Fic: Reunited (5/15)

[aibhinn_fics]

Title: Reunited (5/15)
Author: aibhinn
Pairings: Jack/Rose, Jack/Ten, Jack/Ten/Rose, Ten/Rose, mentions of (past) Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG this chapter
Spoilers: Doctor Who through "Doomsday", Torchwood through "End of Days".
Summary: The Rift is much more active than it was, and has been disgorging aliens and out-of-time people at an alarming rate… including one person Jack never expected to see again.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Auntie Beeb. I'm stuck here on the far side of the wrong continent, playing in her sandbox.
Author's note: I know, I know, I know. I stopped it at an evil place. Smut next chapter, I promise. Thanks to larielromeniel, rabid1st, joely_jo, and sensiblecat for BR.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV





Jack rubbed his face with his hands. He must, at some point in his life, have done something as frustration-inducing as accompanying Rose into a lingerie shop, even if he couldn't remember anything right off hand. A hundred and forty-five years was a long time, after all, not to mention those two years he'd yet to recover.

He sat on a padded chair in what he'd mentally dubbed "the men's section", waiting with other guys whose wives or girlfriends had swanned off into the fitting rooms, bearing scraps of satin and lace and other arcane confectionery. Most of these blokes had been with their female companions while they shopped for what Jack could only assume were naughty under-things, but as Rose was just purchasing bras and knickers (and having to be fitted for the former since she'd lost so much weight), Jack had elected to give her some privacy. However, it did mean that his mind's eye had begun to create all manner of entirely inappropriate visions of Rose in nothing but her underwear.

Stop it, he told himself sternly, to little effect. It had been relatively easy to look at her without focusing on her considerable physical charms when she'd been unconscious and helpless, but now that they'd talked and he knew what she'd been through, he could hardly look at her as helpless anymore. In fact, he rather thought she was the strongest woman he'd ever met. And strong women had always attracted Jack Harkness.

That, combined with his memories of her and the more recent sensations of holding her, both after her shower and in the conference room, had conspired to tell his libido exactly how attractive and interesting she was. She might be in her eighth decade (half his age, he thought ruefully), but in many ways, she was very much like the young woman he'd known so long ago. Once they'd cleared up the secrets between them, she had begun to show signs of her familiar personality. Returning to the early twenty-first century, so close to her childhood home, had opened a world of reminiscences, and the two of them had been laughing within minutes of leaving the Hub. She'd been thrilled and amused by the invisible lift, if a little melancholy over memories of the Doctor, and had exclaimed over the glossy magazine covers in a newsagent's ("Brad and Angelina? I'd forgotten about them!"), making Jack grin at her sheer pleasure.

But the deadliest habit she had retained, at least as far as Jack was concerned, was the mischievous way she tucked her tongue between her teeth when she grinned. It always made his heart do a weird flutter in his chest. Not something he'd felt in a very long time, that. Not since the Game Station; and he firmly put a stop to that train of thought.

"Dammit," he growled under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face again and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. He had to quit thinking about her as anything but a friend whom he'd thought was dead, but miraculously turned up alive. She was traumatised; she was weakened from malnutrition and the remnants of dehydration; she'd just somehow managed to pass through the Void, with all the terror that had caused. She didn't need him lusting after her like some teenager filled with more hormones than sense. She needed him to be a friend, to be a support she could rely on.

"Hell," he said aloud, then pulled a deprecating face at the man sitting next to him, who was giving him a funny look over the top of his newspaper. The other man looked down again, and Jack leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the wall behind him. Something told him the difference between knowing what he needed to do, and actually doing it, was going to be a gulf roughly the size of the Horsehead Nebula.

But he would do it, somehow. For Rose's sake.

***

Rose looked at herself in the mirror, frowning as she turned back and forth. She'd never considered herself overly-endowed up top, but having lost so much weight made her look almost…deflated. Thank goodness for an understanding shop assistant, she thought as she surveyed her figure with the new bra on. At least this one doesn't make me look like a twelve-year-old with no breasts at all.

Of course, it was also black lace, with a low-cut front that was designed to allow for plunging necklines. Her knickers matched—black lace low-rise boyshorts, which clung to her remaining curves in ways that she hoped would be utterly distracting. The bra and knickers Gwen had provided fitted okay, and were even pretty, but they weren't sexy, and right now, Rose wanted sexy. Not only because she wanted to feel sexy herself—looking in the mirror before her shower had shaken her self-esteem a bit—but because she'd made a decision that she should have made long ago, before the Game Station.

