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"I'll get this one." Jack smiles at Gwen, waves at Tosh and Owen, winks at Ianto. He makes his way over to the bar.
While he's waiting his turn, he looks back at the table where his team are sitting. Owen's telling some sort of story again, and they're laughing together. Ianto's eyes stray over to him occasionally, and he can tell Gwen is trying hard not to turn.
He worries about Gwen. She's trying a balancing act that, nine times out of ten, ends in disaster. But if he's honest with himself, Jack has to admit that he's just as worried he might lose her completely.
Not that he doesn't understand her reluctance to retcon Rhys. But it's dangerous, and not in the way he usually embraces danger.
Pulling Rhys into this kind of life, even peripherally ... it can't end well. And Gwen will carry the responsibility.
If he pushes too hard, though, he'll lose her completely. And retconning her ... that's not going to do anyone any good, either, right?
Jack's never been a stickler for the rules; he's not about to start now. But that makes it all the harder, being sure about where the lines have to be drawn.
Ianto sneaks another look, and Jack winks at him again. Ianto ducks his head, embarrassed at being caught, then meets his gaze frankly. They smile at each other for a moment; then Ianto turns back to Owen.
Jack smiles to himself.
A moment later there's a tell-tale prickling at the back of his neck all of a sudden, the unmistakable sensation of being watched, and Jack turns around slowly.
The Doctor is standing only a few steps away from him, a small smile on his face. He says nothing, merely nods his head in the direction of the door.
An invitation; an offer.
Or rather, an instruction.
Jack grimaces, and the Doctor's eyebrows go up.
Jack steps closer, close enough that he can speak quietly. "Bad timing, Doc."
He's here with his team; he can't just walk out. He won't, no matter how much he wants to forget the last couple days, how much he'd love to drown out memories of a sentient being carved up alive, an alien Tantalus, ever-living, ever-regrowing ...
"Not turning me down, are you?" The Doctor's voice is pure challenge.
Jack groans. "Not now, Doctor."
Not just because he can't disappear on them again, even for a short while. Because so much between them is precarious right now, especially with Gwen's blatant violation of Torchwood rules and his own grudging acquiescence.
Because he loves these people.
"Jack. Step outside for a minute." Insistent. Seductive.
He can't.
"I'm sorry."
The Doctor's face closes; his eyes go dark. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Well. And here I thought you wanted this. Only when you've got nothing better to do, hm, Captain?"
Typical.
Jack's perfectly happy playing by the Doctor's rules 90% of the time, but there are limits. He won't be guilted into this.
There are limits, and sometimes having to draw priorities sucks, but this is how it goes.
"It's not a competition. Better or not, I need to be here right now." Jack keeps his voice soft, regretful, but he's sure the tight knot in his stomach is perfectly obvious to the Time Lord.
The Doctor huffs. "Have it your way," he says curtly and turns around, ready to storm off.
Jack catches him by the sleeve. "Don't be an idiot," he says, his voice tense. "You have a time machine - just pop forward a few days, all right? Catch me alone."
Then he can have this without walking out right in front of everyone's eyes.
Jack wants to hold on, to make sure the Doctor understands, to not let him go until he shows that he does. But he doesn't. He knows better than that. He lets go of the Doctor's sleeve.
The Doctor blinks at him. He doesn't nod; he doesn't say anything; he just looks at him.
Into him.
Then nods, tersely, and leaves.
Jack turns back to the bar with a sigh, pinches the bridge of his nose as he orders his drinks. Wonders if he's just made the mistake of his life.
But no. The Doctor's not one to give up so easily. He's been trying, trying so hard to get this right. Jack might not understand why, but that much he can see plainly. The Doctor is annoyed with him right now, sure, but at worst it'll be a bit longer till Jack sees him again.
He promised, after all.
Later, when Gwen asks him who he was talking to, he merely smiles mysteriously and makes a lewd joke.
"Captain."
Jack turns around, turning his back to the view of the city. "Doctor."
He feels almost giddy. It's only been three days, and the Doctor is here: right now, right here on this rooftop. It's a warm August night, and their coats billow in the pleasant breeze. Jack feels his mouth stretch into a smile almost against his will.
The Doctor steps closer. He smiles, sharp as a knife. "Going to send me away again?"
The voice is sarcastic, but Jack recognises the underlying insecurity. He feels his smile broaden. "Nope." Neither of them really knows where they stand. But the Doctor did come back. "Much better timing today."
