sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-17 10:25 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-17 10:25 am
Entry tags:
The TARDIS House Rules, 2/2
Title: The TARDIS House Rules, Part 2/2
Rating: PG
Summary: Life with the Doctor is both simple and complex, but fortunately Nicholas and Donna have the Whenkipedia to guide them.
Spoilers: Through the finale of season four.
***
The Doctor is feared and revered by civilisations across the known worlds. He doesn't need either from you.
Nicholas is not certain how he came to be here.
There is an odd role-reversal in his position; he remembers waking on Gwen's sofa once with Jack's hand resting gently on his hair. Then, it was odd to be comforted so...so personally by the leader of Torchwood, by his employer, for all Jack is an affectionate and friendly man. Now it is equally strange to be sitting on an alien bed on an alien world with an alien's head in his lap, ruffling the Doctor's fine, messy hair while the Doctor sleeps.
He wasn't even certain the Doctor needed sleep until now.
He'd seemed all right at dinner, though he also seemed to look to Donna for reassurance more than usual, after his trip to the Emerald Falls went horribly awry. Nicholas had heard the story of course, it was on all the newsvids, and he'd gotten drips and drabs out of the Doctor himself, enough to know that it was harrowing even for him.
There is a depth in the Doctor's eyes, a spark or perhaps a force of nature, something that always reminds Nicholas that this man is not human, is not even close. Whatever it is, when the Doctor spoke of the thing outside in the poisonous sunlight his eyes had bottomed out and become great yawning dark pits, and even Donna had looked away.
Nicholas rests his fingers against the Doctor's head, above and a little behind his ear, thumb exploring the shape of it, the too-human ridges of cartilage under skin. What kind of cosmic joke must it be, that the Time Lords are so ancient and so wise -- his Time Lord, anyway -- and yet look so very human.
He'd been close to sleep when the Doctor rang the chime on his door and came in almost without asking, pacing back and forth, talking about what they ought to do the next day and debating, with himself, the merits of Donna's impending seaweed wrap -- "Seaweed, I mean really? It's wet leaves, and you know osmosis doesn't work the way I think most humans think it does!" -- until Nicholas finally caught his arm and made him stop.
The Doctor had looked down at the hand on his arm, and his face had taken on a sort of crushed, frightened look.
"I couldn't move," he'd said softly, and Nicholas had found himself with his arms around the untouchable Doctor, marveling at how such a huge presence really was so incredibly slight. He knows now that he can probably pick the Doctor up bodily if he ever has to, and Nicholas is not a large man to begin with.
The Doctor is fragile, which is something he never expected to think, let alone understand. His body can be taken away from him, and was. Faced with an alien he couldn't communicate with, couldn't understand then and can't now, the Doctor lost his control.
He can feel the Doctor's touch on his mind in sleep, though he never has before. Nicholas has no telepathic ability whatsoever, Torchwood taught him that. Still, he can feel it now, like a whisper in his ear, and he opens obediently and lets the Doctor inside. Feels him sifting through his memories.
No, he won't give the Doctor his boring childhood, his little tragedies and triumphs, not like he once did for John Hart; the Doctor doesn't want ordinary, doesn't like domestic. And he can't very well give him the wonders he's seen at Torchwood and in the TARDIS, because the wonders of the universe are tainted for the Doctor tonight. There's precious little left, really.
Donna would know what to do. Jack, even, might know. Donna would probably shout but she'd know the right words, and Jack is past-master at distracting people from their thoughts. Nicholas is just a provider of creature comforts. This would be so much easier if all the Doctor needed was a cup of tea or a banana sandwich (yuck).
The Doctor has no need to show off his power, has never treated Nicholas as if he were less than a person, as if he were less than the companions that traveled in the TARDIS before him. But he can feel something, where the Doctor touches on his mind, and with a relieved sigh he understands. It isn't memory or feeling the Doctor is seeking.
His body was taken from him and he was locked up inside his own head. That would be hard enough for a human, but for the Doctor it speaks to darker urges -- the drive to dominate, a well-hidden instinct to destroy anything he can't be master of. And Nicholas knows now what he needs.
He throws the doors wide, metaphorically, and lets the Doctor take his mind, lets the alien consciousness wrap around him and control him without flinching. The Doctor fills his thoughts, every inch of them, stretching and laughing, and for a moment Nicholas thinks he's made a terrible mistake --
But then the laughter turns gentle, the stretch and flex of mental muscles becomes a cradling gesture. The Doctor surrounds and protects him, walls him away from the world like a guardian. This is not a hostile invasion, not a theft. The Doctor needed to know that he isn't the creature that lives out in the flat hot wilds on the diamond planet. Master of the dark places, king of himself, the Doctor simply surrounds him with warmth and takes nothing not freely offered.
Nicholas is the one sitting with the Doctor's head cradled against his body, but the Doctor is the one holding Nicholas, and the Doctor is pleased to hold and protect, not to imprison and destroy.
He cards his fingers through the Doctor's hair affectionately. So typical of his Doctor, not to fear death but to fear becoming the Other, the monster.
"There you are," he says softly, when the Doctor's body shudders and the last of the tension, even in sleep, eases away. "Was that so hard?"
For just a moment, as the Doctor slips into dreams, the universe sings for Nicholas.