She wanted Jack.

She'd wanted him all along, but when they'd travelled together before, the presence of the Doctor, as well as her own youth and insecurity, had convinced her to hide her interest. Besides, she'd wanted the Doctor long before Jack had arrived, and at nineteen-nearly-twenty, she hadn't quite been able to wrap her mind around the idea of loving two men at the same time. And then she'd lost the chance.

If there was one thing she'd learnt in her eighty-six years, it was that second chances rarely came around. If you didn't grab what you wanted the first time, you were probably out of luck. Once she'd been separated from the Doctor, it had taken her almost a year to decide she had to stand up and live the fantastic life he'd always wanted for her, and she had done, for the most part. She had very few regrets from her time in the parallel universe, and that was just the way she wanted it.

She thought back to the last time she and Mickey had talked—really talked. He'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's at age 72, and by 75, had needed twenty-four hour care. He'd had his lucid moments even then, though; and on his 76th birthday, he'd taken her by the hand and pulled her to sit next to him. "Promise me you'll find someone else," he'd said.

"You'll be with me a long time yet," she'd replied with a forced smile.

"When I'm gone, then. You shouldn't be alone, Rose. Promise me you won't always be alone."

For fifteen years she'd been a widow in all but name, faithful to her husband till the end. She'd never thought she'd be able to fulfill her promise; for how could she not be alone with this unchanging face of hers?

But beyond all expectation, fate had given her a chance here, with Jack. She wasn't going to waste it. She knew he was interested; she knew, too, that he was probably going to try to give her space, at least for awhile. It might take a little time, but she was determined to persuade him that, despite the wilting-flower performance she'd given earlier, she was in her right mind and wanted to be with him… in all senses of the phrase.

Squaring her shoulders, she finished getting dressed and picked up the pieces of clothing she'd decided to buy, including the tags for what she was wearing. The bra and knickers she'd come in with were in a small plastic shop bag that the assistant had given her. She tied her trainers, then opened the door to the fitting room and exited into the main part of the store. She caught Jack's eye, and he met her at the till. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah." She set the clothing and the tags down on the counter.

As the girl started to put them through the till, Jack picked up one of the tags and looked at it, puzzled. "Where's the clothes these went to?"

She grinned at him. "I'm wearing 'em."

His eyebrows shot up and a corner of his mouth quirked, as if to say, Oh, really? She continued grinning, one elbow resting on the counter, eyes twinkling at him. A flash of interest showed in his eyes—but to her disappointment, he shrouded it and looked away. "Gwen had to guess at the sizes she bought for you," he said, as if acknowledging that Rose had needed to buy something that fit better.

"She did fine. I just wanted something a bit sexier. A girl likes to feel attractive, you know."

His eyes met hers again, swiftly. "You haven't been a girl in a long time," he said quietly. A shiver ran down her spine at the expression in his gaze, and she leaned forward slightly in answer. For a moment tension hung between them, thick as rope. It pulled them closer, though not physically. Rose felt her heartbeat speed up, her breath hitch. She licked her lips, noticing that Jack's eyes had darkened by several shades to a deep cobalt.

"That's one hundred and eighteen pounds ninety-eight," the shopgirl said brightly, startling them both out of the spell. More flustered than frustrated, Rose blinked and looked away as Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out a credit card, handing it to the assistant while Rose took a deep breath, trying to gather her wits. All right, so she'd been wrong. She'd assumed Jack would fight their attraction, but apparently that wasn't the case at all.

Wonder whose idea this will be, when all's said and done, she thought as Jack punched in his PIN with a flourish and took the bag, gesturing for her to precede him. She smirked as she headed for the door. Jack had always been a consummate flirt, as well as more than a little dangerous. She'd forgotten how dangerous he was—and what a turn-on that could be.

All right, Captain. Let's see what you can do with your 145 years' experience!

***

"Just how much stuff do you need from Boots?" Jack asked, eyeing the shopping basket that was getting fuller by the minute. "It's a chemist's, for God's sake."

"You should talk," Rose said without looking up from her perusal of the array of shampoos and conditioners. "I've been in your bathroom, remember." She plucked a shampoo/conditioner pair of three different brands and chucked them into the basket.

"Three?" he said incredulously. "How many times a day do you shower?"

