Chapter Text
”Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
G. K. Chesterton
Rose twirled, giggling, showing off her knee-length golden-brown dress and hooded red shoulder cape for the rest of the TARDIS crew. The cape was short and flirty, in the fashion for young women on the east continent of Dorado in this decade. Clearly, the “flirty” bit was going to Rose’s head; she stopped and peeked at the others from the depths of the hood, pretending to be shy, gauging the effect on Jack and the Doctor.
The Doctor thought she looked lovely, of course, but he thought she was lovely no matter what she wore. Her youth and health and adventurous spirit shone like a constant beacon, clear and untarnished, balm to the Doctor’s weary, jaded soul.
Jack, now, he was admiring Rose as well, but it wasn’t necessarily his soul doing the thinking. That was obvious even to someone as distanced from human sexuality as the Doctor . . . and it certainly wasn’t lost on Rose.
“Why, Little Red Riding Hood,” Jack said, with a lopsided grin. “How you’ve grown.”
Rose snorted, dropping the role of ingenue without missing a beat. “Red Riding Hood, am I? What does that make you, the Big Bad Wolf?” She smiled again, with less flirtation but more warmth.
That warmth might be troubling to the Doctor, in an ordinary way — especially given how Rose had been favoring Jack with such smiles more and more frequently — but something about Rose’s words sent ice water down his spine, the not-quite sensation of nascent probability, cryptic but powerful. Unfortunately, not even a Time Lord could see the answer to the riddle at this stage, so he let the moment pass.
Jack, noticing nothing with his blinkered human senses, continued to grin at Rose, but the expression softened, became more genuine. “You got me. Arooo.”
Rose laughed as intended, maybe a bit louder and longer than the humor deserved, but when her attention shifted to the Doctor (her face going hopeful, seeking his approval and genuinely shy about it), he didn’t comment on the clear and growing attraction between his fellow-travellers.
“Those colors suit you,” he said, trying to sound gruff and grudging. Rose’s dazzling smile told him he was either unsuccessful or she was getting better at reading him.
“Liar,” she said, smirking. “You can’t be seeing much of the color in this light.” She waved a hand around at the dim green-orange glow suffusing the control room.
“I’m seeing more than you think,” he shot back, putting on a lofty tone. “Different eyes, me. Don’t go thinking I’m human.”
“No chance of that,” Rose said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Not with you reminding me seven times a day. Now, I thought there was a reason we were here, besides playing dress-up?”
“A new temporal solenoid,” Jack chimed in. “Though how you’re going to get hold of one without going through the Time Agency is a good question.” The last comment was aimed in the Doctor’s direction.
“I thought that would be obvious, ‘specially to you,” the Doctor shot back. “We go somewhere like Dorado. I guarantee, anything you want, you’ll find it here. The locals have a particular fondness for a free market economy. You’ll want to stay close to me,” he added, glowering at Rose. “It’s not the nicest place.”
“I can handle myself,” she shot back.
“Yeah? Tell that to the slavers if they spot you alone. You'll stand out as a stranger and an easy target, fashionable clothes or not.”
“Slavers?” Rose asked, sounding taken aback, as if she were having real trouble wrapping her mind around the idea. Young and innocent in so many ways — no doubt she thought slavery was a distant, textbook thing, even in her own time and place.
“It happens,” Jack said, going very serious, backing up the idea. “If there's a slave trade here, you definitely want to stick close to the Doctor. You’d be a real prize for people like that.”
Rose didn’t have to ask why, the Doctor noticed; she wasn't impossibly innocent, just inexperienced. Her only response was a small-voiced, “Oh.”
“That goes for you, too, Captain,” the Doctor added, fixing Jack with the direct, male-challenge glare that seemed to work best at capturing Jack’s attention. “We've got more than one pretty face on this ship.”
Jack’s chin went up a fraction, defensive, and he met the Doctor's eyes with a touch of belligerence. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, his tone light but acid-washed.
Blast. Combined with the earlier tension of Rose as good as flirting at both of them, the Doctor’s intensity had been taken for territoriality, rather than reinforcement of a command. Bloody human males and their testosterone levels; human women tended to be both less aggressive and more tractable. Not always — witness Ace and Leela — but . . . law of averages and all. It was the reason he favored female traveling companions, given a choice.
A Time Lord’s pride didn’t allow for backpedaling or explanation, especially over something so closely bordering on domestic issues involving another species. So, instead, the Doctor tried to deflect the conflict. "You just watch yourself," he replied, hewing to the original topic and adding a deeper glower for emphasis.
Jack's gaze never wavered from the Doctor's, even as he twitched his dark-grey Dorado-style hood up over his head. "Oh, I always do," he breathed, voice even but with real anger underneath.
