Sweet as Sugar
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,323
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,323
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dr. Who, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
29
Sweet as Sugar Chapter 29 (Rose/Ten)
A/N Goddess Foxfeather is Uberbeta, lol. *G* Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing as you get the chance.
Jack had tried every trick in the book: careful and almost logical attempts at manipulating the electronic components under the control panel, randomly mashing buttons, reasoning with the machinery, cajoling it, promising it whatever it is the TARDIS ran on and various combinations of all of the aforementioned before he resorted to his current and most favored state—beating the tar out of the control panel. “COME ON!” he shouted for what felt like the hundredth time. “You work for Rose!”
“Does it now?” Bara asked mildly, eyeing the monitor that showed activity outside the blue box. Figures moved like shadows, drifting and secretive. He knew the alarm was already out, that he was the subject of the search. How little they all knew, he thought, tapping one long finger on the console. They were but particles in the greater whole, all part of a machine, moving and turning and he was the one who knew. He wondered if the Goddess had created them all, the acolytes and Venusians, to be without free will, to serve Her and Her alone, or if it had been bred into them through generations of servitude. Shaking the overwhelming feeling of self awareness, he returned his attention to Jack, clad once again in his typical outfit of slacks and a tight t-shirt. Somehow, he mused, that was even more provocative than the traditional slave gear he had been wearing since Bara purchased him in the market.
Jack gave the console a final slap and practically growled at Bara. “Well, it does when the Doctor’s with her…” He closed his eyes for a moment, marshaling his thoughts. “I can fly anything with moving parts. I have experience on almost every known time-space vehicle in the Torchwood databases… YOU,” he jabbed an accusing finger at the TARDIS’s array of controls, “should be no different!”
“You are attempting to reason with a machine,” Bara pointed out with some amusement. “Does that work on Earth?” He flexed his fingers experimentally, his eyes never leaving Jacks’ well-defined face.
“It does with a seventy-nine Nova,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his already-mussed hair. He felt Bara’s gaze on him and accepted it for what it was: open interest, maybe something deeper. He filed it away for later examination. He was not exactly DISintersted in the other male but at the same time, he had other things to consider. A shuddering jolt rocked the TARDIS as Jack turned to examine the monitor. A horde, it seemed, of the tiny acolytes were massed outside the doors, flinging themselves against it as if their very lives depended on it. He could not hear them but he could tell they were shouting, growing angrier by the minute, entirely removed from their cool and reverential selves. “This is new!”
Bara made a hissing noise low in his throat, the humid air of the TARDIS, thanks to Jack’s manipulation of the environmental controls, soothing his frazzled vocal cords. “They’re following orders. Always following orders. The Goddess is hungry,” he trailed off, his gaze sliding to the door. “They will not breach it. They would be using the battering ram if they were truly meant to enter.” He frowned and took a step towards the doorway, pausing with one foot ahead of the other. “We’re being distracted.”
“First day on the job?” Jack asked tartly, returning his attention to the controls. They seemed, if inanimate objects could be such a thing, he thought, reticent. His hands still stung from hitting the panel so many times and his head was definitely starting to ache. Another blow rattled the doors and he frowned deeply, resisting the urge to hurl curses at the attacking acolytes. “Nothing can get through those doors, not even Daleks,” he informed Bara curtly. “Keep an eye on the monitor; I need to go get something from quarters.” He did not wait for a response, simply cutting around the central control tower and striding into the main hall of the TARDIS, his footsteps ringing in counterpoint to the ongoing thumping at the door. He had some tools, things gathered over the years he had spent as a Time Agent and now with Torchwood, but he harbored severe doubts as to whether they would work in this instance. It would be, he thought, slamming into his quarters that abutted Rose’s, trial and error. Rose… the woman gave him pause. He would admit to be attracted to her—he appreciated beauty in all it’s forms—but he knew she could be nothing more than a fling, a bit of fun. They had tried once, he remembered, smiling against his will as he dragged a large duffle bag out from under his bed. A late night in old New York, Gatsby era the Doctor had called it. Rose had been staggering in her heels, complaining about the old fashioned suspenders holding up her stockings. She had drunk bathtub gin at a speakeasy and needed support getting back to the TARDIS, to the waiting Doctor who had left earlier, ostensibly in search of someone named Louis who had information regarding a Slitheen sighting, but Jack knew it was a load of rubbish. He had seen how the Doctor looked at Rose, the naked hunger in his ancient eyes as he downed a bad martini. Jack saw the flare of protectiveness when he let his hand linger on Rose’s knee, how the Time Lord’s eyes riveted to the touch and seemed to be moments away from flaying him alive if he did not remove his fingers from the silk-clad length immediately. Rose had kissed him that night, dragging him against a rough wall and pressing juniper-flavored lips to his, her small hands sliding up his back as his went to the round fullness of her breast, but he had stopped it there, stopped it at a sloppy, halfhearted embrace. Shaking off old memories, he gathered several burnished and black handled instruments and rose smoothly to his feet, his jaw set in a line of determination. This is just a machine, he thought sternly. No machine will get the best of Jack Harkness. Especially not when the two people who mattered more to him than anything else in the world, almost more than his own life, needed him.
Bara looked up as Jack walked into the control room, his expression inscrutable to the human. “Find what you were looking for?” His gaze was steady but something about it, Jack noted, was a bit off.