The Doctor glares at him for a moment; then he visibly sets it aside. "Come into the TARDIS? She's just behind the chimney."
It's a question, and he could say no. He could play it safe, suggest going elsewhere. Ask the Doctor into the Hub again, even. The Doctor's tone gives him that option.
It's not all or nothing now - they're beyond that, at least. But it's still a test.
Jack grins widely. "Lead the way."
Stepping through that familiar door, back into that familiar control room, is like coming home.
Like coming home for a visit when you're on leave, knowing you'll be gone again soon.
The TARDIS looks just like it did the last time Jack was here; even the jar with the Doctor's hand is still standing next to the console. The only sign anything's changed at all is a thick winter parka hanging over the railing on the other side of the time rotor - a woman's coat, from the looks of it. The Doctor's travelling with someone again.
Good.
Jack wonders who she is, and where she is right now. But he knows better than to bring it up.
He turns around to the Doctor, because it's his call now. They're on the Doctor's territory. It gives the Doctor an advantage.
But it also means the Doctor can't just up and leave if something irks him - he has to kick Jack out first.
They're standing close, and the Doctor's looking at him with an unreadable expression. Jack recognises it only too well: There's something Time Lordly going through his brain, something humans don't have words for. It's an expression Jack became intimately familiar with during their time on the Valiant, on the faces of two different Time Lords.
The Doctor closes the last half-step of distance between them, reels Jack in with one strong hand and kisses him with strange, almost desperate urgency, their teeth clicking together unpleasantly several times before he slows down, before he lets Jack breathe again.
Then be buries his face in the crook of Jack's neck, licking at his skin.
"Did I say good timing? I mean great timing," Jack murmurs into his hair. He very carefully doesn't say I'm glad you came, much less I'm glad you came back. He's not too sure of the wisdom of saying anything at all.
But the Doctor merely grinds his hips against Jack's, lifts his head and throws him a grin. "Make it worth my while, then."
Jack takes that as the challenge it is. He's had occasion to thoroughly learn the Doctor's body, and he puts that knowledge to good use. Their coats are discarded within an instant, and it doesn't take long before they're both dishevelled, shirts pulled out of trousers, eyes dark and lips red and swollen, panting harshly.
Yes, even the Time Lord. Jack is quite proud of himself there.
"Worth it?" he teases as his hand sneaks down the back of the Doctor's trousers and the Doctor squirms against him.
The Doctor's fingers slide across Jack's shoulders, down his arm. "Oh, you have no idea."
"Hm?" Jack moves them apart a little so he can look at the Doctor properly.
"What you are. The things you do to me. Things I never imagined ..." He smirks, and it's a downright dirty expression. Braces are clipped loose, and Jack's trousers slide down, pooling around his ankles. The Doctor's hand wraps around Jack's heavy cock, just holding him. Jack groans helplessly. "And trust me, my imagination's good. Really quite good."
His hand twists.
Jack bites back a moan, but still manages to mock-leer at the Doctor. "Bet you mine's better." It's a reflex, instinctive, and if the levity lets the Doctor pretend they're not having a serious discussion, he won't complain.
Because there's something hiding under the teasing, under the innuendo. There's something the Doctor wants to say.
He's not good at this, being open about himself; he's never been. Every disclosure is a challenge, a weapon as much as it ever is an offer or a gesture of sharing.
It's a game Jack has played himself; he knows how it goes.
He knows the relief when someone won't press for what you can't give. And he's doing his best to offer that. The rest of the distance is the Doctor's to cross.
If he works up the will.
Jack wouldn't have expected him to even want to, not until the Doctor had burst into the Hub and practically ravished him in a way Jack would have sworn wasn't his style, until he experienced it and realised just how much it was exactly like him. Speak cryptically; speak indirectly; offer a gesture instead of an explanation; undo someone but don't let yourself be touched. Oh yes, very much him, all of that.
And oh, for all that Jack can see it perfectly clearly, he'll never be able to resent him for that.
The Doctor pushes Jack back against the railing, plasters his body against Jack's, and the fabric of his suit is rough and exciting against Jack's skin. He can feel the Doctor's erection pressing against his, grinds their hips together and feels the Doctor shudder, feels the groan reverberating through his body.
Jack's shirt is gaping open, and the Doctor's hands make their way under his t-shirt, up his back: cool, nimble, clever. Now he's burying his face in Jack's neck again, rubbing the cold tip of his nose against the skin, licking ...
