A Wound in Time
Chapter Three
The Doctor sat rubbing his bruised shin and scowling. Humans. The only reason a species so given to random acts of physical violence survived so long was that they were equally given to shagging anything that moved. He had no bloody idea why River had kicked him just now before stomping off back down the corridor.
Well. He said "no bloody idea," he meant "some small inkling, perhaps more of a notion."
All right, a certainty.
He'd been an ass to Jack. Again. He never really meant to, it just happened. After so many centuries, he just assumed Jack knew how he felt about him and didn't need to be told all the bloody time. Apparently he'd been mistaken. Again.
And now here he was. With a sore shin and no companions.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should have told Jack about the Library. He hadn't wanted to think too hard about it, hadn't wanted his joy at finding River again to be tempered by memories of how it would end. He hadn't told Jack, and so Jack had been bewildered at how fast it had all happened. They'd met River while running for their lives, as usual, but when the adventure had ended and it was time for them to leave, he'd asked her to come with them. Things had progressed from there rather quickly.
Jack had gone along with it all, because he'd had to. But the Doctor wondered if he should have explained. Perhaps Jack would not have felt so bereft if he'd known why the Doctor's feelings for River had developed so quickly. Even if it felt unfair for Jack to know how River would die, when of course River couldn't know.
The Doctor sighed to himself and got to his feet, leaving aside that particular conundrum in favor of a less aggravating one. Whatever had happened on this ship, it hadn't happened in this room. The engine was perfectly normal, aside from some of the parts needing to be replaced. What he needed was the Temporal Shift Coordinator. The Doctor gave a snobbish sniff. Time Agency TSC's were notoriously unreliable. Ticking time bombs, especially compared to the brilliance that was his own ship. It was a wonder the entire Time Agency hadn't -
The Doctor weaved suddenly, stumbling into a wall. He leaned there, breathing through sudden dizziness. It felt as though the walls of Time itself had undulated - and a little like his liver and kidneys had temporarily switched places.
It was . . . remarkably unpleasant.
He drew a deep breath in through his nose, as though he could smell whatever temporal event had just taken place - not that he could, of course, that was patently ridiculous. But something had happened, a significant temporal shift, and not a well-controlled one, not even a semi-controlled one. It had been spontaneous and dangerous, the sort of temporal event that resulted in lethal rips in the fabric of space and time.
The ship had gone very quiet.
The Doctor had been able to hear Jack and River only a few moments earlier, not well enough to make out what they were saying, but enough to know where they were. And now he couldn't.
He forced himself not to leap to immediate conclusions, however based upon previous experience with any and all of his companions those conclusions might be. The Doctor strode briskly out of the engine room, back through the galley - no Jack, no River - and into the TARDIS. The console room was empty. He flung his coat over one of the struts and strode to the console. No humans on either ship - no life at all, according to the TARDIS, aside from herself and himself. She'd felt the shift as well, it'd left her a bit queasy. He stroked a wall soothingly, then tried to get a more specific read on when Jack and River might have gone.
Five minutes later, the Doctor banged on the console in frustration, earning himself a stern rebuke from his ship. There was a cloud of artron energy fizzing up his instruments. One reading told him they'd shifted five minutes earlier, another one four hours later. A third reading told him nothing at all, the interference was so bad. It was dissipating, but slowly. It would be at least twenty-four hours before he could get a reliable reading.
He did a scan to find the areas of the ship least affected by shift - or shifts, he was beginning to suspect. Dense concentrations of artron energy showed up as bright patches, and one of the worst was right where he'd parked the TARDIS, just outside the galley. The other, the Doctor saw, was in a nondescript closet, probably where the TSC was housed. Perhaps if he moved the TARDIS to a part of the ship less affected, he might be able to get a proper reading. Then he could simply go back - or forward - to retrieve his companions. He could even be waiting for them when they showed up. In fact, he told himself, in some sense he'd already rescued them!
Nerves somewhat calmed, he shifted the TARDIS to the crews' quarters, where the density of artron energy was the lowest. It was still too high to get a decent reading, but he'd only have to wait an hour or so. Just enough time, the Doctor decided, to go exploring. After all, personal effects could be so very revealing. He shrugged into his coat and left the TARDIS with the mental instructions to alert him when they could do the scan.