Double blast — Jack had misread the Doctor's intent yet again. This self-declared Captain might be a flighty con-man, but there was a core of steel to him, a sense that when he chose to dig in his heels he would defy any force or Power without counting the cost. Unfortunately, his back was up against the Doctor now, and any chance of reasoning with him was gone.
Frustrated, the Doctor broke their staring match first. If Jack was dead set on misinterpreting everything, that was his own problem. He turned his attention to Rose, and surprised a wary expression on her face; she hadn't missed the little by-play with the Captain, and it worried her.
"Right then," the Doctor said, making his voice bright and giving her a cheery (if tight-lipped) smile. "Let's go shopping." Rose return smile was tentative, but she didn't hesitate to slip her hand in his and follow him out of the TARDIS.
Jack followed the Doctor and Rose through the grey, chill streets of Dorado and found the setting exactly matched his mood.
Sure, they'd saved his life, taken him onto their — frankly marvelous — ship and seen to his bed and board (if, sadly, nothing else), but it had been obvious from that first night of dancing exactly what his role was to be: gooseberry and third wheel, rescued (he was now certain) solely at Rose's kindhearted whim. The Doctor wasn't going to refuse her anything she asked, that was clear. Without her intervention, Jack thought the Doctor would likely have left an errant con-man to his fate. Probably, given their recent exchange, the so-called "Time Lord" was even regretting having saved Jack's life and bringing a potential rival on board.
It wasn't that Jack didn't get it — Rose was the Doctor's and he was hers. They’d both said so, in no uncertain terms. But how the hell was a man supposed to react when Rose smiled at him that way? Or when she and the Doctor traded one of those warm looks that set a lonely onlooker's heart to aching and wishing? The two of them were a painful reminder of everything he'd lost: Rose, with her youthful, civilian innocence, and the Doctor with his fierce, uncompromising honor. Two virtues Jack would never see again, that was for damn sure. But he’d have to be made of stone not to find them appealing all the same.
What kind of place could a failed Time Agent — hell, failed human being, if you tallied up his life with a critical eye — ever really have with these two? How long would it take to overstay his welcome, overstep the bounds . . . or break his heart?
--
Rose could feel Jack's brooding presence at her back, but restrained herself from looking at him. She was unsure of how best to react to the growing tension between the two men; they seemed determined to butt heads and she was afraid of making things worse if she tried to intervene. It was scary and frustrating at the same time. They were so much of a kind, they should be friends, she felt. Being fond of them both, she wanted them to be friends, certainly. If it came down to a choice, she would pick the Doctor — she always would — but leaving Jack behind would be more difficult than any separation she'd yet faced.
Since her brain wasn't providing any worthwhile answers to her inner worries, Rose gave up for a moment and turned her attention to their surroundings. Even without the warning of possible enslavement, she wouldn't have been straying far from the Doctor's side in this place. It made the seedier portions of London look like model communities, and the people (most of them generically humaniod) had a pinched, unpleasant look to them that gave her chills. If she was Red Riding Hood, this was a whole city of wolves.
Fortunately, she wasn't alone. She glanced up at the Doctor, who was striding along with a grim expression and an uncompromising confidence that sent people who might otherwise have been trouble sidling out of their way. She squeezed his solid, cool hand and felt safer. He shot her a quick glance and his features softened with a small, reassuring smile, a tiny chink in his daunting armor, opened just for her. She'd long since admitted to herself that she loved him, but even if she hadn't, the melting feeling in her heart at that moment would have been proof positive.
Then the Doctor's face hardened again, and he tugged her towards a side street, where Rose could hear the rumble of many subdued voices.
---
Jack had to give the Doctor credit; he knew the ropes. A few inquiries, a bit of money changing hands, and they left the small enclave of streetside vendors and loiterers, heading for another, larger gathering space in a different part of the city. Once there, Jack's eyebrows went up at some of the things being openly peddled from tables and blankets and rickety stalls. “Fond of the free market” indeed — and if laws were so lax or poorly-enforced here, no wonder there was a trade in sentient slaves. Though that portion of the economy, at least, was underground, or at least not on immediate display.
A place like this was rife with opportunities, if a person knew what he was doing.
The Doctor found the stall he was looking for, which was more a few piles of spare parts supporting an awning than an actual structure, and after few oblique, testing exchanges, he and the flinty-eyed middle-aged woman in charge got down to business with admirable speed. Most of the on-display parts were mere bulky, dirty junk, but when the proprietor shifted a rusty stabilizer housing and opened the storage trunk underneath, Jack glimpsed a glittering array of fresh, bright devices and components that would have given the Time Agency conniption fits. Not that that was his problem anymore.
