about it all would stop.

---

It starts, of all things, with a gun.

He's staring down the barrel, which is already radiating heat and smoke; it's just been fired. The unlucky recipient is sprawled out on the floor. It's a Kolmetz, a nasty piece of work by any defintion -- the race has an inbred propensity for xenophobic violence -- but the Doctor feels sorry for it nonetheless, for it's just met a quick and brutal end.

The gunman's staring at him with just as much suspicion as he says, "You got anything else to add to the discussion?"

The man's in shadow, but there's no mistaking that voice.

Brash, American, masculine, cocky as all hell -- and there's something darker in it that he doesn't recognize, which is maybe why he makes the mistake and stumbles out with the name. "Jack?"

The gun wavers, just the slightest fraction of an inch.

Jack moves into a slant of light. It illuminates the expression on his face: surprised, sharp, and above all, suspicious. Jack keeps staring for a minute, as if to puzzle out what this strange man had been doing in the company of the alien (trying to negotiate with it, in point of fact), or how he knew Jack's name. Jack can't possibly recognize him. Everything's changed. So it's logical enough when the first words out of Jack's mouth are, "Who the hell are you?"

The Doctor makes a face. Between them, the last wisp of smoke rises from the blaster.

"Exactly," is all he says.

Something glints in Jack's eyes then, and he's afraid he's already said too much.

---

The Doctor had been traveling with humans for quite some time, but there were a few things he hadn't figured out about them yet. One was why they always seemed so befuddled by dreams. Nothing in them came from anywhere but the depths of their own subconsciouses -- well, except in the case of the very few psychics who weren't just exaggerating coincidences to get onto chat shows. But really, dreams ought to be understandable, at least as bursts of memories and impressions that were rarely even supposed to make literal sense.

Still, they kept insisting on making something out of it -- and then discussing it endlessly while you were trying to do something productive, like getting the TARDIS fired up without developing a migraine.

"I had the weirdest dream in there last night," Rose said. She sounded like she was trying to blame the bedroom for it all; in this place, he had to admit she might have a point. "Jack was in it, actually."

The Doctor ignored the bait. "Would you hand me that stabilizer?"

"It was so strange, seeing him again -- how long has it been now?"

He tossed the spanner aside. "Not that one; the one with the blinking green light."

"Fine." She passed it over, glaring a little. "I miss him, you know."

There was silence while he finished adjusting the controls. Finally he felt he had to say something. "I'm sure he's doing fine, wherever he is...."

"But that's the point! We don't even know where he is, if he's all right, if he's still stuck up there--"

"You know Jack as well as I do," the Doctor said. "Do you think he'd ever get stuck anywhere?"

She smiled crookedly. "Not really...."

"I wouldn't worry. He's probably busy rebuilding the Earth and shagging his way through every town while he's up to it."

The words were true enough, but memory crept up while he spoke. An odd, full-body shiver ran through him -- along with memories of rising smoke, radiating heat, a voice in his ear -- and as he tried to repress it, he found himself thinking, Maybe that's why people get so hung up on their own dreams....

"Doctor? Are you all right?"

He cleared his throat, made one last tweak to the console, and lobbed another question out there, one that would be sure to derail the conversation. "What was he doing in your dream, anyway?"

Satisfyingly enough, Rose flushed pink right up to the ears. There, the Doctor thought. If it's anything incriminating, she'll just change the subject--

"We were in a musical, actually," Rose said. "Except I couldn't remember the words and he was getting all annoyed with me."

Despite himself, the Doctor burst out laughing. "A musical?"

"Some demented version of My Fair Lady, I think. Except there were aliens in the chorus and Jack was wearing the fancy hats."

"He would." The Doctor grinned at her. "'Sides, you wouldn't have to know the words. Just get Marni Nixon to dub it in for you."

"Marni who?"

The Doctor, satisfied, launched into a tirade about movie casting and uncredited actors; Rose pointed out that if he knew so much about musicals, it ought to be him onstage next time around; and by the time he'd proceeded to performing his mock audition, Rose was too busy laughing to ask him any more questions.

It was a good thing, too. If he'd had to share any of his own dreams, well --

Memory flickered again, low and deep, and he sent the TARDIS rocketing off to shut it up.

It was definitely best not to pursue it. Far better than to be somewhere else entirely, so it didn't catch up with him -- and so he didn't have to admit his dreams weren't so diffferent from her sort after all.

They'd just started playing to a very different tune these days.

---

Time has shifted, as it often does in dreams. Somehow, they're somewhere else; Jack isn't arguing so much, and the blaster's been holstered. The Doctor looks at the spot beneath his coat where it's now hiding, and wonders what else is tucked away -- Jack always did have a gift for surprises.

Jack seems to think he's studying him for other reasons entirely.

"Well, Mr. Nameless," he drawls. "Like what you see?"

The Doctor gives him a look just as arch. "Usually I don't have that conversation until after the second banana daquiri."

Jack finally grins at that -- and he does slide over a drink, for they're at a table, somewhere private. The Doctor doesn't remember doing this, but he's slid off his own coat and the button at his collar's been undone. He'd half-suspect from that detail that this is Jack's sort of dream, except that Jack would have had no idea which person to look for....

Then again, it's dream logic. Maybe he already knows. The Doctor takes a sip, sharply remembering telling Jack to buy me a drink first, and wonders if what's happening here has been inevitable for a long time now.

"What is your name, anyway?" Jack says. "Kinda kills the mood to shout 'hey, you!' in the throes of passion."

The Doctor arches an eyebrow. "You're thinking ahead."

"I always do."

Point. The Doctor sidesteps it regardless and says, "I've been known to answer to John Smith...."

"Which is the kind of name you answer to when you've also answered to a whole lot of other things."