The first few cabins he searched were not very useful. The first was shared by two of the lowest ranked crew members, who apparently had as much of an idea why they were there as the Doctor currently did. The second was the chief medical officer's, from which the Doctor gleaned that either the Time Agency had reverted to using alcohol as a cure-all or the CMO had a serious drinking problem.
Gradually, the Doctor pieced together a surprisingly complete picture of life on the ship. All the little pieces of people's lives, lived in close quarters and under stressful conditions, came to light through his perusal of their belongings. Love affairs, food, personal vices and ambitions . . . by the time he came to the last of the cabins, the Doctor felt he knew these people better than he might have liked. In fact, he knew everything except what he'd set out to know: why they were there.
Which only made him more certain than ever that that was the key to the whole thing.
The last cabin belonged to the captain. The Doctor had saved it on purpose, and it was there that he found two things that rocked him.
The first was a holostill of a young man, his arm slung around another young man's shoulders. Both of them wore shabby uniforms, of the sort given to enlisted men and women the universe over. What shocked him so badly about this particular holo was that the man on the left, mugging for the holocam, was Jack Harkness.
The second thing was a data chip tucked into a false bottom in the middle drawer of the cabin's small desk. The Doctor took one look at it and felt both hearts skip several beats. The insignia on the chip's casing wasn't in English - in fact, it wasn't in any language the Doctor had ever expected to see again outside the TARDIS. It bore the Seal of Rassilon, and a complicated, twisted, serpentine symbol the Doctor had not seen in two lifetimes.
By order of the Council of Gallifrey.
The floor dropped out from beneath him. An abandoned Time Agency ship, out of its time and drifting, random, uncontrolled temporal events, Jack, who had been missing two years of memories when the Doctor met him - of course! Why hadn't he seen it before?
The ship was a time mine. A trap for Daleks and their allies, one half of two connected time loops, the center point of a temporal figure-eight. Somewhere on it was a portal into another time, and if the Doctor knew his companions, he'd bet his screwdriver and his entire supply of tea that they'd fallen straight through it by now. Which meant they were somewhere, somewhen, easy prey for the reapers that lay in wait.
Reapers, and any surviving Daleks. The Doctor would have liked to believe there weren't any, but he'd seen them come back from the brink too often. They went on and he lost everything.
"Not this time," he said aloud, fiercely. He didn't know how and he didn't know why - the ship shouldn't have been there at all, it should have been time-locked like everything else connected to the Time War - and he hadn't the faintest idea what Jack had to do with any of it, but the bloody Daleks didn't get them.
He shoved the data chip into the pocket of his jacket along with the holo of Jack and climbed up the ladder, hand over determined hand. Time mine portals were one-way, and Jack's vortex manipulator would be about as useful as a pocket watch. But the Doctor would find them. After all, somewhere and somewhen he already had, or he could never have met River in the Library.
Except, of course, that it was entirely possible he could screw this up and damage the timelines beyond repair. The latter was simply much more comforting.
In the end, Jack lost track of how many Dalek husks they found on the deck of the ship. He almost got used to turning around and tripping over an eyestalk or one of those ludicrous plungers in his futile efforts to sail the ship with just himself and River.
Almost.
The first night, they didn't sleep until almost dawn. When he noticed his vision start to blur, and River nearly faceplanted into a pile of dead Daleks, Jack decided it was time to call it a night, if only for a few hours. Together they'd gone down into the belly of the ship and found a bed made up in one of the cabins, big enough for two, if only just. They'd both stripped down silently, Jack to his undershirt and trousers, River to her shirt and knickers.
It was freezing; they lay without touching for a few very awkward moments until Jack reached out and took River's hand. She rolled over into his arms and he wrapped her up, letting her warm him. He hadn't much experience holding her, not for as much time as they'd spent in bed together. They'd have both rather been holding someone else, but she was warm. Solid. Comforting.
He left the lantern burning. They spent the whole of their second day shifting Dalek remains down into the holds. That was scary enough, but every few seconds Jack found himself glancing up into the sky, wondering what had killed them and if it would be back for seconds. They looked as though something had simply scooped them out. It was fucking creepy.
By the time they finished, it was nearly full dark and the moon had risen. And it was then that Jack noticed the moon hadn't changed.
It should have waned by then, but it still hung low and full in the cloudless sky. Between struggling to sail the ship with his scant knowledge of ancient navigation equipment and wondering how they were ever going to find the Doctor again, the moon not changing was the least of Jack's worries until he realized all at once what it meant.