A padded protective case was opened for display. The Doctor took it and fingernail-flicked the translucent, coppery coil inside, nodding at the bell-like tone. Then the serious bargaining began. Jack huddled deeper into his hooded cloak against the chill and slipped his hands in his pockets, saying nothing. Didn't seem like there was anything for him to add, with the Doctor haggling away like an old pro and Rose (keeping an obvious deathgrip on the Doctor's hand), listening intently and admiringly. Jack didn't even need to be there.
A drifting current of air brought a familiar, welcome scent over the general reek of wet pavement, sweat and hydrocarbons: roasting t'ket. Jack hadn't had a decent cup of that brew in ages. The ever-amazing TARDIS managed a close approximation, but there really was no substitute for fresh stalks roasted over a wood fire, then crushed and simmered while they were still hot and smoky. Jack cast around and spotted the booth, several spaces down. He considered.
He didn't have any money for this time and place — or any time and place, beyond what little he'd had in his greatcoat pockets when he'd abandoned his ship. But he had high-quality, warm clothes on his back, his Agency wristband, a good breakfast in his stomach, an uninjured, well-rested body, and a pretty face. He'd started over with a lot less, more than once.
The Doctor and Rose were still occupied, oblivious.
This wouldn't be a bad place to strike out from. There were a lot of ways to raise a little starting capital, if one wasn't particularly squeamish and the law wasn’t particularly vigilant. Having a functional Vortex manipulator would open things out even more.
Rose really was a good kid, and an honest one — Jack believed she was fond of him, and no doubt she'd miss him if he took off, but she'd get over it. The Doctor . . . well, he'd probably be glad to be rid of his extra passenger. He'd never showed any signs of trusting or accepting Jack, to the point of witholding any real information about himself. Instead, he'd stuck stubbornly to his ridiculous claim of being a Time Lord. Sure, he had a double pulse and a time machine, but body mods and temporal travel weren't exactly unknown in the greater Universe. The bigger-on-the-inside track was pretty impressive, and calling the ship a "TARDIS" was a cute touch, but Jack would have appreciated a little more respect for his intelligence all the same. Fairy tales didn't pop out of the Vortex at random.
Jack breathed in another wisp of scented woodsmoke, and decided to head in that direction. If he couldn't cadge a free cup of t'ket using nothing but his good looks and persuasion, he might as well give up and retire. He could be back with his beverage before the others would notice his absence, as absorbed as they were.
Or, just maybe, he could get his t'ket and then keep going.
---
The Doctor and the woman at the parts booth reached an agreement, sealing their deal with a handclasp. He counted out a random assortment of coins and a few small spare parts produced from the pockets of his leather jacket, receiving the solenoid, still in its nondescript protective case, in exchange.
Rose, relieved to have their business conducted so quickly and easily, turned expecting to find Jack ready and waiting to return to the TARDIS. He wasn’t there. Immediately worried, she scanned the crowd for a hood the same shade of grey as Jack’s; grey was a popular color here, but she didn’t see anyone of the right height and build.
“Where’d he go?” she asked the Doctor, who was also looking around, eyes sharp and mouth drawn into a grim line. “He was just here! We’ve gotta find him.”
“Assuming he wants to be found,” the Doctor said, sounding so unsurprised, she simply stopped and stared at him.
“You think he just . . . left us?” she asked, appalled.
“Seems like this would be his sort of place,” the Doctor said, his expression going distant.
Rose growled. “I don’t think so,” she said, giving the Doctor’s hand a sharp tug. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you two.” Well, not entirely true, but she wasn’t going to go into that now. “He saved our lives, and the Earth. He’s part of the crew, yeah? What if he’s in trouble?”
The Doctor looked down at her, his eyes pale and unreadable, alien in that weird way which seemed both unfocused and alert at once. Then he blinked, and his features reanimated, brows drawing down. “If he’s in trouble it’s probably no less than he deserves,” he said.
Rose opened her mouth, but before she could say more, the Doctor added. “S’ just lucky for him that his wristband’ll stand out like a sore thumb.” He handed Rose the solenoid case and slipped the sonic screwdriver form his pocket, thumbing it on.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “What, you’re actually gonna do a scan for alien tech?”
“Nah. It’s a scan for human tech. Keep the Spock jokes to yourself, please,” he said, beginning to move the screwdriver in a wide arc.
“I thought human was alien, for you,” Rose pointed out, worry easing enough for her to joke easily. With the Doctor committed to the search, she was sure they’d find Jack.
The Doctor raised his eyebrows and glanced in her direction. “Good. You’re learning,” he said with approval, just before the screwdriver gave an alerting beep. “This way!”
She caught his free hand, and they were off.