Fic, Dancing Lessons, 25/33: Capoeira

[loveslashangst]

Story: Dancing Lessons
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! melindakitty
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Captain Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler;
Rated: oh, so Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, violence, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did there would have been no parting of the ways, Rose would be happy and walking funny, and a love of tech isn't the only thing Nine and Jack would be sharing.
Spoilers: AU. If you haven't seen the first three series of Doctor Who, you may be spoilered. I like to mess with canon.
Summary: By popular request: OT3 Nine/Jack/Rose. One of Jack's exes is out for a bit of revenge. Can the Doctor and Rose figure a way to rescue him before he has to pay the piper? Watch for fancy footwork, a bit of intrigue, occasional plot, and a large excuse for love and smut.

[Hi folks! Ophymirage reporting for posting duty today; LSA is at a screenwriting conference, where she gets to pitch her ideas at Hollywood people, so y'all cross fingers for her, okay?]

Capoeira: Traditionally performed in the middle of a circle of onlookers (the “roda”) and invented by African slaves in Brazil, this dance was equal parts game, practice, and subterfuge. The game lay in keeping one’s feet as one’s opponent/dance partner tried to knock one out of the roda using kicks, strikes, punches, and/or head butts. The practice lay in keeping slaves fit, either for work or for rebellion. (Not unlike the Highland Games, practiced at a time when Scotland was forbidden from having a standing army.) The subterfuge lay in disguising martial arts skills as a “harmless” dance and game. Capoeira provided fitness, hope, expression, and a means of protest for those whose voices had been stolen through unjust bondage.

(Tom and Jack’s ex share a slow dance. Nine ejects S’ian’thro from the dance floor. Nine, Rose, and Jack share a three-handed exit.)




Rose gives an odd little curtsey, “After you, oh Meteorological Event.”

The Doctor’s never looked so grim as he does when they leave the room. He doesn’t meet her eyes, instead fixating on the hall ahead. (And she keeps forgetting how strong he is; he carries Jack like he weighs nothing.) He walks as though he knows where everything is. (Which he might. If their adventures have taught her anything, it’s to play along, keep up when the Doctor’s going someplace, and never underestimate his ability to plan on the fly.)

He pauses outside a door. Scents the air. Steps forward. The door slides open obligingly. Based on the table in the middle, it must be some kind of meeting room. And it bloody REEKS! Blood/piss/shit and the overwhelming overlay of some kind of disinfectant. Hospital from hell. Her hand flies to her nose on instinct, though it can’t quell the stench.

Her stomach lurches. This is where that bastard tortured Jack.

Shouting fills the air. A line of crew members along the wall thrash and writhe in their bonds. (Trust the Doctor to mag-lock a whole ship into submission. And damned if they aren’t all wearing some variation on zoot suits. It’s like someone kidnapped the soloists from a big band.)

That damn lieutenant girl vomits (serves her right.) Another lad’s eyes look like they might pop out of his head. He shrieks something so incoherent that not even the TARDIS’s universal translator can make sense of it. (Comes out as “finger lightbulb houseplant staircase dwoing dwoing food bowl leprechaun.”) Must mean something to the rest of the crew, though, because five of the seven people look at the Doctor in horror. Then the screaming resumes, only shriller.

The Doctor hides a pleased look behind a sober gaze. (His “serious face.”)

“You and your entrances,” she mutters.

The crew members convulse, shriek, and just generally look as uncomfortable/unhappy as she could want.

“They’re suffering,” she says.

The Doctor’s eyes cool to sub-zero steel. “So they are.”

“Doctor.” The only clear eyes in the room belong to S’ian’thro. Rose’s heart speeds uncomfortably at the sight of him, mag-locked to the other wall away from the rest of the crew. (Bloody bastard. Doesn’t deserve to breathe.)

Without taking his eyes off S’ian’thro, the Doctor lays Jack down. Jack stirs. The Doctor’s arms tighten protectively around him. He kisses Jack’s head. Murmurs softly into his hair. Jack quiets. Nuzzles closer.

Rose lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder just to feel the solidity of him. She said he was her fiancé, and after that lovely, desperate shag, he feels like it. Weird. She’s never had a fiancé before. Even that Jimmy Stone only gave her a helluva reputation, an empty bank account, and about six months of very confusing sexual frustration. (And ain’t she glad? Otherwise she couldn’t have lost her virginity in such spectacular fashion to a certain dynamic duo.)

The Doctor smiles. Like so many things he does, there’s whole universes of communication in that one simple, brief upturn of the mouth. (I love you. I’m glad you’re safe. We’ll take care of him. I’m thinking about that lovely shag too.) And even traces of (‘Scuse me, in half a moment I’ll want to go kill someone.)

The last one makes her the happiest.

And the crew are still screaming.

The Doctor sobers. Glances around. “Where’s Marilyn? I told her not to wander off.”