Their struggles with the ship were for naught. They were going nowhere and nowhen.
In the morning, when River woke, Jack greeted her with a cup of coffee - thank God they had landed on a wealthy merchantman with a ready supply of coffee - and said, "We have a problem."
"Another one?" River said wearily. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. "What now?"
Best to be direct about this. "The moon hasn't changed in two nights. We're in a time loop."
River crossed her arms over her chest. "A time loop. Lovely. And how long can that go on?"
"Awhile," Jack said, uneasily. "I was stuck in one for five years once."
River's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Oh God."
Jack could only agree. He nodded. River took several deep breaths. "All right," she said at last, staring out at the endless expanse of water. The sun was creeping over the horizon, the exact same sunrise they'd caught a glimpse of the day before. Not one photon out of place. "How do we get out?"
"If I knew that, I'd have spent a lot less than five years stuck in that other one."
"Can the Doctor find us in a time loop?"
Since she wasn't look at him, Jack let himself grimace. "I don't know. Probably."
"Maybe, you mean."
"Yeah."
"Well, that's just - I don't want to spend five years on this ship!"
"Well," Jack said, grasping for a bright side, "the good news is that the rations won't go bad and we won't run out of water."
"Yeah. Bloody marvelous news, that." She rubbed a hand over her face, already reddened from the sun. "Not sure how much more good news like that I can take."
Jack watched her briefly, reading the misery she'd hidden in the lines of her face and the hunch of her shoulders. It helped to focus on her, made it possible almost to forget the dozens of dead Daleks down below. Almost.
To hell with this. He climbed to his feet. "I'll be right back."
He'd broken the lock on the safe in the captain's quarters the morning of the second day. There hadn't been anything useful in it, save a formidable stash of liquor. Getting drunk wouldn't help - the hangover would surely render any short-term benefit more than moot - but a sip or two of port followed by a dose of Captain Jack's Cure for What Ails You might do the trick for them both.
He found two tumblers stashed behind the bottle, but he only took one with him up on deck. River leaned against the railing, looking exhausted and, more worrying still, a little defeated. She only looked up when Jack put his hand on her back, rubbing lightly between her shoulder blades.
"What's that?" River asked, peering at the bottle.
"Very expensive port, if I'm not mistaken." He uncorked the bottle and poured a reasonable amount into the tumbler.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "This is your plan?"
"Half of it."
"What's the other half?"
"Orgasms," Jack said succinctly. "Yours and mine."
She gave him a fond, if exasperated, look. "Jack. If I were falling off a cliff, I would be more in the mood than I am right now."
"Only because we haven't started yet."
"Jack."
He offered her the tumbler. She accepted it from him warily, sipped, made a face, then sipped again. "Strong," she remarked.
Jack hummed his agreement and took it back from her. "So, up here or down below?"
River groaned. "Neither." He frowned and she gave a resigned shrug. "Up here, I think. It's creepy down there with all those things."
Jack nodded. "Good call. Back in a bit." He handed her the tumbler and climbed down into the narrow little corridor. He raided their stateroom for blankets and hauled them back up to create a make-shift bed under an overhang, mostly out of the wind. Then he faced her and knelt on the bed. She came to stand beside him. They watched each other for a long moment, as though both waiting for something. Jack forced himself not to move. He'd brought them this far. If she wanted it, she had to do the rest.
At last she knelt, took one last sip from the tumbler of port, and set it aside.
It was the first time, Jack realized, that their attention had ever been focused solely on each other. He found her attractive, of course, but when they were in bed with the Doctor, he never spent much time with her. They had touched each other, certainly, but it'd never gone much beyond that. He'd never lost himself inside her or licked her till she melted. She'd never spanked him or tied him up and ridden him till he cried for mercy. It was a shame, too, because Jack suspected he and River were extremely compatible.
Which, come to think of it, might've been the reason they'd never done this. There was little doubt in Jack's mind that the Doctor had never intended for them to become intimate.