Now she looked at him, tongue between her teeth. "Depends on what I'm doing," she said saucily, "and who I'm with." She winked and sauntered off round the corner to examine the display of hairbrushes, clips, alice bands, and other assorted paraphernalia. He followed, smirking.

There was no doubt about it: Rose was flirting. No doubt that she was much better at it than she'd been when she was nineteen, too—but then, that only made sense. She was a far cry from the girl he'd once travelled with.

But how far did that difference go?

He'd worked out that she still had feelings for the Doctor; he could tell by the way she reacted whenever his name was mentioned, or worse, whenever she said it. She'd lived for sixty-odd years with the belief that she'd never see him again; but now she was back in this universe, there was a chance she'd run into him again. Would she want to go back to him? Travel with him? Pick up where they'd left off in their relationship—wherever that was? Jack had no idea how far they'd taken things before they'd been separated, but he knew damn well that they were desperately in love with each other when he'd known them, even if they hadn't done anything about it. Things were different now, though. The Doctor would never have to watch her grow old, wither, and die. Would that change things? Would that allow him to cross the line he hadn't wanted to cross before? Would she want him to?

And if he did…and she did…what would happen to Jack?

He knew Rose felt something for him. Maybe it was even love. But it wasn't the same sort of love she'd felt for the Doctor, he was sure. And even if it was…how could he, Jack, win out over the Doctor for Rose's affections?

Not that he minded sharing her—hell no! Better yet if they all shared each other. But Rose was from the early twenty-first century, with all the hangups of this time. Granted, she'd been places and seen things no other human ever had…but in his experience, it took a lot for people to overcome the social rules of their childhood, and certainly there was no place in this time for multiple-partner relationships, except maybe underground. He didn't know if it was an idea she could entertain.

Fingers clicking in front of his face startled him back to the present. Rose was grinning at him. "You still with me?"

"Forever, sweetheart," he grinned, eyes twinkling.

She grinned back. "Your stamina is about to be sorely pressed," she told him.

"Oh, believe me, my stamina's never been in question."

"That," she said, smirking, "is because you've never seen me in the makeup aisle. Come on."

He groaned theatrically, because he knew she expected it, and followed her, watching carefully while trying not to seem like he was watching. He needed to find out more about how she felt, both about him and about the Doctor, before he allowed this to go farther than flirting. Because he wasn't just interested in Rose; he was damn close to falling in love with her…and he didn't know if he dared risk his heart, only to find himself the third wheel in the TARDIS, standing outside a closed bedroom door for all eternity.

Despite her warning, Rose was relatively quick to choose her makeup—she certainly had different tastes now to what she'd had before. "I think that's it," Rose said brightly, waving a hand at her full shopping basket. "Enough to keep me springtime fresh for a good long while."

"That was never in doubt," he said, flashing a grin.

She grinned back and he felt the now-familiar jolt again. Dammit, he had to hold himself together. "Where to after this?" she asked as they headed up to the register.

"Thought we'd go drop all this stuff off and let you get things organised in your room, then dinner."

"Where'm I staying again?"

He started unloading the basket. After a moment, she began helping. "That hostel I told you about. It's not far, and it'll only be for a few days, at any rate; we'll find you a flat."

"Mm." She glanced at the assistant, who was busily scanning their purchases and didn't seem to be paying them much attention, then back at Jack. "And what then?"

Jack blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Will you find me a job?" she pursued. "Identification? Some way of getting around in this time?"

Jack also glanced at the assistant, who hadn't seemed to hear. No sense taking chances, though. "We'll talk in the car," he said.

Silence fell between them, not quite awkward but certainly not comfortable. At last the assistant announced the sum, swiped his card, and bagged everything up. He took the bags and led the way back to the SUV. Rose followed, looking pensive. He unlocked the doors, and she got in while he put the bags in the back, then got himself into the driver's seat and buckled his seatbelt. He inserted the key into the ignition, but didn't turn it; instead he looked over at Rose.

She was leaned back in her seat and staring out the windscreen, brow furrowed. It looked like she was chewing on the inside of her lip, a habit he remembered. Something twisted at his insides. "What next" indeed. He'd forgotten that this wouldn't be 'home' to her any more; too much time had passed for her. This was a cross between a strange new world and an old memory; she had to get used again to all the things that were different from the Earth she'd been on for so long. She might look like the young woman who'd disappeared a year ago in his timeline, but she was so much more than that.