***
Please make every attempt not to create or enter parallel universes.
Edit, CJHarkness: Catty, Martha.
Nicholas despairs of Donna's clothing.
He's tried, God knows he's tried. He's jettisoned the most egregious offenders in transit, but somehow she always buys more, and the TARDIS, faithless whore, encourages her by providing replacements in the wardrobe room. They've left a trail of horrible clothing across time and space that's probably a marvel to behold.
Marketplace is a bazaar planet, that's what the Doctor called it. Nicholas got two minutes' great taunting out of that, playing Bizarre against Bazaar and making Donna weep with laughter as he bickered back and forth with the Doctor. Off in the distance he can see the super-hyper-malls that the Doctor described, but true to form they make their visit to the alleyway markets, the narrow cart-filled district where all the real shopping gets done.
"Donna," Nicholas calls, distracting her from an examination of a spice-merchant's wares. "Come here a minute!"
"Oh, darling, it'd look brilliant on you," she says, when he holds up a fitted brocade dress.
"I thought for you," he replies, because it would look gorgeous on her and also he is totally secure in his masculinity and wore a kilt to his university graduation ball.
"My tits'd never fit," she sighs. And Nicholas sighs. And he thinks maybe the Doctor sighs too just a little.
"We could have it altered," Nicholas offers. "Buy a few, we'll take them back to like, what, the 1980s, I know a great tailor in Cardiff."
The Doctor shoots him a warning look, but Nicholas just grins at him and pushes the dress at Donna.
"I like my clothes," Donna says, gesturing to the billowy shirt and formless trousers and gigantic belt. "Are you telling me you don't like my clothes?"
Self-preservation is strong in Nicholas.
"Just thought you'd like a change, that's all," he says resignedly, putting the dress back.
"She's right, you know," the Doctor grins at him as Donna wanders off. "You'd look a treat in that."
"Go on," Nicholas laughs, then mimics Donna (badly). "Don't you like my clothes?"
"Just thought you'd like a change," the Doctor replies, in what is apparently supposed to be a rendering of Nicholas's accent. "Right then. What's it going to be? Pressies for you and Donna?"
"Food," Nicholas says decidedly. "I could just do with a stir-fry. You buy, I'll cook."
"Fair enough," the Doctor says, watching Donna strike up a conversation somewhere distant. "What about those little things with the crab in, they're fried, you know -- "
"Crab rangoon," Nicholas says. "Oh yes. Come along then."
For once Nicholas makes the Doctor carry everything, wandering from stall to stall and shoving his way to the front. He buys something that looks mostly chicken-like, listening to the Doctor talk about the Avian Plague and how chickens are a delicacy in the future. He buys mushrooms (no shortage of them) and peppers and bamboo shoots and water-chestnuts, oil and spices and vinegar and a salty almost-soy sauce, and a mess of pre-made sort-of-rangoons he can re-heat later.
"Do you know what I don't understand?" the Doctor says, staggering under the bags and cartons he's loaded with.
"Can't be much, and I wouldn't think you'd admit it if there was," Nicholas answers.
"Don't take the piss, young Nicholas. I don't understand how cooking even survived. Most spacefaring cultures have boiled it down to some kind of caloric substance that provides energy, laced with the necessary minerals, vitamins, and other...things you need. It's an incredible undertaking just getting a cow from one country to the next, let alone interplanetary cow-herding. And yet there's the Galactic Chisholm Trail, there are space-cowboys, and everywhere you go..." he ducks just in time to escape being clobbered by a flailing, soon-to-be-dinner fowl of some kind, "...wherever humanity travels, the food goes with them. Species who've forgotten they even had tastebuds pay outrageous sums to eat in human cookeries."
"Do Time Lords not cook, then?"
"Well, we can. I make a very good scone," the Doctor answers, but he looks sad, and Nicholas feels like an ass for bringing up the Time Lords at all. "I mean I understand why people eat, food is delicious, just not how it escaped the more practical considerations of humanity."
"Humans have touched every star," Nicholas says absently. "When you're far away, sometimes all you can think about is where you came from. Telly shows, the buildings on your street...food. There's nothing that smells like a nice seared steak, or a bit of curry and naan. It's the taste of home."
"Talking of, here we are," the Doctor says, nudging the door of the TARDIS open with a shoulder. He dumps the groceries in the little kitchen, dusts his hands, and smiles at Nicholas. "Suppertime?"
"Ten or fifteen minutes," Nicholas agrees, cracking his knuckles. "Best go get Donna. And see if you can pick up another bottle of wine?"
The Doctor is gone not three minutes when the lights suddenly go out.
That can't be good.
They come on again, just as Nicholas is fumbling around to try and locate whatever the Time Lord equivalent of a torch is. They're red and eerie, and there's a strange chime in the background, like a clocktower perpetually striking.
When the Doctor and Donna burst into the TARDIS they are just in time to catch Nicholas having a furious argument with the TARDIS in the control room. He breaks off in the middle of telling her that she is being a very naughty spaceship and stares at them, because the Doctor has gone white and Donna looks like she's been through hell.
"What's Bad Wolf?" she demands of the Doctor, but Nicholas knows; he's read Rose's account of it, and it gave him chills.