“Yeah,” he replied in neutral tones. “Sure did…” As he reached the control panel, he stopped. They were not alone.
A/N Goddess Foxfeather is Uberbeta, lol. *G* Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing as you get the chance.
Jack had tried every trick in the book: careful and almost logical attempts at manipulating the electronic components under the control panel, randomly mashing buttons, reasoning with the machinery, cajoling it, promising it whatever it is the TARDIS ran on and various combinations of all of the aforementioned before he resorted to his current and most favored state—beating the tar out of the control panel. “COME ON!” he shouted for what felt like the hundredth time. “You work for Rose!”
“Does it now?” Bara asked mildly, eyeing the monitor that showed activity outside the blue box. Figures moved like shadows, drifting and secretive. He knew the alarm was already out, that he was the subject of the search. How little they all knew, he thought, tapping one long finger on the console. They were but particles in the greater whole, all part of a machine, moving and turning and he was the one who knew. He wondered if the Goddess had created them all, the acolytes and Venusians, to be without free will, to serve Her and Her alone, or if it had been bred into them through generations of servitude. Shaking the overwhelming feeling of self awareness, he returned his attention to Jack, clad once again in his typical outfit of slacks and a tight t-shirt. Somehow, he mused, that was even more provocative than the traditional slave gear he had been wearing since Bara purchased him in the market.
Jack gave the console a final slap and practically growled at Bara. “Well, it does when the Doctor’s with her…” He closed his eyes for a moment, marshaling his thoughts. “I can fly anything with moving parts. I have experience on almost every known time-space vehicle in the Torchwood databases… YOU,” he jabbed an accusing finger at the TARDIS’s array of controls, “should be no different!”
“You are attempting to reason with a machine,” Bara pointed out with some amusement. “Does that work on Earth?” He flexed his fingers experimentally, his eyes never leaving Jacks’ well-defined face.
“It does with a seventy-nine Nova,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his already-mussed hair. He felt Bara’s gaze on him and accepted it for what it was: open interest, maybe something deeper. He filed it away for later examination. He was not exactly DISintersted in the other male but at the same time, he had other things to consider. A shuddering jolt rocked the TARDIS as Jack turned to examine the monitor. A horde, it seemed, of the tiny acolytes were massed outside the doors, flinging themselves against it as if their very lives depended on it. He could not hear them but he could tell they were shouting, growing angrier by the minute, entirely removed from their cool and reverential selves. “This is new!”
Bara made a hissing noise low in his throat, the humid air of the TARDIS, thanks to Jack’s manipulation of the environmental controls, soothing his frazzled vocal cords. “They’re following orders. Always following orders. The Goddess is hungry,” he trailed off, his gaze sliding to the door. “They will not breach it. They would be using the battering ram if they were truly meant to enter.” He frowned and took a step towards the doorway, pausing with one foot ahead of the other. “We’re being distracted.”
“First day on the job?” Jack asked tartly, returning his attention to the controls. They seemed, if inanimate objects could be such a thing, he thought, reticent. His hands still stung from hitting the panel so many times and his head was definitely starting to ache. Another blow rattled the doors and he frowned deeply, resisting the urge to hurl curses at the attacking acolytes. “Nothing can get through those doors, not even Daleks,” he informed Bara curtly. “Keep an eye on the monitor; I need to go get something from quarters.” He did not wait for a response, simply cutting around the central control tower and striding into the main hall of the TARDIS, his footsteps ringing in counterpoint to the ongoing thumping at the door. He had some tools, things gathered over the years he had spent as a Time Agent and now with Torchwood, but he harbored severe doubts as to whether they would work in this instance. It would be, he thought, slamming into his quarters that abutted Rose’s, trial and error. Rose… the woman gave him pause. He would admit to be attracted to her—he appreciated beauty in all it’s forms—but he knew she could be nothing more than a fling, a bit of fun. They had tried once, he remembered, smiling against his will as he dragged a large duffle bag out from under his bed. A late night in old New York, Gatsby era the Doctor had called it. Rose had been staggering in her heels, complaining about the old fashioned suspenders holding up her stockings. She had drunk bathtub gin at a speakeasy and needed support getting back to the TARDIS, to the waiting Doctor who had left earlier, ostensibly in search of someone named Louis who had information regarding a Slitheen sighting, but Jack knew it was a load of rubbish. He had seen how the Doctor looked at Rose, the naked hunger in his ancient eyes as he downed a bad martini. Jack saw the flare of protectiveness when he let his hand linger on Rose’s knee, how the Time Lord’s eyes riveted to the touch and seemed to be moments away from flaying him alive if he did not remove his fingers from the silk-clad length immediately. Rose had kissed him that night, dragging him against a rough wall and pressing juniper-flavored lips to his, her small hands sliding up his back as his went to the round fullness of her breast, but he had stopped it there, stopped it at a sloppy, halfhearted embrace. Shaking off old memories, he gathered several burnished and black handled instruments and rose smoothly to his feet, his jaw set in a line of determination. This is just a machine, he thought sternly. No machine will get the best of Jack Harkness. Especially not when the two people who mattered more to him than anything else in the world, almost more than his own life, needed him.
Bara looked up as Jack walked into the control room, his expression inscrutable to the human. “Find what you were looking for?” His gaze was steady but something about it, Jack noted, was a bit off.
“Yeah,” he replied in neutral tones. “Sure did…” As he reached the control panel, he stopped. They were not alone.