* The Doctor: He looks human, but he's really a 900-year-old Time Lord, the sole survivor of an ancient and powerful alien race that perished in a massive Time War with the evil Daleks. He has two hearts, a colder-than-human body temperature, is telepathic and is generally tougher and stronger than a human. He also has a massive freight of survivor guilt. Though he'd much prefer talking to fighting, and peaceful solutions whenever possible, he's a terrifying enemy -- one of his nicknames is "The Oncoming Storm." When he's pissed off enough, he definitely earns that title. He wanders through Time and Space, occasionally picking up traveling companions, and usually trying to interfere in a positive way. When badly injured, he can "regenerate" -- re-create himself down to the cellular level, becoming a new version of himself. In practical terms, it allows a TV show to replace its central star indefinitely. Within the show's mythology, it creates an infinitely-renewing version of the main character. The Ninth Doctor (aka "Nine" featured here) is on the grim and sarcastic side, but he still has the Doctor's trademark senses of humor and compassion.
* Rose Tyler: She's an "ordinary" 19-year-old 21st-century London shopgirl. Caught up in the Doctor's efforts to foil an alien invasion of Earth, she joined him as his first traveling Companion since the loss of his people in the Time War. Rose is compassionate, impulsive, headstrong and every bit as adventurous as the Doctor himself. She takes to his travels like a fish to water, and the two of them overcome the barriers of age, species, and culture to fall deeply in love. How far their relationship goes in terms of physical intimacy is left ambiguous in canon, but their love is never in question. Her mum, Jackie Tyler, is a notably tough and strong-minded single mother, who actually manages to scare the Doctor when she's in top form.
* Captain Jack Harkness: It's not his real name. He's a human from the 51-st century, a former soldier and Time Agent turned con artist when Rose and the Doctor first meet him. He's a with-honors graduate of the School Of Hard Knocks, which made him self-centered and cynical at first, but after Rose and the Doctor save his life and welcome him into their time-traveling life, he opens up and reveals the basic compassion and heroism of his nature. "Sexually liberated" doesn't even begin to describe his native time and culture, and Jack is quick to flirt with anyone who has a pulse (and even a few beings who don't). He's gorgeous (and knows it), clever, and nearly as much of a technogeek as the Doctor. In canon, he clearly adores both Rose and the Doctor, though it's never indicated that he does more than flirt with either of them.
* The TARDIS: That stands for "Time And Relative(s) Dimension In Space," referring to the Doctor's Time-and-Space ship. On the outside she looks like a London Police Box (her camouflage circuit blew out back in the 1960's); on the inside, she's huge -- a dimensionally "transcendent" entity, vastly larger than her exterior shell. While largely passive, she is living, sentient, and telepathic. Canon rarely does much with her as a "character," but fanfic regularly makes use of her unusual nature and intelligence.
* Where the AU comes in: the "Bliss" series posits that the Doctor, Rose, and Jack were *way* more than just good traveling buddies, being instead a settled threesome with an empathic bond. Rather than being separated at the end of the first season of the new series (as happened in canon), the Bliss crew stayed together, and enjoys their own quirky version of "happily ever after." Physical and emotional contact are literally healing for this threesome. Also, FWIW, though the canon Ninth Doctor wore his hair in a very short cut (basically a military buzz cut), the Bliss version of the Doctor has allowed his hair to grow long (in a defiant statement that he's "not a soldier anymore," among other things), hence the description of his hair being worn knotted back in the fic after this one. Given that the Doctor's sexual orientation has been in question for a long, long time, it's really a very small stretch to consider that he might be as bisexual (or "omnisexual") as Jack, making the OT3 imagined here remarkably plausible . . .
Clear as mud? Good! Let's continue . . .
: Title: "Under Orders"
Author: dameruth
Characters/pairings: Nine/Jack/Rose
Rating: YTeen for mild suggestiveness.