"The end of the universe," the Doctor says, and Nicholas knows too that there will be no wine and stir-fry and satiated storytelling about their adventures on Marketplace this evening.
"Damn," he says feelingly.
***
There is another world, a world without the Doctor, without the fragile protection he affords the small planet teeming with life. In that world, ravaged by alien races and human greed, Nicholas stands in front of the Tourist Information Centre in Cardiff on the Plass, bags on the ground in front of him. In his pocket is a key; old-fashioned, perhaps, but the only key that will open the only panel that will allow access to Torchwood Three's base. He is the only one left who knows the access code, though of course there are upper-echelon codes that could override the lock entirely.
Plastic sheeting has been placed over the remaining chairs and desks. The medical supplies and any useful tools have been sent on to Glasgow; likewise any alien tech that hasn't been permanently archived. Nicholas himself, like the last complex piece of equipment, is bound for Torchwood Two on the next transport north.
Being Torchwood affords him some luxuries that others won't get, like speedy reassignment and guaranteed employment on arrival.
The Rift will have to mind itself in the ghost town Cardiff has become as the radiation cloud threatens. If a monster does come through, it will find itself in potentially harsher climes than it left. There will be no humans here for it to feed on.
The alien-design generators will run for a thousand years, keeping the Hub's security intact, the morgue and and the cryo units functional. As a precaution, before he completed the closedown, Nicholas exhumed Jack's brother, shot him twice in the head, and buried him in Bute Park. If Jack comes back, Nicholas will ask forgiveness, but it won't really matter if he doesn't get it. If Jack never returns, then he'll never know.
Nicholas has learned to be hard. Being left behind to mind the Hub while Gwen and Ianto and Jack went off to destroy the Sontarans was the final straw. Still, he is Torchwood and he promised to serve her to his death. He will go home, to Scotland, to Torchwood Two and its shiny new government grant for weapons research. He has a purpose still.
He adjusts Jack's coat around his shoulders, picks up his two small bags -- clothes, gun, one or two books, the last of the carefully hoarded and rationed coffee beans (good for barter) -- and begins the long walk to the UNIT staging area, the first step of the journey out of Cardiff.
The stars don't look so inviting as they once did.
And soon, there are no stars at all.
***
You are not immortal. There have been others before you and will be others after you.
When it is all over -- the shouting, the deaths, the Daleks, the threats, the guns, the Reality Bomb, the genocide of the Dalek race -- when all this is finished, Nicholas stands in the shadows and watches as one by one the Companions fall.
Mrs. Tyler is the first, and she falls asleep in the TARDIS control room itself. Nicholas catches Jack's eye and together they carry her into one of the myriad bedrooms. Jack, having sat down long enough to ease the blankets up over Mrs. Tyler, yawns hugely and barely manages to stagger to another room, one arm over Nicholas's shoulders.
"We saved the universe," Jack says to him. "And everyone's still alive."
Not everyone is still alive, but Nicholas knows that he means Torchwood. He brushes Jack's hair off his forehead and leaves him to sleep. It's strange to see the real Jack in the TARDIS after a year of only seeing the slightly-translucent holo!Jack.
As he returns to the control room he passes one of the Doctors -- that's going to take some getting used to -- leading Mickey and Martha to someplace they can rest. He passes Sarah Jane Smith, too, the famous Sarah Jane whose exploits he's read about in the Whenkipedia, and offers her directions to an empty room.
By the time he's returned to the control room, the Doctor (the other one) is helping Donna along.
"I need to..." the Doctor hesitates. "Stay with her for a bit. Are you all right, Nicholas?"
"Fine, thanks," Nicholas says. "Thought I'd brew some tea."
"Brilliant," the Doctor beams. "Save some for me."
"Of course," Nicholas beams back. He does love the Doctor, even when there are two of him.
There's still someone in the control room, however.
"Hello, miss," he says quietly, and she turns and gives him a startled look. "We weren't introduced before."
"I don't think I know you," she replies.
"You wouldn't," he says. "I'm not very important."
"You must be a bit, or you wouldn't be here," she smiles, and that is when Nicholas knows he's going to like Rose Tyler.
"Well, I make pretty good tea. Would you like some?" he offers.
Rose sits at the table in the little kitchen, watching him serenely as he fills the kettle, puts it on the hob, pours some strange yellow alien tea into a tea-bag, and places it in the pot.
"What's your name?" she asks, resting her chin on her fists.
"Nicholas," he says. "I work for Jack Harkness. Well -- used to."
"Before the Doctor?"
"Something like that. I think it's time I went back, though," Nicholas adds, studying the kitchen, realising he won't be there for much longer. "I always told the Doctor I wouldn't stay forever."
"You must be the only one, then."
"We all have our passions, Miss Tyler. Mine is Torchwood."
She tilts her head. "How'd you know my name?"
"I've heard a lot about you." He pours the water into the pot -- the TARDIS has a really good hob -- and carries it to the table along with two mugs. "Milk?"
"Please. Good things, I hope?"
"Certainly. But it was Jack telling them, so it could hardly be otherwise."
She laughs as he fetches the milk and sugar.
"This is very civilised, all things considered," she says.
"I could get down the biscuit tin if you want."
"Nah. Tea's enough."
Nicholas nods and pours, and watches as she adds the milk and sips.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure, miss."
