Title: Fuzzy Science
By: elfin
Pairing: Jack/Doctor (Nine)
Rating: PG

In the blink of an eye, in the rush of an ancient power, the dynamics of a relationship changed.

The vulnerable psyche, chained by horrific memories, a desperate desire to atone, and protected only by the thinnest glaze of sarcasm, the strength of a sense of humour.

Like the shifts in the TARDIS’ configuration, this regeneration had moved that which had been at the surface deep down inside.  The humour was easier, the banter less forced.  But the raw emotion had been hidden under layers of defence, a defence complex it might take years to find it again.

And perversely Jack mourned the challenge, the ‘I dare you’ inherent in the eyes of his Doctor’s incarnation, lost now in the new face, in the uncaring smile of the interloper. 

When they’d first met Jack hadn’t believed it – a Time Lord, the last surviving one.  More precious than life, more dangerous than death.  Like a collector of rare objects, he’d had to have him.  But the Doctor wasn’t easy, and that just made the him all the more addictive. 

Now, suddenly Jack was the vulnerable one, his heart on his sleeve, and the confusion of cynical denial and burning desire he had sometimes caught fleetingly in the dark, star-filled eyes was now only in his own. 

He didn’t flirt with this new face.  

Rose did – she seemed okay, seemed to accept that it was the same man who’d loved her more than the universe – more than existence itself.  

Captain Jack – hero - wasn’t okay.  He’d flirted because the Doctor – his Doctor, Nyne, had allowed it.  He’d flirted because it was an intimacy that might have led to something more.  But now it never would, because two hundred years after the time they met, at the end of the world, the love of his life had died to rise again as someone else, someone different. 

Time on the TARDIS truly was relative.  He had no idea how much had actually passed since the Daleks, Satellite 5 and the absolute end of at least his world and at most his dreams for the future. 

Life had never exactly been kind to him, throwing bad shit after bad shit his way; a game dealt by a cheat with a perfect poker face.  But now all the cards were on the table, and somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea that he could beat the house. 

By the time the TARDIS materialised on Magma 9, Rose and her new Doctor, Taen, were pissed at him.  (A lovely expression he’d picked up from Rose and just the result he’d been hoping for.)  

He had a plan, of sorts.  An insane plan born of grief.  

Lonely searches of the ship’s labyrinthine corridors had eventually turned up a room he thought of as ‘the archives’ although there were no actual documents stored there.  The more he studied it, the clearer it became – that the room was the TARDIS’ memory, tall snapshots, like windows hanging in mid-air, of the ever-changing configurations of the strange ship. 

But not random changes, as he’d first imagined when the throw-laden room he’d been sleeping in had surprised him by moving from its location on the third level to inhabit the same space as the Doctor’s eclectic bedroom. 

The resulting area had been interesting, especially as the Earth-autumn-coloured fur throws under which he’d been sleeping at the time had ended up on the Doctor’s ultra-wide mattress with him still naked beneath.  And the Doctor, also naked, had been sleeping above his own covers. 

The first thing Jack had seen were the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed planets and stars on all four walls when clearly that was impossible.  Then he’d seen the Doctor, lying a foot away from him, eyes open revealing the mirror of the cosmic view. 

Jack knew he should have kissed him then, should have pinned him to the bed and made it clear exactly what was on offer.  But it wasn’t like talking some easy humanoid alien into a quick romp.  This was the Doctor, a Time Lord, and Jack was falling faster and deeper than he’d realised.  

Now it was too late and some mad-eyed, mad-haired stranger was in his place. 

However hard Rose insisted – it wasn’t the man he knew.  It wasn’t the man he loved.  But out there, in time, was his Doctor.  And during the long hours studying the archives, he’d realised that there was a way to go back. 

The TARDIS changed not randomly but with space and time.  As they moved forwards and backwards, as they passed points – markers – in space, the configuration altered.  But always around twelve presets.  The Doctor existed out of time, but the ship did not.  Each Doctor made his own impression, left his own memory, facets of his personality, his mark on the TARDIS.  And the TARDIS remembered.
When they moved through a place and time his Doctor had existed in, the TARDIS shifted, recalled his memory, stamped it on the pattern of things already being shaped by the interloper.  Taen.  The tenth.  

Taking into account the one original architecture, whose was the eleventh pattern? 

Jack didn’t think too long on that.  He didn’t really care.  Because he’d discovered another room too, a room hidden in the plans, that looked bigger than the flight deck.  A room marked only as ‘Vault’.  He’d only found it because he’d known about it – he’d dreamt about it.  And in his deepening insanity, his growing obsession, he believed the TARDIS had told him about it, believed it was where he’d find his Doctor. 
It took him a long time to work out how to locate it.  All the time Taen was aboard he was imposing his presence, his character, on Nyne’s and the others’ configurations.  And without a map in an ever-shifting, currently-evolving environment, it was an impossible thing to find a specific place. 