"You taste human," the Doctor says as his nails scratch lightly across Jack's back. "You feel human. Skin and bone and blood. Sweat and pheromones. And ..."
For a moment, Jack feels something vast and dark and unfathomable press against his telepathic barriers; then it's gone again.
The Doctor smirks, lets his hands slide down again. "That ape brain of yours. All so human."
Jack shudders. He feels like he's covered in gooseflesh, every hair on his body standing up. He pulls the Doctor closer, savouring the sensation.
One hand pinches Jack's arse; the other wanders up to his face, and when their eyes meet, the Doctor's are impossibly old. Deep and inhuman. "And underneath it all, you're a Fact. Nothing living at all - life is change, and you don't. You're the only thing that doesn't, that won't, not ever." He leans forward again, locking their lips together, sucks Jack's tongue into his cool mouth.
Jack moves with it, a little dazed, as pliable as he can make himself. This is important; he can smell it. Something in there is incredibly important to the Doctor.
The kiss ends, and the Doctor's eyes slide away from him.
Jack very nearly holds his breath, but the Doctor's sharp teeth nip at his neck, and he can't help suck in a reflexive lungful of air.
He says nothing, though. His hands rest lightly on the Doctor's hips, and he doesn't make a move.
The Doctor hooks his chin over Jack's shoulder "But it's not true, is it?" he tells the wall behind Jack. "You do change. The human part of you does. It's not just a shell. You're not a fixed point clothed in human flesh - you're a man."
Jack suppresses a snort. Blindingly obvious would be putting it mildly. There's still something else; something the Doctor isn't saying.
The Doctor kisses him again, harshly, biting at his lips, his tongue.
And suddenly, with a flash of insight, Jack knows why the Doctor wanted him to come travel with him again.
Because when you run for your life every other day, when you save your friend's life on a daily basis, it's easy to show you care without saying the words. It's easy to let your actions speak for you.
Battlefield intimacy.
It's the way the Doctor communicates. But Jack's denied him that language.
Jack nearly laughs at the realisation: He's still trying to explain without explaining - just with sex as a substitute.
He's speaking in Jack's language.
He frames the Doctor's face in his hands, kisses him deeply.
He may never get a better explanation than this.
He doesn't need one.
When they come apart, he can't help smiling. "I'm glad we're agreed about that," he murmurs against the Doctor's lips.
"You terrify me," the Doctor mutters. "It wasn't until Malcassairo that I ..." His voice sounds strangled; he swallows convulsively. "I'm sorry - you have no idea, I'm so sorry."
They stand, so close, both ragingly turned on but not moving. Not moving at all. Savouring the moment.
Eventually the Doctor detaches himself from Jack, looks at him with unblinking eyes for a long moment. Then he bounces on the balls of his feet. "Right! Come on, let's - -"
The rest of his sentence is swallowed by a shrill, wailing noise that lasts for several seconds. The lights dim; the Time Rotor springs to life; a crackling sound comes from invisible speakers. A screen flashes mauve.
The Doctor freezes. His eyes go back and forth between the console and Jack.
He has a time machine; it should hardly matter when he responds to a mauve signal. But Jack doubts the Doctor will ever learn to resist that immediacy of promising danger. Nothing could keep him from it.
Jack wouldn't want to try.
You can't tie him down; try, and you'll lose him. That's one rule Jack understands very well.
"I'll go." Jack pulls up his trousers without waiting for an answer, tucks in his aching cock.
A shame, but ...
The Doctor pulls a grimace. "You're sure you -" He stops, swallows the rest of the sentence, thinking better of it. Runs a hand through his hair. "Right. Off you go, then! Can't dally here forever."
Jack rolls his eyes, but does as he's told. "See you, Doctor."
When he's almost through the door, the Doctor clears his throat. "Jack?"
He turns around.
"Wait five minutes. No promises, but ..." He shrugs, a wry and slightly helpless gesture.
Jack smiles. "Will do, Doctor." He salutes and is off before the Doctor's finished returning the gesture.
There's a spring in his step.
He gets it. Gets enough, at least, of what the Doctor may never be able to explicitly tell him. Enough to know that this strange thing between them might actually work: not just for now; not for one or two more visits until the Doctor gets cold feet again or until Jack says or does something to violate the Doctor's unspoken but ever-present rules.
And the Doctor's starting to get it too: Leaving and coming back - it doesn't have to be a big deal.
This is becoming something they can actually keep.
He waits for more than five minutes, but the TARDIS doesn't return that day.
That's all right; he's just been given a lot more than that.