"You can call me Rose." She sips again. "So you're going home with Jack? Are you and he...?"
Nicholas laughs. "God, no. He's got a boyfriend. And his boyfriend has a gun, so..."
He's never thought about Rose Tyler giggling; in his mind she was solemn and smart and the Doctor's perfect fit. And she is perfect for him, but not in a way Nicholas had ever thought.
"Someone managed to tie down Jack?" she asks, when she's done laughing.
"Ianto Jones -- the bloke you saw on the monitor with Gwen."
"Can't blame Jack for that."
"No."
They drink in silence for a while, until eventually the Doctor returns -- the one in the blue suit has buggered off somewhere, but the one in the brown suit, the one that Nicholas thinks of as his, pours himself a cup of tea and sits down with them.
Nicholas knows he is leaving, and he is leaving much more happily than many have left the TARDIS. He thinks Donna will stay on, hopes so; what would she do on Earth, after all? The famous Sarah Jane has a son to go home to, and Martha will come back with him and Jack. Rose...god knows what will happen to Rose. God knows what will happen to the two Doctors.
"Nicholas," the Doctor says, and strong fingers tip his chin up. "No staring into your tea tonight. You have one last night on the TARDIS -- "
" -- you knew?" Nicholas asks, surprised.
" -- I did, yes, well, lucky guess -- and you shouldn't spend it in the kitchen drinking tea."
Nicholas glances at Rose. Her smile is warm and open, and though he would have thought the Doctor would only have eyes for her, the Doctor is looking at Nicholas still.
"Actually," Nicholas says, "I don't think I'd mind it this way."
"Sit down," Rose says softly to the Doctor. "Introduce me to your Nicholas."
"Rose, this is Nicholas," the Doctor says. "He does for me. Nicholas, this is Rose. She saved me."
Nicholas loses track of time, sitting in the warm kitchen listening to the Doctor and Rose tell stories, but eventually the others wake up, and slowly they trickle in until there's nothing for it but to leave the little table and put another kettle on, and then perhaps some eggs, and of course fried bread (Jack loves fried bread) and sausages for Mickey and Sarah Jane and if he's going to make sausages he'll have enough time to make some porridge...
Nicholas spends his last morning aboard the TARDIS happily making breakfast for the Companions and the two Doctors, serving it as they sit together and laugh together. The only dark spot is the Doctor in the blue suit, who smiles when someone smiles at him but the rest of the time seems to watch Rose, unblinkingly, and accepts food only from her hands or from Nicholas.
"Are you coming home?" Jack asks, wiping his mouth with his thumb and catching Nicholas's sleeve with his other hand as he passes.
"Yes, Captain," Nicholas says.
"Good. Ianto pines for you."
"That's a bald untruth, Jack," Nicholas laughs. "But I'll come home anyway."
Earth is crisp and cool and the rains come not ten minutes after they disembark from the TARDIS. Martha and Mickey swear and laugh and start to run; Jack pulls his coat over his head and follows, and Nicholas pelts after them, enjoying the rain and the fresh air and the feel of solid ground beneath his feet as he runs for the Hub and home.
***
Life is never the same after the Doctor. You should know that.
Edit, NicholasE: Except when it is.
Edit, CJHarkness: Cheeky bastard.
It is a truth that there is more than one parallel world, and that meddling with physics and time can cause changes that one man may not notice and another man may see. Nicholas is shocked, when he returns to the Hub, to find that there is no John Hart in this Torchwood; that Martha never left UNIT (though she is now, which is nice); that not as much time has passed for them as for him. He realises fairly quickly what the problem is; whether it's a ripple in time that washes past those who've traveled in the TARDIS or whether he really did slip through from another universe, it's pretty immaterial. Six of one, half-dozen of the other.
It's peculiar, but he adjusts. He doesn't bother telling anyone; it seems like bad taste to mention it, the fact that Nicholas is not in his right universe. Besides, after three or four weeks the feeling goes away.
The things that really matter are the same: Jack flirts with everyone and everything, but only means it with Ianto; Gwen and Rhys are nauseatingly adorable; Martha is lippy and brilliant and good for Jack; Owen and Tosh are the honoured dead. Myfanwy is pissed at Nicholas for going away, but forgives him when he brings her a huge slab of ahi tuna. His mum is even more pissed that he hasn't returned her calls, but an hour on the phone with her settles her mind. Even his family is thriving; his younger brother got into Swansea, so he won't be far away when term time comes around, and the youngest has a girlfriend Mum disapproves of (which means she must be all right). Martha, of course, Nicholas is well used to; he greets Tom like an old friend, which confuses the hell out of Tom for a while, but he gets over it. Mickey he's never known, and doesn't like much, but then he didn't really like Owen much either, and certainly he and John Hart had their moments, so there's always got to be one. And Mickey does do a good job, at least.
These are the important things: that his people are happy, that they have hope, that they know love.
"You seem like you're settling back in decently," Ianto says to him one morning, as they stand on the Plass sipping coffees and waiting for a lorry delivery from UNIT. "D'you miss it?"
"Yes and no," Nicholas replies. "It was brilliant while it lasted, but this is my home."
"Good," Ianto says. "Ready to face the future head on instead of sneaking up behind it and coshing it?"
