#ivegotforever

Getting a table was easy enough, though Ricky made sure to request a spot where the sun wasn’t directly beaming down onto them. He could be in it, but too long was no good for him. Made him thirsty and he didn’t want to end up feeling gross while they were meant to have a conversation about… a lot. How was he going to even explain himself? Telling people you were the undead wasn’t exactly a perfectly simple thing to do.

“They have good food here, go ahead and order whatever you want.” He suggested, looking over the menu even though he knew he couldn’t eat anything. It was habit at this point; kept up the facade.

No. Heartbeat pounding harshly in his ear—god he feels like he’s going to faint. He recalls the last moment that face was in his presence and feels his whole body turn icy. The Year That Never Was, one of the most terrible times in the captain’s interminable life full of torturous acts that left permanent traumatic scars on his psyche. Even with all the years that passed from that terrible time there are still nights where he is plagued with that man’s face—and that laugh. Jack is much stronger now then he was. He’s got a harder exterior without the hopeful thoughts of the Doctor coming back to him. He doesn’t have anyone to hold him back from doing anything cruel. He has nothing. “I thought you were dead.” With his heart still beating erratically the captain shows no emotions on his face. His body is screaming to take out his pistol that’s hidden in a secret inner coat pocket and pull the trigger. The man showed Jack no mercy, why should he kind? For the reason he could not be certain if the man who stands before him is the Master. “Guess I shouldn’t expect anything different—Time Lords don’t usually stay dead.”

Oh? Interesting thesis. Yet, he’d beg to differ. In his time he’s seen his fair share of Time Lords die and not come back to life. Some even died by his own hand. Though none of this mattered now. Not when he was talking to a professional in the coming back to life business.

“Funny how you phrased that. How’s immortality treating you? Have you died recently?,” the Master smirked, revelling in making nonchalant remarks and veiling his motives in an air of such lighthearted small-talk that it stung and burned just as much as his usual vitriolic words.

He showed no fear, displayed no wariness, even though at the back of his mind he was constantly weighing his chances of survival. The Master was playing with fire, that he knew, but if he took no risks he would reap no rewards.

( for Braxton because angst )

Braxton frowns, swallowing hard and bobbing his knee anxiously at the thought of letting anyone in. It wasn't easy to explain and he didn't like talking about it.

( for Robert 👀 )

"Peculiar? Now that's a good word." He sighs, looking to Jack with a quirked brow.

"Jack," the Doctor scolds, though there's little real ire behind it. She's just worried. "You haven't slept properly in over a week. Don't think I haven't noticed." He's been distracted and unfocused, and he dark circles under his eyes are beginning to concern the Doctor. But he hasn't told her what's wrong, and she doesn't quite know how to ask.

They're still working things out.

“Happy New Year, Jack,” The Doctor’s low, Northern lilt is soft as he murmurs the words into his husband’s ear.

Rose is out with friends for a New Year’s party, so it’s just the pair of them that night, and honestly, the Doctor isn’t going to complain in the slightest. He’s parked the TARDIS atop a tall building near Rose’s estate, a good vantage point to watch the fireworks that were being set off all over London. It is cold, but less so with Jack pressed up against him, and his leather jacket wrapped around them tightly.

One finger slips beneath Jack’s chin, lifting his gaze enough that the Time Lord can press a gentle kiss to his husband’s lips.

After everything Jack’s done to try and give the Doctor a good Christmas, she feels she should find a way to do something in return.

She’s always loved New Year’s celebrations. There’s something a bit wonderful about the prospect of a new year full of hope and grand adventures to come. So... she sets the TARDIS hovering above London about ten minutes to midnight and opens the doors wide. 

“Jack!” she calls, waiting in the console room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She hates the stuff, but it’s traditional, after all. A couple custard creams should wash the taste out quickly enough.

When her friend, ex-husband, companion, lover? Oh, nevermind. When Jack arrives in the console room, the Doctor beams.