So Jack started to suggest a return to the Magma constellation, to Magma 9 – the pleasure planet - where the happy three had once stopped an evil green goo from spoiling a particularly good party.  Nyne had told them no Doctor had ever been there before.  His presence there then was untainted, the preset pattern uncorrupted, unblended. 

It was how Jack needed it, how he wanted it.  Once the idea was in Rose’s head and she and Taen were set on going, turning on the whiny yank act had been a synch.  Thus the short, sharp row when they’d arrived and Jack being alone in the TARDIS with the other two safely off searching for a good time. 

Jack followed the archive’s map of Nyne’s formation, the layout the TARDIS had shifted to when they’d moved into the locality.  He found the vault with ease, as if the ship had opened up the shortest distance for him, and stepped inside with the every certainty of finding what he was looking for. 

It was a graveyard.  A mausoleum.  Stretching away into the distance until trying to see the end made his eyes hurt and his head ache.  It was cold, like being outside during a cold night on Earth.  The grass under his feet was too green, the stars in the night sky too bright, like tiny halogen light bulbs, winking at him as if inviting him to share a joke he didn’t get. 

He started to walk further in, glancing at the smooth, blank stones rising out of the fake ground.  His common sense told him there couldn’t possibly be anyone buried here – it was just a room aboard the TARDIS after all. 

But it was still a creepy place. 

Looking into the darkness ahead he thought he could make out a figure in the shadows.  Maybe an echo of himself.  Maybe not. 

He glanced back at the out-of-place door in the illusion of distance behind him.  So long, so much planning just to get to this place, did he really just want to leave?  What about the Doctor?  Why would Nyne be here? 

But the figure in front of him was coming closer.  And in the next moment he recognised the slope of the wide shoulders, the oval of the head, the long, inviting neck – Jack was paralysed. 

The moon, impossibly, came out.  His Doctor stood before him, eyes wide, reaching to put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and in a flash, before Jack could speak a word or move a muscle, they were no longer in the vault. 

They were back in the space resulting from the merging of Jack’s room and Nyne’s.  They were lying on the bed, face to face, just as they had been that time, and the universe was still being reflected in the Doctor’s eyes. 

“What the hell…?” 

And Nyne answered him, very softly, very gently.  “What are you doing here?” 

“Where’s here?” 

“In the vault.” 

Jack shook his head.  “But this isn’t….” 

“Yes, it is.”  Quietly.  “The vault’s everywhere.” 

“So how come it took me so long to find it?” 

“Because once you’re in you can’t get out.  It’s where we go once we regenerate, where our memories and experiences are stored.”  The Doctor pushed himself up onto one elbow and Jack followed suit, scant inches between them.  “Too much history to hold inside one brain – even one as big as a Time Lord’s.”  

That old ego, the serious words disguised by the flippant tone.  Jack felt his eyes stinging with grief.  All this was his Doctor, and all this was gone. 

“…he’ll draw on it,” the Doctor was saying, “like a back up memory that can be accessed with just a thought.”  The smile on Nyne’s face brightened and lit up the recent darkness of Jack’s existence.  “Right now you’re probably giving me – him – a real headache.” 

“You said I couldn’t leave, there’s no way out?” 

“That’s right,” and the serious expression was back – an accessory to the tone.  “You’re a part of the fabric of the TARDIS now.” 

“But the TARDIS told me about this place.  It brought me here.” 

“And it’s trapped you here.  Tell me, Captain, does ‘Bad Wolf’ sound friendly to you?” 

Jack wasn’t sure if the complete lack of panic was a surprise or not.  “Why would it do that?” 

Nyne reached out to touch Jack’s rough face, his silken hair, to run a lazy thumb over his bottom lip.  Jack’s eyes closed, but not before he’d seen the apology in the Doctor’s face. 

“It must have been listening.  I missed you.  I pushed the knowledge of you to the forefront of my mind and my regenerated self went to find you.  I knew you were still alive, the TARDIS told me, teased me for a while.  When I – he – found you it turned melancholy.  It’s my fault you’re here.” 

Jack opened his eyes, reached up and caught the Doctor’s hand by the wrist.  “What about you?  Are you going to vanish?  Leave me again?”  A small shake of the head, a silent promise made.  “Then it’s okay, isn’t it?”
He let go of the Doctor’s wrist and started his own, careful investigation of the other man’s face and neck, braving a hand under the fallen lapel of the leather jacket, up over one shoulder where T-shirt met warm skin.

“The TARDIS isn’t such a bad girl,” he murmured as he leaned in to steal a second kiss, hoping this one would last longer than the first one did.
 
end