Title: A Stroke of Luck
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Table: 12
Prompt: 18, Swords
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

***

"Jack, what are we supposed to do?" the Doctor asked, looking around the small room. They were trapped here, unable to get out unless they wanted to fight their way through the men gathered on the other side of the locked door.

"Okay, so this might not have been one of my better ideas," Jack said grimly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Doc. When we get back to the Tardis, you have my permission to say 'I told you so' as many times as you want. I deserve it."

"If we can get back to the Tardis," the Doctor corrected him, glancing out of the window. The ship wasn't far away -- only a few hundred feet from the house they were in. But she might as well have been a galaxy away, in his eyes.

"Hey, we can get through them," Jack told him, his eyes darting around the room in search of any weapon that they might be able to use. You can use a sword, can't you? If we can find a couple of those, then we might stand a chance. Or ...." He sighed, his hand going to the holster at his waist. "I can always use this."

"No!" The Doctor's answer was quick and sharp; he shook his head vehemently, a scowl pulling the corners of his mouth down. "No, Jack. No shooting. Not this time."

"You're being a little unreasonable about that, aren't you?" Jack's voice had a sharper edge to it than he'd intended, and he tried to soften his words. "Look, they'd probably shoot us if any of them had a pistol with them. We have to protect ourselves."

"You know how I feel about that," the Doctor told him, looking out at the Tardis again, the blue box sitting there in the snow as though she was waiting expectantly for them. "No bloodshed. Not this time. I don't want to leave tragedy behind us."

Jack nodded, wishing that he could make the Doctor change his mind. But they'd probably caused enough of a problem here already, just as the Doctor said. Still, he didn't see how they were going to get out of this mess without doing some damage ....

This was really his fault, and he knew it. He sighed inwardly, wishing that he'd been able to keep his mouth shut when they'd been in that pub. He should have known better than to challenge that young hothead; instead, he'd more or less had a contest to see who could throw the most damning insults, and the result should have been predictable.

"You really need to learn how to let insults slide off your back," the Doctor murmured, as though he'd read Jack's thoughts. He probably had, the immortal told himself; the Doctor's telepathic abilities were really starting to seem a little scary.

This man could read anything in his mind, like he knew Jack better than he knew himself. He wasn't sure that he wanted anyone getting that close to him, even his lover.

He'd thought that the Time Lord needed to be close to him physically to use that power of his; that he would have to be in contact with him, touch his head, something like that. But it seemed that those telepathic abilities were getting stronger with time.

If that was happening, then how long would it be before the Doctor developed other abilities that would make him seem almost invincible? Jack didn't want to think about that; it would be a little frightening to see the man he loved change that much.

But he himself had changed, hadn't he? When he'd first met the Doctor, he definitely wasn't immortal -- just a man from the future, a man who was displaced in time and would more than likely never go back to the place where he properly belonged.

There were things about him that frightened the Doctor; he could accept that, even though it bothered him that the Time Lord was wary of him at times. But the other man accepted him, and hadn't turned his back and walked away.

He'd done it before; but that had been when he was in a different body. It wasn't going to happen again, Jack was sure of that. The Doctor loved him, even with those things about what he'd become that scared the hell out of the other man. This was going to last; he'd have to be the one to walk away this time, and he knew that he wouldn't.

But thinking about their relationship wasn't getting them out of the mess they were in. His eyes made another circuit of the room, narrowing when a thought struck him. Maybe, just maybe, that would be their way out.

"Under the bed," he said tersely, moving over to the bed in the corner and dropping to his knees. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

Two beautifully gleaming swords were there, in scabbards that had been pushed under the bed, to be used as protection for whoever slept here. Jack wasn't really surprised to find them; he'd suspected that whoever used this room would have a weapon hidden here.

That had been a stroke of luck, and hopefully, that luck would hold out. They'd at least stand a chance of getting past the men outside, provided that they could both wield a sword well enough to fight their way through the crowd.

He held out one of the swords to the Time Lord, watching the Doctor's face as he took it. The other man didn't look panicked; Jack wanted to ask if he could handle a sword, but somehow the question seemed somewhat intrusive.

But he had to know; there was no way to avoid asking the question. "Do you know how to use one of these?" He hadn't meant it to come out sounding as though he doubted the Time Lord could handle himself; the tone of his own voice almost made him wince.

To his surprise, the Doctor only laughed, pulling the sword from the scabbard and hefting it in one slender hand. "Oh, I'll have no problem with this," he laughed, glancing at Jack with eyes that seemed to sparkle with the spirit of adventure. Jack was startled to see the change in the Doctor; it was as if he'd suddenly become a different man.

"Why the sudden change in attitude?" he inquired, unable to keep himself from asking. "You're acting like you're -- happy, now that we have the swords."

"I wouldn't say happy, exactly," the Doctor told him, looking out of the window again. "But I've had more than a little experience with swordfighting -- and I think that now, we have a good chance of getting out of here without shedding anyone's blood."

"At least, not more than we have to," Jack sighed, weighing his own sword in his hand. It really was a magnificent weapon, he told himself, wishing that he could keep it, but knowing that he wouldn't. The person it belonged to might need it someday.

"A sword was the cause of me losing my original hand, you know," the Doctor told him abruptly, his dark eyes fixed on Jack. "I don't think I've ever told you about that. It was a mistake on my part -- I should have been more careful."

"Good thing you were in the first hours of regeneration," Jack said, wondering why the Doctor had mentioned this now. Maybe it was a bit of nervousness coming through on the other man's part; he usually had a tendency to talk a lot when he was anxious. "If you hadn't been, then you'd have had something to worry about."

"Oh yes," the Doctor agreed, holding the length of gleaming steel in the air and glancing at the door. "Are you ready to face the horde?" he asked, a smile quirking his lips. "There aren't really that many of them. Only about half a dozen, so I think we should stand a chance."

"As ready as I'll ever be," Jack said, heading for the door. He and the Doctor stood together, ready to face whatever might be on the other side, as Jack reached for the doorknob with a hand that was steady and ready for anything.

***