Jack buried his fingers in her long, flyaway hair, hopelessly tangled after days in the salt breeze, and kissed her. It was strange to know someone's body so well, to know exactly where to touch and lick and bite, and yet never have done it before. Jack knew that mouthing the pulse point on River's throat would make her moan, that the skin on the insides of her elbows and the backs of her knees was very sensitive, that once she was aroused she liked having her nipples pinched. He'd watched the Doctor with her dozens of times, and Jack was nothing if not a fast learner. But he had to force himself to stop looking over his shoulder, as though the Doctor might walk in at any moment and catch them doing something naughty.
Fuck. Jack felt himself harden at the very idea. Why the hell hadn't they ever played that game before?
No. Jack forced himself away from thoughts of the Doctor. He didn't want to make this about him. For once it was about him and River. Dismissive as he'd once been of the idea, he thought it had the potential to be brilliant.
And it was.
Jack started with the basics. He took a sip of port, just enough to wet his lips, then kissed her. He covered her body with his own, pressing her down into the blankets, wrapping her up and warming her. He stroked down her sides, skirted the edges of her breasts, and scattered kisses across her throat, her neck, her collarbone. They shared more port-flavored kisses; River's hands tightened on Jack's biceps and he felt her pressing her hips against his, unconsciously asking for more.
"Jack," she gasped. He grinned, knowing exactly what she wanted and how much he was going to enjoy giving it to her. He knelt back, unzipped her trousers, and pulled them down and off, shoving them out of the warm cocoon of blankets. He lay on his stomach; he was still wearing his own trousers, and the position wasn't comfortable, but there were more important things to consider. Such as the way River's breathing quickened and the heady musk of her arousal, strong under the blankets. Jack couldn't see much, but he didn't need to; this was better to do by touch. He used the tips of his fingers to spread her open, just barely caressing between her folds. She quivered under his hands and he braced her hips, lowering his head to brush his lips against her. She moaned, her hand coming to rest in Jack's hair.
He started slow, teasing, always just a little shy of where she wanted him to be. He slipped one finger inside her; she clenched around him and his cock twitched in sympathetic response. He braced himself on his elbow and reached down to touch himself through his trousers, rewarding himself with a squeeze every time River moaned. He groaned, the sound turning to vibrations and setting off a loop of sweet sensation that soon had the two of them in a state of gasping, insensible arousal.
River tugged at his hair. Jack sighed in relief as he was finally able to shed his trousers. River's knees came up and she reached down, touching him for the first time. He nearly wept in relief when she wasted no time, guiding him in with hot, sure hands. He entered her in one smooth thrust and she came at once, rippling around him. It was all he could do to hold on and try desperately not to follow her over the edge.
It was torture not to start thrusting right away, but he had to give River some recovery time. He held her as she came down, biting his lip to anchor himself as she continued to flutter. At last - at last - she opened her eyes, gifting him with a smile both sweet and filthy. She knew exactly how hard - ahem - this was for him and she was loving every second of it. He was just about to move, to take a little revenge, when she clenched around him, holding him in place and smiling up at him all the while.
He gasped. "River, oh, oh God. If you keep doing that -" He broke off again, sucking in air in hard gulps.
She unclenched all at once and he fell forward, catching himself before he landed on top of her. He breathed deeply through his surprise and disappointment. She grinned, propping herself up on her elbow to reach for the port. She sipped and pulled his head down for a kiss. Jack didn't think he'd ever drink port again without thinking of River Song.
It took him a few tries to find the right angle, the one that made her shiver and arch her back, but once he did, he set up a steady pace, nothing so fast and hard that it'd be uncomfortable for her, but enough to satisfy Jack's own urges. His world narrowed to River's face, her body beneath his, the wet warmth of her surrounding him, and then it narrowed even further, down to a single point of hot, almost painful pleasure. Jack thrust once, twice more, and that single point exploded into a million smaller ones all over his body.
He collapsed and buried his face in her hair, utterly spent. He thought she'd come a second time, but he wasn't sure. His answer came when she moved beneath him, reaching to touch herself. Jack covered her hand with his, nudging it out of the way, and swirled his finger around her clit. That was all it took - her face contorted beautifully and her head tilted back, exposing her neck. He kissed the pulse point in her neck and nursed her carefully through the aftershocks.
Neither of them spoke. A perfect silence descended, save for the soft slapping of the waves against the sides of the ship. After a minute or two, River moved, stretching. "Thank you," she said, smiling at him. "That was lovely."
"Entirely my pleasure, I assure you," Jack said with a smile. River rolled over so her back was to Jack's chest; he brought his knees up behind hers.