The door slides open. Marilyn and some guy all but fall through it, in the throes of a passionate kiss. The guy presses her against the wall for a bit of a dry shag. (Which looks like it’s a bit of all right, actually.)

Rose glances questioningly at the Doctor.

He looks a little embarrassed. “Sad to admit, but they’re with me.”

She glances back at the kissing and frotting couple. “Must be happy to see her.”

“Oi!” says the Doctor. “Time and a place, Major.”

The guy gives him the finger. Continues to snog Marilyn.

The Doctor gives a long-suffering sigh. “Major Tom, Rose. Rose, Major Tom. The Major and I teamed up after he came looking for Marilyn. I gather he’s her superior officer.”

Major Tom waves, still snogging Marilyn like it’s going out of style.

Rose is amused in spite of herself. She gives the Doctor a poke. “You taking notes on the proper way to snog a girl hello?”

The Doctor’s peevishly unrepentant. “It’s not my fault you tasted awful.”

He can be SUCH a prat sometimes. “And it’s not my fault I’d just thrown up.”

“My point exactly.” The Doctor’s grin fades quickly, though, when he glances at S’ian’thro again. He takes out the sonic screwdriver. Shows it to Rose. “Setting 5175 F.” He hits the button and the thing gives its usual buzzing.

All right. She’ll bite. “What does it do this time?”

“Gives us a captive audience.” There’s that look of dark amusement says he’s up to something. “Any unfinished business before I serve up a little justice?”

That’s when she notices the crew have stopped shouting. Weird to have seven pairs of eyes (plus S’ian’thro’s) focused on them.

She quirks an eyebrow at the Doctor.

“Setting 5175 F blocks out the infrasonics that are making everyone have a bad day.” He jerks his chin at S’ian’thro. “Off you go. And mind you don’t mess the room; from the smell of it, they just cleaned up in here.”

She kisses his cheek. Goes over to S’ian’thro. Plays a little Staring Contest with him. Is annoyed when he wins.

“Something I’ve been meaning to give you.” She decks him, hard. Pain flashes through her hand. (Ow ow ow ow ow! Forgot how much it really hurts to deck someone like you mean it.) She shakes out her hand with a curse.

S’ian’thro looks amused, silver eyes shining.

“Oh shut it.” But when she shakes her hand again, it doesn’t hurt. She glances down. (What the?) The bruising fades as she watches, as does the pain.

She gives S’ian’thro a slow, triumphant grin. “Thanks for the nanogenes,”

He doesn’t look amused anymore.

A few more punches and she’s feeling much better. (Didn’t Mum always say holding in your feelings is unhealthy?)

S’ian’thro spits blood. His eyes are silver with something that might be amusement, annoyance, or approval. (Hard to tell with these aliens.) “Your revenge is honourable, Tyler’Rose,” he says.

“Honour this.” She knees him hard in the groin. It hurts like hell. (Ow! OW! OW! OW! OW! Must be armour-plated under that suit.)

The alien gives her a puzzled look.

“Down and to your right,” says the Doctor. His gaze is as cold as his voice. “And a little harder; they’re armoured.”

She nods. Grabs S’ian’thro by the shoulders. Rams her knee into his mid-thigh as hard as possible.

S’ian’thro gives a satisfying bark of pain.

Her knee hurts like hell, but it’s a good kind of pain, and -- thanks to the nanogenes -- it doesn’t last long. She returns to Jack’s side. Kneels, grinning. Takes the sonic screwdriver from the Doctor’s hand. Hits and holds the button. “He’s all yours.”

The Doctor settles Jack onto her lap. It feels so good to have him in her arms again. (Fiancé. Her fiancé.) She looks up at the Doctor. (Is a girl lucky enough to have two for the price of one when this is over?)

The Doctor rises slowly to his feet, all thinly-veiled menace. As he strides over to S’ian’thro, she can almost picture him with the angel wings Jack imagines. (All the Doctor needs is a blazing sword and a trumpet fanfare to be the picture of righteous wrath.)

S’ian’thro spits blood again. “I see my death in your eyes.”

The Doctor says nothing. Fixes him with a long look that shuts him up. (Apparently, he’s better at Staring Contest than she is.) He turns on his heel. Opens the door to the adjoining room. A jab to the controls keeps it open. The Doctor rakes the meeting room with his eyes. The crew watch him, oddly silent.

The Doctor steps into the adjoining room.

She cranes her neck to see. He’s doing something with the controls on a panel in the wall of the adjoining room. An exterior wall by a porthole that shows a view of the star that flashes outside like a lighthouse gone mad.

The Doctor returns, focused in his quiet rage. “May I have your attention, please?”

He hits a few buttons on the central console on the table. A holographic projector flickers to life, displaying a 3-D image of what must be the same star outside.

The star’s image seethes and pulses above the table, a steady and hypnotic rhythm.

“This is Vela.” The Doctor’s voice is pleasant at first, then grows in both menace and volume. “It and I are old friends.”