Nicholas laughs.
"Yes," he says.
END
Next in the series: International Rules
Rating: PG
Summary: Life with the Doctor is both simple and complex, but fortunately Nicholas and Donna have the Whenkipedia to guide them.
Spoilers: Through the finale of season four.
***
The Doctor is feared and revered by civilisations across the known worlds. He doesn't need either from you.
Nicholas is not certain how he came to be here.
There is an odd role-reversal in his position; he remembers waking on Gwen's sofa once with Jack's hand resting gently on his hair. Then, it was odd to be comforted so...so personally by the leader of Torchwood, by his employer, for all Jack is an affectionate and friendly man. Now it is equally strange to be sitting on an alien bed on an alien world with an alien's head in his lap, ruffling the Doctor's fine, messy hair while the Doctor sleeps.
He wasn't even certain the Doctor needed sleep until now.
He'd seemed all right at dinner, though he also seemed to look to Donna for reassurance more than usual, after his trip to the Emerald Falls went horribly awry. Nicholas had heard the story of course, it was on all the newsvids, and he'd gotten drips and drabs out of the Doctor himself, enough to know that it was harrowing even for him.
There is a depth in the Doctor's eyes, a spark or perhaps a force of nature, something that always reminds Nicholas that this man is not human, is not even close. Whatever it is, when the Doctor spoke of the thing outside in the poisonous sunlight his eyes had bottomed out and become great yawning dark pits, and even Donna had looked away.
Nicholas rests his fingers against the Doctor's head, above and a little behind his ear, thumb exploring the shape of it, the too-human ridges of cartilage under skin. What kind of cosmic joke must it be, that the Time Lords are so ancient and so wise -- his Time Lord, anyway -- and yet look so very human.
He'd been close to sleep when the Doctor rang the chime on his door and came in almost without asking, pacing back and forth, talking about what they ought to do the next day and debating, with himself, the merits of Donna's impending seaweed wrap -- "Seaweed, I mean really? It's wet leaves, and you know osmosis doesn't work the way I think most humans think it does!" -- until Nicholas finally caught his arm and made him stop.
The Doctor had looked down at the hand on his arm, and his face had taken on a sort of crushed, frightened look.
"I couldn't move," he'd said softly, and Nicholas had found himself with his arms around the untouchable Doctor, marveling at how such a huge presence really was so incredibly slight. He knows now that he can probably pick the Doctor up bodily if he ever has to, and Nicholas is not a large man to begin with.
The Doctor is fragile, which is something he never expected to think, let alone understand. His body can be taken away from him, and was. Faced with an alien he couldn't communicate with, couldn't understand then and can't now, the Doctor lost his control.
He can feel the Doctor's touch on his mind in sleep, though he never has before. Nicholas has no telepathic ability whatsoever, Torchwood taught him that. Still, he can feel it now, like a whisper in his ear, and he opens obediently and lets the Doctor inside. Feels him sifting through his memories.
No, he won't give the Doctor his boring childhood, his little tragedies and triumphs, not like he once did for John Hart; the Doctor doesn't want ordinary, doesn't like domestic. And he can't very well give him the wonders he's seen at Torchwood and in the TARDIS, because the wonders of the universe are tainted for the Doctor tonight. There's precious little left, really.
Donna would know what to do. Jack, even, might know. Donna would probably shout but she'd know the right words, and Jack is past-master at distracting people from their thoughts. Nicholas is just a provider of creature comforts. This would be so much easier if all the Doctor needed was a cup of tea or a banana sandwich (yuck).
The Doctor has no need to show off his power, has never treated Nicholas as if he were less than a person, as if he were less than the companions that traveled in the TARDIS before him. But he can feel something, where the Doctor touches on his mind, and with a relieved sigh he understands. It isn't memory or feeling the Doctor is seeking.
His body was taken from him and he was locked up inside his own head. That would be hard enough for a human, but for the Doctor it speaks to darker urges -- the drive to dominate, a well-hidden instinct to destroy anything he can't be master of. And Nicholas knows now what he needs.
He throws the doors wide, metaphorically, and lets the Doctor take his mind, lets the alien consciousness wrap around him and control him without flinching. The Doctor fills his thoughts, every inch of them, stretching and laughing, and for a moment Nicholas thinks he's made a terrible mistake --
But then the laughter turns gentle, the stretch and flex of mental muscles becomes a cradling gesture. The Doctor surrounds and protects him, walls him away from the world like a guardian. This is not a hostile invasion, not a theft. The Doctor needed to know that he isn't the creature that lives out in the flat hot wilds on the diamond planet. Master of the dark places, king of himself, the Doctor simply surrounds him with warmth and takes nothing not freely offered.
Nicholas is the one sitting with the Doctor's head cradled against his body, but the Doctor is the one holding Nicholas, and the Doctor is pleased to hold and protect, not to imprison and destroy.
He cards his fingers through the Doctor's hair affectionately. So typical of his Doctor, not to fear death but to fear becoming the Other, the monster.
"There you are," he says softly, when the Doctor's body shudders and the last of the tension, even in sleep, eases away. "Was that so hard?"
For just a moment, as the Doctor slips into dreams, the universe sings for Nicholas.
***
Please make every attempt not to create or enter parallel universes.
