Title: Fallout, Part TwentySixAuthor: Emma
Characters: A whole bunch of folk.
Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack in it!
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Author's Note: This fic is CoE compliant
Part One is here; Part Two is here; Part Three is here; Part Four is here; Part Five is here; Part Six is here; Part Seven is here; Part Eight is here; Part Nine is here; Part Ten is here; Part Eleven is here; Part Twelve is here; Part Thirteen is here; Part Fourteen is here; Part Fifteen is here; Part Sixteen is here; Part Seventeen is here; Part Eighteen is here; Part Nineteen is here; Part Twenty is here; Part TwentyOne is here; Part TwentyTwo is here; Part TwentyThree is here; Part TwentyFour is here; Part TwentyFive is here
The door to Jack’s office smashed against the wall. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t, do you? You don’t remember the drama you enacted back there? We didn’t mean to interrupt my arse.”
“I saw Martha running towards your office. I thought there was something wrong! Instead I found you on Tish’s lap. What was I supposed to say?”
“You could have damned well asked what was going on before you flounced out, you great big twpsyn!” Yan slammed his hands on Jack’s desk. “Or did you really think Martha was running to protect Tish’s virtue?”
“Oh.” Jack cleared his throat. “So, what was going on?”
“Tish has been helping me to research my little problem,” he tapped his head. “We’ve been chasing down memories for several days. We came across some information about a rare psychiatric disorder that affected a group of Time Lords during the Time War. Or a Time War because I think there’s been more than one… Anyway, that’s not important now. These Time Lords were on some sort of secret mission, and whatever they did drove them insane. They hid inside their own heads. A bit like dissociative identity disorder, but deeper and more irreversible. Most of them died in long-term care with the minds of four-year-olds. But one or two were cured. And the Doctor knew how.”
“And you decided to just try it on yourself without any supervision?” Jack‘s voice turned flat and even. “And Tish let you?”
“No! She walked in after I had started and … Yeah.” He sat down abruptly. “What the hell was I thinking?”
Jack put a leash on his temper. “Maybe something was doing the thinking for you. The Master would like nothing better than you in a padded cell in
“All right, then. We know you’re going to want to try again, so I want your word on it, Yan. No more unsupervised experimentation.”
“Why would I want to try again?”
“I thought you said…"
Before his mind could make the correct deductions, Jack found himself being hauled out of his chair and thoroughly kissed.
“How could you think I would give you up?” The heavy Welsh drawl in his ear made him shiver. “For anyone?”
“Both. Neither. Just call me Mr. Jones. Like you did that time…”
This time it was Jack who pulled his lover into a frantic kiss that didn’t end until they were both gasping for air.
“I’m going to take you to bed tonight, Mr. Jones,” He whispered in Yan’s ear. “And I’m going to keep you there until we’re both exhausted.”
A diffident knock on the door made them turn, although they did not let go of each other.
“Sorry to interrupt the reunion,” Martha said, “but I just heard from the Doctor. He’s on his way here. He says the TARDIS is picking up some odd readings. He wants us all in one place until he gets here.”