River sighed. "This is nice," she remarked. "Why didn't we ever do this before?"
Jack shrugged, knowing she'd feel it. "We didn't much like each other?" he suggested wryly.
"Ah. Yes. Seems a bit silly now."
"Don't know about silly. Pointless, maybe."
"Yeah." She fell silent - sleeping, Jack hoped. He forced himself to stay awake, keeping watch even though there had been no sign of danger thus far. He was startled when she stirred suddenly, lifting her head.
"Jack."
"Mmm?"
"Do you think the Doctor will be all right? If we can't - and he can't -"
Jack sighed. "I don't know. Losing companions hurts him, every time, even if they just leave to get on with their lives. Losing you like this -"
"Losing us," she corrected, turning over to frown at him. "God, you really don't think he cares, do you?"
Jack didn't answer. Then he dropped his head to rest on River's shoulder and said, "Sometimes I'm certain he does. Sometimes I'm certain he doesn't. Most days, I just don't know. You don't know what it's like," he added, avoiding River's eyes. "He doesn't run hot and cold with you like he does with me. And that isn't your fault, it's always been that way." He fell silent. River waited, exuding patience. "I'm not jealous that he loves you," he went on at last. "I'm jealous that he loves you without stipulations and conditions and subclauses with addendums, most of which I'm not privy to until I violate one of them and then it's weeks - or months, or years - of being subjected to his own special brand of smug disapproval."
"Oh," River said quietly.
"Yeah. So I don't know what losing me will do to him, because I don't have a fucking clue what having me has meant to him. But you," Jack sighed, "I haven't seen him like this with anyone since Rose, and losing her almost killed him."
River grimaced. "Not really the answer I was hoping for."
"Ah. Well then," Jack smiled grimly, "I'm sure he'll be all right. The Doctor's always all right."
"Right," River muttered. She glanced away, drew a deep breath, and seemed to make a decision. She looked up and met his eyes steadily. "I'm sorry he's like that with you. You don't deserve it."
Jack swallowed hard. "Thanks," he said hoarsely.
"My father was like that, a little," she offered, hesitantly. "Nothing was ever good enough."
"Parents can be like that," Jack said, without really thinking. He lifted his head and looked at her. "I never hear you talk about anything at home. You've mentioned your father twice now - are you close?"
"We were. He died when I was fifteen." She shrugged at Jack's dumbfounded stare. "It's been ten years. The Doctor knows, we just never talk about it. It brings up all these questions about what I'm going to do when I leave the TARDIS. There isn't much for me at home."
"But you still miss him," Jack said, knowing it was true from his own experience as much as the wistful note in her voice. "Every damn day."
She nodded, throat tight. "He had ridiculous standards for me, but when I actually managed to achieve them -"
"Then he'd look at you," Jack finished, "and it was like you'd hung the moon and the stars, and all it did was make you want more of that - that blinding approval."
"Yeah," she breathed.
"I find it a little disturbing that I feel about the Doctor the same way you did about your father," Jack remarked. Not that his relationship with the Doctor had ever let itself be tucked into a nice, neat box he could easily label. "But I guess he's my CO, too." He hesitated, not wanting his next question to come out the wrong way. "He . . . he never makes you feel like that, does he?"
River shook her head. "No. He's been furious with me before, but never disappointed."
There was a long silence. At last Jack murmured, very quietly, "Lucky girl."
River looked at him, very steadily, then kissed him. She drew back, thumb rubbing gently against Jack's temple. "Get some sleep," she suggested. "You were up all night. I'll keep watch for now."
Jack nodded, grateful for the offer. He nestled himself against her side and closed his eyes, mind wiped blissfully blank of everything except the heavy, languid pleasure suffusing his body.
When he woke, it was to River's hand on his arm, shaking him lightly. "Hmm. Um. What?" he managed, trying to blink cobwebs from his brain.
"Jack," she said, her voice so controlled that he knew it had to be bad. "Is it possible we've landed in a parallel universe with dragons?"
"What?" He blinked, wondering if he was still asleep after all. She pointed upwards and he twisted round to to see. The sky was a pale, washed out blue, and the sun had climbed while they'd slept. Jack saw at once what she meant: huge, winged shapes beat in circles overhead. Jack's mouth went dry. There was no mistaking that silhouette.
He swallowed. "Those aren't dragons. Those are reapers."