Edit, CJHarkness: Catty, Martha.
Nicholas despairs of Donna's clothing.
He's tried, God knows he's tried. He's jettisoned the most egregious offenders in transit, but somehow she always buys more, and the TARDIS, faithless whore, encourages her by providing replacements in the wardrobe room. They've left a trail of horrible clothing across time and space that's probably a marvel to behold.
Marketplace is a bazaar planet, that's what the Doctor called it. Nicholas got two minutes' great taunting out of that, playing Bizarre against Bazaar and making Donna weep with laughter as he bickered back and forth with the Doctor. Off in the distance he can see the super-hyper-malls that the Doctor described, but true to form they make their visit to the alleyway markets, the narrow cart-filled district where all the real shopping gets done.
"Donna," Nicholas calls, distracting her from an examination of a spice-merchant's wares. "Come here a minute!"
"Oh, darling, it'd look brilliant on you," she says, when he holds up a fitted brocade dress.
"I thought for you," he replies, because it would look gorgeous on her and also he is totally secure in his masculinity and wore a kilt to his university graduation ball.
"My tits'd never fit," she sighs. And Nicholas sighs. And he thinks maybe the Doctor sighs too just a little.
"We could have it altered," Nicholas offers. "Buy a few, we'll take them back to like, what, the 1980s, I know a great tailor in Cardiff."
The Doctor shoots him a warning look, but Nicholas just grins at him and pushes the dress at Donna.
"I like my clothes," Donna says, gesturing to the billowy shirt and formless trousers and gigantic belt. "Are you telling me you don't like my clothes?"
Self-preservation is strong in Nicholas.
"Just thought you'd like a change, that's all," he says resignedly, putting the dress back.
"She's right, you know," the Doctor grins at him as Donna wanders off. "You'd look a treat in that."
"Go on," Nicholas laughs, then mimics Donna (badly). "Don't you like my clothes?"
"Just thought you'd like a change," the Doctor replies, in what is apparently supposed to be a rendering of Nicholas's accent. "Right then. What's it going to be? Pressies for you and Donna?"
"Food," Nicholas says decidedly. "I could just do with a stir-fry. You buy, I'll cook."
"Fair enough," the Doctor says, watching Donna strike up a conversation somewhere distant. "What about those little things with the crab in, they're fried, you know -- "
"Crab rangoon," Nicholas says. "Oh yes. Come along then."
For once Nicholas makes the Doctor carry everything, wandering from stall to stall and shoving his way to the front. He buys something that looks mostly chicken-like, listening to the Doctor talk about the Avian Plague and how chickens are a delicacy in the future. He buys mushrooms (no shortage of them) and peppers and bamboo shoots and water-chestnuts, oil and spices and vinegar and a salty almost-soy sauce, and a mess of pre-made sort-of-rangoons he can re-heat later.
"Do you know what I don't understand?" the Doctor says, staggering under the bags and cartons he's loaded with.
"Can't be much, and I wouldn't think you'd admit it if there was," Nicholas answers.
"Don't take the piss, young Nicholas. I don't understand how cooking even survived. Most spacefaring cultures have boiled it down to some kind of caloric substance that provides energy, laced with the necessary minerals, vitamins, and other...things you need. It's an incredible undertaking just getting a cow from one country to the next, let alone interplanetary cow-herding. And yet there's the Galactic Chisholm Trail, there are space-cowboys, and everywhere you go..." he ducks just in time to escape being clobbered by a flailing, soon-to-be-dinner fowl of some kind, "...wherever humanity travels, the food goes with them. Species who've forgotten they even had tastebuds pay outrageous sums to eat in human cookeries."
"Do Time Lords not cook, then?"
"Well, we can. I make a very good scone," the Doctor answers, but he looks sad, and Nicholas feels like an ass for bringing up the Time Lords at all. "I mean I understand why people eat, food is delicious, just not how it escaped the more practical considerations of humanity."
"Humans have touched every star," Nicholas says absently. "When you're far away, sometimes all you can think about is where you came from. Telly shows, the buildings on your street...food. There's nothing that smells like a nice seared steak, or a bit of curry and naan. It's the taste of home."
"Talking of, here we are," the Doctor says, nudging the door of the TARDIS open with a shoulder. He dumps the groceries in the little kitchen, dusts his hands, and smiles at Nicholas. "Suppertime?"
"Ten or fifteen minutes," Nicholas agrees, cracking his knuckles. "Best go get Donna. And see if you can pick up another bottle of wine?"
The Doctor is gone not three minutes when the lights suddenly go out.
That can't be good.
They come on again, just as Nicholas is fumbling around to try and locate whatever the Time Lord equivalent of a torch is. They're red and eerie, and there's a strange chime in the background, like a clocktower perpetually striking.
When the Doctor and Donna burst into the TARDIS they are just in time to catch Nicholas having a furious argument with the TARDIS in the control room. He breaks off in the middle of telling her that she is being a very naughty spaceship and stares at them, because the Doctor has gone white and Donna looks like she's been through hell.
"What's Bad Wolf?" she demands of the Doctor, but Nicholas knows; he's read Rose's account of it, and it gave him chills.
"The end of the universe," the Doctor says, and Nicholas knows too that there will be no wine and stir-fry and satiated storytelling about their adventures on Marketplace this evening.