"Well, 'hey, you' usually does work in a pinch."

Jack smirks at that. He's taken off his own coat now, slinging it over the back of the nearest empty chair, and it's hard not to notice that their clothes seem to be alike -- long coats, layers of shirts and jackets, building up protection where Jack would have been happy with display, before. He frowns as he mulls that over, but with Jack shedding the evidence, it's difficult to stay focused.

"Listen," Jack says. "I've had a long night. Hostile aliens, long chases, strange and handsome men distracting me..." He leans closer. "Do we really have to wait until your second daquiri, Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor wonders what Jack would say if he knew who he was talking to -- knew that they'd already kissed goodbye once, in a different body and thousands of years away. Before Jack had died. Before they'd both died. Before everything was supposed to have ended.

But the consequences are chasing you down this time, something in the back of his head whispers -- and he makes an entirely embarrassing slurping sound as the last of the drink passes through his straw.

Jack, of course, begins to smile.

"Figured you'd agree with me, Doctor," he says. And just like that, the whole dream changes once more.

---

Dreams weren't supposed to be logical. Dreams weren't supposed to be this sensual. But he was waking up with sweat on his forehead and itchy fingertips, and tensions elsewhere that didn't bear thinking about. This body, he thought, had the unfortunate distinction of being the first in a long, long while that seemed to want what Jack was offering.

Except to make things worse, what Jack was offering literally was all in the Doctor's own head.

Rose didn't seem to notice the Doctor's morning moods -- yet, anyway -- but he was good at acting. He was also good at distracting. One journey or another, one trick of time and jaunt through space, one crazy chase through busy market streets and they were both too drunk on now to think about a memory. The dreams would stop for a while, for both of them.

And sometimes he'd fight them back with other, more immediate measures, if nothing else proved to be enough.

Rose wanted it, after all. He told himself that each time he gave in. She'd been looking for weeks, dropping hints, making slantwise sorts of looks at him that he would have just ignored before, and yet -- and yet. His blood was thrumming and his nerves too sharp, his subconscious clouded with ideas, and he wasn't using her, not if she'd been wishing, not if she smiled like that on every dizzy comedown.

Distractions. Of course.

Not that it helped, he thought when he woke up gasping that last time, that he was driving Jack away by losing himself in her. He'd done that before, had left Jack behind in the rush to help her, and Jack must already know.

If Rose ever asked about that -- if he ever let Rose ask -- he'd have had to admit he was afraid of what it could mean.

---

It's nothing like the first kiss. He remembers that one well, and there's no such softness and devotion to this one -- just passion and urgency, and blatant temptation.

He doesn't remember saying yes, but Jack's pressing his advantage nonetheless.

They're against the wall, with hands rucking under clothes, and dreams aren't supposed to be this vivid -- but it is, oh, it is, and even while the Doctor's trying to push back, another voice in his head is whispering, "Go on... go on...."

Temptation. The urge to fall. He's been giving in too much this time, and now it's leading to... this.

What would happen, after all, if he gave up this one last thing? It's just in his own head, just a manifestation of another lifetime's memories -- what harm could it do to let the dream run its course? (But is it just a dream, or Jack's longing and anger all tied up in one, haunting him until he does something in his waking days--?)

He clenches his hands in Jack's shirt and forces him back, just far enough to breathe.

"Jack," he says. He has to ask someone, and there's no one else here -- just nine shadows and a memory staring back. "What is this?"

He laughs bitterly. "You tell me."

The Doctor's still holding on, which he knows says more than it should. There's not enough running in the universe to get him away from that simple fact: he's responsible. And he wants, damn it. And yet -- "You know I had to leave."

"Because you had to save her," Jack says. There's still a sharp edge to it, one that only escalates the guilty flare of sensation up his spine. "You love her -- you love all of us -- but you love her more." He steps closer again, breathing too hard. "But you'll leave her, too. And you're scared shitless she won't forgive you."

His throat feels dry. He doesn't need to say it aloud: just like you haven't.

"And so you're talking to yourself," Jack says, even while he undoes the Doctor's trousers, "about fear... and desire... and everything you can't admit if you're gonna keep the girl, for however long you want to." A wicked smile flashes across his face. "Like the fact that you wouldn't say no to this."

The Doctor feels that shudder pass through him again, trembling from his core to every fingertip, and he shuts his eyes as Jack begins to shift his hand --

The next words come hot and silken into his ear.

"And you know if she finds out that you'll just leave, and forget," Jack whispers, "that maybe, just maybe... she'll leave you instead."

He hollers, and as that familiar voice laughs out, the dream begins to come apart.

It sounds just as much like Rose as anything else.

---

Rose hasn't asked about Jack in a very long time. Now and then, though -- less frequently, with time -- she looks like she wants to ask something. He keeps smiling and deflecting until she forgets, and pulls her in as close as he can, away from everything she's reawakened. He isn't sure what else to do. Someday he may have to face it all down, but he doesn't want this to be the day.

Because today they're on a far-off world, standing in a stunning landscape of rock formations and towering spires. The sunset's glowing golden-orange, and through its light swoop majestic creatures, all foreign and wild and fascinating. Rose looks entranced. She's not holding onto anything, he thinks, except for this moment... and him.

She'll forget the occasional dreams, in time. There's far too much to do before time runs out.... but he stops that thought, and turns to look at Rose. Even the ghosts in his head can't break through this moment.

Not even the ghosts of a dream where he'd failed and Rose had fallen, and Jack had raised his gun to the Doctor's head, pointed, shouted, fired--

"How long are you gonna stay with me?" he says, just to make sure what's true.

"Forever," she replies.

He smiles back at her. And in the midst of that lie -- as much of a dream as anything that's haunting him -- he reaches out to hold her hand.

***