All the hairs raise on the back of Rose’s neck at the look in his eyes. (You could cut concrete with that steely blue glare.)

“I am the Doctor,” he says. “I am the death of traitors and murderers. I am the destroyer of worlds and the champion of the universe. My enemies know no rest, no sanctuary, and deserve no quarter. In the songs sung by those who have known my vengeance, I am named the Oncoming Storm.”

His voice rings in the room like the spoken wrath of God.

“This man,” he points to S’ian’thro, “assaulted and injured the two people I love most in the universe.”

He indicates her. “Rose Tyler, Everyone. Everyone, Rose Tyler.”

She gives a self-conscious wave.

“The unconscious bloke in her arms is Captain Jack Harkness.” All the joking vanishes again. “Remember their names. Memorize their faces. Burn every detail of them into your pitiful memories because this man and this woman are mine. I love them both with every beat of my hearts and every breath that flows into and out of my body, and if you ever, EVER threaten them, come near them, harm them, even BREATHE on them wrong...”

He gives Major Tom a sharp look. (Poor bloke actually cringes.) He obediently hits a subdermal.

S’ian’thro’s wrist cuffs snap free.

The Doctor advances, seething like the storm clouds of his title. S’ian’thro’s ready for him. The fight’s short-lived, though. Punches fly so quickly that the Doctor seems to blur. (She always suspected he could hold his own in a fight.) In a trice, he’s got S’ian’thro’s arms twisted up behind his back as if the silver-skinned alien’s not eight feet tall and fighting for his life.

The Doctor wastes no moves. Manoeuvres his prisoner through the door.

There’s a brief exchange of words, then the room goes cold. Her ears pop painfully as the room depressurizes.

The Doctor returns, looking grimmer. “Apology accepted.”

He points to a speck travelling toward the star. “That was your captain.” He levels a glare at the crew. “In five minutes and fourteen seconds he’ll reach Vela’s event horizon. If he’s managed to live that long -- and you lot are rather robust for bipeds, so he should do -- he’ll be awake and aware as Vela’s gravity crushes his body into nothingness.”

The Doctor crosses his arms, eyebrow raised. “Any questions?”

Seven pairs of eyes fix on the shape plummeting toward the star. The crew silently shake their heads no.

Rose grins madly. Hugs Jack tighter.

The Doctor gives a small, slightly scary smile. “Good.”

Rose shuts off sonic screwdriver. Within moments, the crew lapse back into a very noisy hell of nausea and hallucination.

The Doctor gives Major Tom a pleasant smile with hard eyes. “Any objections?”

“To what?” Major Tom pulls Marilyn closer. She puts her arms round his waist. “You weren’t even here.”

The Doctor nods approval. Offers him a hand. They shake.

He comes over to her. Kneels. Cups her face in his hands. Kisses her. She catches a hand at the back of his neck. Snogs him a good one. “I love you.”

He touches his forehead to hers. Looks to Tom. “Central will be glad to see the rest of this lot, don’t you think? And I’ll be glad to be rid of them.”

Tom’s smile fades as he realizes what the Doctor just implied. “What would've happened if I hadn't been here?”

The Doctor gives a dangerous half-smile, “Never ask a question you don't want to the answer to.”

Tom nods, slightly pale. Marilyn is still looking at the holographic image of S’ian’thro’s body falling toward Vela.

The speck disappears.

Marilyn smiles.

So does Rose. The thought of having just witnessed an execution should scare her to death (or at least bother her a bit), but instead the truth is if Jack were well and fine and in his right mind, she’d offer both him and the Doctor a wicked good shag right now. She’s almost positive she’s never been prouder of her Designated Driver.

Marilyn moves closer, mistaking a moment of mutual understanding for friendship.

“You can stop right there, thanks.” Rose glares her back a step. “I’ve had quite enough of you putting your hands on the men I love.”

Tom kisses Marilyn’s temple. “Allow me.” He touches a subdermal control. Reaches out to Rose. “If I may?”

She gives him a good once-over with her eyes and consults her intuition. For whatever reason, it seems to think she can trust him, and she always trusts its judgment. She takes his hand. A weird, tingly sensation courses through her. (Feels like her blood’s gone all fizzy.)

After a moment, Tom turns her arm over and removes a little disc that’s appeared at the surface of the skin of her forearm. “There,” he says. “All gone.”

“Nanogenes?’ she says.

Tom nods. The Doctor holds out his arm so Tom can remove his nanogenes too, then the two of them attend to Jack.

And even though the crew are caterwauling like lost souls undergoing a demonic bikini wax, she begins to believe this might finally be over.

The Major takes the Disc from Jack’s arm. “This boy’s nothing but trouble, you know.”

She strokes Jack’s hair. (Her fiancé.) “But worth it.”

The Doctor smiles agreement. Picks Jack up. Cradles him in his arms.

“C’mon, Rose.” He turns. “Time to go home.”

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Crossposted to: time_and_chips, better_with_3