"Damn," he says feelingly.
***
There is another world, a world without the Doctor, without the fragile protection he affords the small planet teeming with life. In that world, ravaged by alien races and human greed, Nicholas stands in front of the Tourist Information Centre in Cardiff on the Plass, bags on the ground in front of him. In his pocket is a key; old-fashioned, perhaps, but the only key that will open the only panel that will allow access to Torchwood Three's base. He is the only one left who knows the access code, though of course there are upper-echelon codes that could override the lock entirely.
Plastic sheeting has been placed over the remaining chairs and desks. The medical supplies and any useful tools have been sent on to Glasgow; likewise any alien tech that hasn't been permanently archived. Nicholas himself, like the last complex piece of equipment, is bound for Torchwood Two on the next transport north.
Being Torchwood affords him some luxuries that others won't get, like speedy reassignment and guaranteed employment on arrival.
The Rift will have to mind itself in the ghost town Cardiff has become as the radiation cloud threatens. If a monster does come through, it will find itself in potentially harsher climes than it left. There will be no humans here for it to feed on.
The alien-design generators will run for a thousand years, keeping the Hub's security intact, the morgue and and the cryo units functional. As a precaution, before he completed the closedown, Nicholas exhumed Jack's brother, shot him twice in the head, and buried him in Bute Park. If Jack comes back, Nicholas will ask forgiveness, but it won't really matter if he doesn't get it. If Jack never returns, then he'll never know.
Nicholas has learned to be hard. Being left behind to mind the Hub while Gwen and Ianto and Jack went off to destroy the Sontarans was the final straw. Still, he is Torchwood and he promised to serve her to his death. He will go home, to Scotland, to Torchwood Two and its shiny new government grant for weapons research. He has a purpose still.
He adjusts Jack's coat around his shoulders, picks up his two small bags -- clothes, gun, one or two books, the last of the carefully hoarded and rationed coffee beans (good for barter) -- and begins the long walk to the UNIT staging area, the first step of the journey out of Cardiff.
The stars don't look so inviting as they once did.
And soon, there are no stars at all.
***
You are not immortal. There have been others before you and will be others after you.
When it is all over -- the shouting, the deaths, the Daleks, the threats, the guns, the Reality Bomb, the genocide of the Dalek race -- when all this is finished, Nicholas stands in the shadows and watches as one by one the Companions fall.
Mrs. Tyler is the first, and she falls asleep in the TARDIS control room itself. Nicholas catches Jack's eye and together they carry her into one of the myriad bedrooms. Jack, having sat down long enough to ease the blankets up over Mrs. Tyler, yawns hugely and barely manages to stagger to another room, one arm over Nicholas's shoulders.
"We saved the universe," Jack says to him. "And everyone's still alive."
Not everyone is still alive, but Nicholas knows that he means Torchwood. He brushes Jack's hair off his forehead and leaves him to sleep. It's strange to see the real Jack in the TARDIS after a year of only seeing the slightly-translucent holo!Jack.
As he returns to the control room he passes one of the Doctors -- that's going to take some getting used to -- leading Mickey and Martha to someplace they can rest. He passes Sarah Jane Smith, too, the famous Sarah Jane whose exploits he's read about in the Whenkipedia, and offers her directions to an empty room.
By the time he's returned to the control room, the Doctor (the other one) is helping Donna along.
"I need to..." the Doctor hesitates. "Stay with her for a bit. Are you all right, Nicholas?"
"Fine, thanks," Nicholas says. "Thought I'd brew some tea."
"Brilliant," the Doctor beams. "Save some for me."
"Of course," Nicholas beams back. He does love the Doctor, even when there are two of him.
There's still someone in the control room, however.
"Hello, miss," he says quietly, and she turns and gives him a startled look. "We weren't introduced before."
"I don't think I know you," she replies.
"You wouldn't," he says. "I'm not very important."
"You must be a bit, or you wouldn't be here," she smiles, and that is when Nicholas knows he's going to like Rose Tyler.
"Well, I make pretty good tea. Would you like some?" he offers.
Rose sits at the table in the little kitchen, watching him serenely as he fills the kettle, puts it on the hob, pours some strange yellow alien tea into a tea-bag, and places it in the pot.
"What's your name?" she asks, resting her chin on her fists.
"Nicholas," he says. "I work for Jack Harkness. Well -- used to."
"Before the Doctor?"
"Something like that. I think it's time I went back, though," Nicholas adds, studying the kitchen, realising he won't be there for much longer. "I always told the Doctor I wouldn't stay forever."
"You must be the only one, then."
"We all have our passions, Miss Tyler. Mine is Torchwood."
She tilts her head. "How'd you know my name?"
"I've heard a lot about you." He pours the water into the pot -- the TARDIS has a really good hob -- and carries it to the table along with two mugs. "Milk?"
"Please. Good things, I hope?"
"Certainly. But it was Jack telling them, so it could hardly be otherwise."
She laughs as he fetches the milk and sugar.
"This is very civilised, all things considered," she says.
"I could get down the biscuit tin if you want."
"Nah. Tea's enough."
Nicholas nods and pours, and watches as she adds the milk and sips.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure, miss."
"You can call me Rose." She sips again. "So you're going home with Jack? Are you and he...?"