He must have made some sort of noise, for she turned to meet his gaze, and smiled a bit self-consciously. "Sorry," she said. "I was miles away. Light-years, really."

"Back on the other Earth?" he guessed.

She nodded. "I'm not sorry to be here," she said firmly. "But there are so many things I'll never get to do. I'll never put flowers on my parents' graves again, or Don's, or Mickey's. I'll never get to go back to the little church where I was married. I'll never see the friends I made—not many, since I couldn't keep them for too long, but I had a few, and they won't know what happened to me. I'll never see my house again, or my cat."

Mickey's grave. That's right; she'd said they'd only just buried him. "When did Mickey die?"

She sighed. "Just before I left. In body, at least. In mind, he'd been dead for a long time before that. He had Alzheimer's."

"Oh, God," Jack said involuntarily, horrified.

She nodded soberly. "With the money I'd inherited from Mum and Pete, I was able to keep him home while still giving him twenty-four-hour nursing. He was at home till the day he died… and I was with him when he did. But I'd more or less been a widow for a good fifteen years before that. Mickey—the Mickey I knew—was gone long before his body expired." She gave a little half-smile. "He made me promise I wouldn't be alone forever, before his mind was completely gone. I think he intended me to take a lover long before he died, but…I couldn't. I just couldn't. It was Mickey. Even if he would have never known, never understood, never cared because he didn't even know who I was by the end…I couldn't."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She smiled a bit wanly and put her hand over his, squeezing gently. "It's turned out all right. I've ended up here, back where I began…and I've found you."

Her hand was more than warm; it was hot. It all but burned him, but he didn't pull away.

"I've been through a lot, Jack," she said. Her gaze was intense, as though she were willing him to believe what she was saying. "I've lived more than one life in 86 years, and I don't mind beginning another one. But the one thing I've been afraid of so long is that, no matter what I promised Mickey, I'd have to live all alone, forever. Now I know I don't." She leant forward slightly. "Neither of us does—and if that's not a miracle, what is?"

Hope was beginning to rise in him, warm and soothing. He tried to quash it. "What about the Doctor?" he forced himself to ask.

She frowned. "What about him?"

"Do you…I mean, did you…" He stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and formed his thought completely before looking at her again. "Were you lovers?"

She looked at him for a moment, then glanced down. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, we were. Not for very long before we were separated, but…we were lovers."

"What if he does come back, then, Rose?" he asked. "What if he shows up in a month, or a year, or ten years?"

"Would I want to go back with him, you mean?" She sighed again, rubbing her forehead. "I don't know, Jack. I really don't. It's been sixty-five years since I've seen him. That's a drop in the bucket to him, I know, but it's a lifetime to me. He may not want me now. He may have found someone new to travel with—he probably has," she added dispassionately. "I don't think he'd do well alone."

"Don't you think you ought to keep your options open?" he asked, forcing the words out around the lump in his throat. "If you still love him—if you might want to go with him—then you should go."

She looked back up at him, and he could see sudden comprehension in her gaze. "Oh, Jack," she said, and smiled. "I've always loved the Doctor. But that doesn't mean I've not always loved you as well. Why would I hold out for just one of the men I love, when I could have both?"

He blinked, not sure what to say, wondering if she meant what he thought she did.

"I've been given a second chance with you," she said. "I'm not going to give it up for a 'maybe'. And if he does come back…." She grinned. "I'm told you share well."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and, before he could react, leant in and kissed him. It felt just like his one and only kiss with her had felt: soft and warm and yielding, but this time she wasn't just accepting his kiss; she was initiating her own.

Some part of his mind still tried to protest, but his hands were already coming up to twine in her hair, and his lips were already gently parting hers, and his tongue was already stroking hers, and it was better than he'd ever imagined. One small hand rested on his chest; the other stroked his cheek lightly, delicately. Her hair slid through his fingers like water shining golden in the sunlight. He shut off the part of his brain that was still thinking No, bad, wrong, and let himself dissolve into the kiss.

She ended it after a long, long, sweet moment, drawing back and looking him in the eyes. He stared into hers as well. "Are you sure?" he asked—the last gasp of a drowning man.

"Yeah," she said softly. Her eyes were deep, dark pools, and he was falling in. "I'm sure."

Slowly, he reached up and touched her cheek, caressing softly. She leaned into his hand. "All right," he said. "All right."