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Title: Jack and Eleven
Author: [livejournal.com profile] a_silver_story
Rating: PG-13 with a reference to man shagginz
Warnings: Expect the unexpected. Maybe tea, but NO SPOILERS.
Disclaimer: A large portion of this belongs to the BBC, with a couple of Chocolate Orange segments being tossed in the direction of RTD. The middle, however, goes to Super!Moff. If you understand this metaphor, you win nothing but my grudging respect.

Summary:A non-spoilery fic, set post-CoE. Eleven goes 'round to Jack's new place for a cup of tea and a chat. They clear up a few things and avoid a major, life-threatening disaster.

There wasn't much on the telly. The signal was pretty bad in this quiet part of the universe, and Jack was finding it daily more and more difficult to get his regular dose of 'Friends', despite it being constantly on E4.

He'd found that if he leaned out the window slightly with the aerial, stretching his arm out the whole way and twisted his wrist to the left a bit, he could get a fairly decent signal. He wished Ianto was there to hold it for him … but … of course … Ianto wasn't there. He was … elsewhere.

Jack had promised himself he wouldn't think about it, in case his mind drifted and came up with ideas of doing something about it.

He jumped when his doorbell rang, nearly dropping the aerial. Jack grumbled all the way to the door of his house, giving his best disgruntled expression to the strange skinny man stood behind his door wearing tweed and a bow tie.

The man just grinned at him.

“Oh … of course!” he suddenly exclaimed, realising something Jack had yet to grasp. “I Regenerated again!”

Jack blinked. “Oh. Wanna come in?”

“Have you got any Jammy Dodgers?”

“Erm … I … I think so … yeah?”

“Excellent!” The Doctor clapped his hands. “I shall most certainly come in. Most certainly shall.”

After a cup of tea had been served, complete with Jammy Dodger, Jack and the Doctor perched on the couch.

“TV?” asked the Doctor.

“Hang on – you have to do this with aer-”

He stopped as the telly flickered into life, the Earth television waves being picked up crystal clear.

“Oh. That works to,” he nodded, his eyes drawn to the strange claw-lick-green-flashing-lighted sonic currently pointed at his ancient set.

“So …” The Doctor sat back into the sofa and relaxed, steepling his fingers. “Been up to much?”

“This and that,” Jack replied evasively. “You?”

“Same,” replied the Doctor.

They watched the mindless telly for a few more minutes.

“So ...” the Doctor began again. “Doing anything … y'know … this afternoon … ?”

Jack shook his head. “Nothing concrete. I have been contemplating maybe saving the world. Depends on the weather.”

“Mm. Does look like rain.”


They sighed in unison, and watched the closing credits of 'The Simpsons' flashing up on the screen.

The Doctor yawned.

“Refill?” Jack offered.

“That would be smashing.”

Jack returned a few minutes later and they sat on the couch watching the ads between programming.

“So … Doctor ….” Jack began this time. “You … got a new companion or anything?”

“Ohhh yeah! Of course. Amy Pond – red-head, Scottish and feisty. Has an annoying habit of having a no-nonsense approach. It's frightfully efficient.”

“Does she wander off?”

“Only if I tell her not to.”

“Same old, same old.”

“So … you got a … companion?”


“What's their name?”

“Ianto Jones.”

“I see. Where is Ianto Jones?”

“In my Sex Basement.”

“Ah – same old, same old.”


They both froze when a strange, haunting sound began to emanate from the television set. They stared at the screen in shock for a whole two seconds.

“Turn it OFF!” Jack yelled, panicking and hitting every button he could. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

“I'm trying!” the Doctor yelled back, fumbling with his sonic. “There isn't a setting powerful enough for this situation!”

“Oh no, no, no! I can't believe this is happening!”

Giving up on hitting random buttons, he reached back into the wall and yanked the wiring clean out of the back of the TV. The screen fizzled out into nothing, take the horrendous sounds and haunting, scarring images with it.

Jack and the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down to lie on the floor, panting as their heart rates began to slow to a normal pace.

“Thank God what almost just happened didn't manage to happen,” the Doctor breathed.

“I know,” Jack replied darkly. “No fuckin' way am I watching 'Hollyoaks'.”

Don't even ask me how Ianto's alive. I wrote this for the crack.

He was smuggled out of BBC Wales disguised as Harrison Ford.

Don't ask 'why Harrison Ford?'.

Maybe it's cuz I'd have either of their babies (though may not necessarily raise them).

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