Nicholas laughs. "God, no. He's got a boyfriend. And his boyfriend has a gun, so..."
He's never thought about Rose Tyler giggling; in his mind she was solemn and smart and the Doctor's perfect fit. And she is perfect for him, but not in a way Nicholas had ever thought.
"Someone managed to tie down Jack?" she asks, when she's done laughing.
"Ianto Jones -- the bloke you saw on the monitor with Gwen."
"Can't blame Jack for that."
"No."
They drink in silence for a while, until eventually the Doctor returns -- the one in the blue suit has buggered off somewhere, but the one in the brown suit, the one that Nicholas thinks of as his, pours himself a cup of tea and sits down with them.
Nicholas knows he is leaving, and he is leaving much more happily than many have left the TARDIS. He thinks Donna will stay on, hopes so; what would she do on Earth, after all? The famous Sarah Jane has a son to go home to, and Martha will come back with him and Jack. Rose...god knows what will happen to Rose. God knows what will happen to the two Doctors.
"Nicholas," the Doctor says, and strong fingers tip his chin up. "No staring into your tea tonight. You have one last night on the TARDIS -- "
" -- you knew?" Nicholas asks, surprised.
" -- I did, yes, well, lucky guess -- and you shouldn't spend it in the kitchen drinking tea."
Nicholas glances at Rose. Her smile is warm and open, and though he would have thought the Doctor would only have eyes for her, the Doctor is looking at Nicholas still.
"Actually," Nicholas says, "I don't think I'd mind it this way."
"Sit down," Rose says softly to the Doctor. "Introduce me to your Nicholas."
"Rose, this is Nicholas," the Doctor says. "He does for me. Nicholas, this is Rose. She saved me."
Nicholas loses track of time, sitting in the warm kitchen listening to the Doctor and Rose tell stories, but eventually the others wake up, and slowly they trickle in until there's nothing for it but to leave the little table and put another kettle on, and then perhaps some eggs, and of course fried bread (Jack loves fried bread) and sausages for Mickey and Sarah Jane and if he's going to make sausages he'll have enough time to make some porridge...
Nicholas spends his last morning aboard the TARDIS happily making breakfast for the Companions and the two Doctors, serving it as they sit together and laugh together. The only dark spot is the Doctor in the blue suit, who smiles when someone smiles at him but the rest of the time seems to watch Rose, unblinkingly, and accepts food only from her hands or from Nicholas.
"Are you coming home?" Jack asks, wiping his mouth with his thumb and catching Nicholas's sleeve with his other hand as he passes.
"Yes, Captain," Nicholas says.
"Good. Ianto pines for you."
"That's a bald untruth, Jack," Nicholas laughs. "But I'll come home anyway."
Earth is crisp and cool and the rains come not ten minutes after they disembark from the TARDIS. Martha and Mickey swear and laugh and start to run; Jack pulls his coat over his head and follows, and Nicholas pelts after them, enjoying the rain and the fresh air and the feel of solid ground beneath his feet as he runs for the Hub and home.
***
Life is never the same after the Doctor. You should know that.
Edit, NicholasE: Except when it is.
Edit, CJHarkness: Cheeky bastard.
It is a truth that there is more than one parallel world, and that meddling with physics and time can cause changes that one man may not notice and another man may see. Nicholas is shocked, when he returns to the Hub, to find that there is no John Hart in this Torchwood; that Martha never left UNIT (though she is now, which is nice); that not as much time has passed for them as for him. He realises fairly quickly what the problem is; whether it's a ripple in time that washes past those who've traveled in the TARDIS or whether he really did slip through from another universe, it's pretty immaterial. Six of one, half-dozen of the other.
It's peculiar, but he adjusts. He doesn't bother telling anyone; it seems like bad taste to mention it, the fact that Nicholas is not in his right universe. Besides, after three or four weeks the feeling goes away.
The things that really matter are the same: Jack flirts with everyone and everything, but only means it with Ianto; Gwen and Rhys are nauseatingly adorable; Martha is lippy and brilliant and good for Jack; Owen and Tosh are the honoured dead. Myfanwy is pissed at Nicholas for going away, but forgives him when he brings her a huge slab of ahi tuna. His mum is even more pissed that he hasn't returned her calls, but an hour on the phone with her settles her mind. Even his family is thriving; his younger brother got into Swansea, so he won't be far away when term time comes around, and the youngest has a girlfriend Mum disapproves of (which means she must be all right). Martha, of course, Nicholas is well used to; he greets Tom like an old friend, which confuses the hell out of Tom for a while, but he gets over it. Mickey he's never known, and doesn't like much, but then he didn't really like Owen much either, and certainly he and John Hart had their moments, so there's always got to be one. And Mickey does do a good job, at least.
These are the important things: that his people are happy, that they have hope, that they know love.
"You seem like you're settling back in decently," Ianto says to him one morning, as they stand on the Plass sipping coffees and waiting for a lorry delivery from UNIT. "D'you miss it?"
"Yes and no," Nicholas replies. "It was brilliant while it lasted, but this is my home."
"Good," Ianto says. "Ready to face the future head on instead of sneaking up behind it and coshing it?"
Nicholas laughs.
"Yes," he says.
END
Next in the series: International Rules
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 2