Disclaimers: No ownership involved, just love . . . and great fistfuls of fluff.
Series: Bliss
Summary: This is yet another a bidding-incentive short fic, written for isabelle, who requested a prequel to her first request-fic, "Catty Remarks." Once again, it's a bit more than a drabble.
Pure fluffy goodness, from Jack's POV.Jack woke up in one of his favorite positions: playing the filling in a Doctor-and-Rose sandwich. His front was plastered to the Doctor's side, his arm across the Time Lord's waist, his head resting on the Doctor's chest. Rose was pressed warm and soft against his back. Jack got the distinct impression of sunlight pouring in through an open window somewhere behind him, even though the bedroom lights were dimmed for sleeping. It was Rose, of course, awake and radiating happy affection on the metaphysical plane.
The Doctor broke the surface of consciousness just after Jack, probably in response to the others' wakefulness, but only barely.
"Mornin'" Jack mumbled into the Doctor's pectoral muscle. Returning awareness reminded him of the sore muscles he'd collected yesterday, so he didn't bother moving. The Doctor didn't say anything at all, already drifting again. Jack didn't blame him -- he had a vivid memory of the Doctor wading through miles of knee-deep muck and water with two hundred pounds of spectrophotometer hoisted casually over his head. That would be enough to tire anyone out.
A gentle hand ran along his shoulder and down his arm. "Mornin'" Rose murmured softly back. "You two are cute when you sleep, you know that?"
"'M always cute," Jack commented.
Rose giggled. "Well, you sure didn't strain your ego yesterday," she told him, voice going dry. Then her tone went soft again. "You two stay put -- I'm gonna go get some breakfast started for us. I'm starvin'." She dropped a gentle kiss on the point of Jack's shoulder, and rolled out of bed. He heard the rustle of fabric, followed by light footsteps across the room and the opening and closing of the door.
The Doctor was on the edge of going back to sleep, only peripherally aware of what was going on. Jack seriously considered joining him in unconsciousness, but some small spark of motivation made him roll over (as softly as possible, to avoid disturbing the Doctor) and out of bed.
Even with a full night's sleep in physical contact with the others, his muscles were stiff and sore. The healing properties of the link could apparently only do so much. Jack grimaced, stretching. Time to start hitting the TARDIS gym even more regularly. Then he tiptoed to the door and let himself out. He didn't bother with clothes -- the soles of his feet were tough enough not to be bothered by the metal grating of the TARDIS's floors, and with just the three of them aboard, there wasn't exactly a dress code.
Rose, as promised, was in the galley. Jack could hear the rattle of cooking gear well down the corridor, and tuned in to the link. Rose's mind was a cheerful, inspired whirl of bright colors and remembered flavors as she planned out a menu. (Tea,) she was thinking, (toast/omelette/skara gruel . . .). Jack approved of her ideas; he could murder a big bowl of skara now and not even mind the weird purple-green color.
On impulse, he decided to do a shielding exercise, stopping down his portion of the link and upping his general mental protections as he padded silently down the corridor towards the open door. He wondered how close he could get to Rose without her noticing. Given her distraction, he might have fairly good luck . . .
He made it as far as the door of the galley. Rose was moving with graceful efficiency, wrapped in a light, silky robe, her hair mostly caught back in a casual mass. She was humming something Jack didn't recognize, but broke off, freezing with her back to him and an upraised spatula in one hand.
"Jack Harkness," she said, with a definite edge of Jackie Tyler in her tone, "if you're tryin' to sneak up on me, you'd better reconsider before I put this spatula somewhere inappropriate."
Jack laughed. "Promises, promises," he told her. She turned around and brandished the spatula threateningly, but she was smiling.
"All right, all right, I'll be good," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "You want some help?"
"No, I can handle it, " she said. "It's no more trouble to cook for three than for one. Go back to bed -- you're still sore," (no doubt she could sense that as a physical reality, now that Jack wasn't shielding anymore), "might as well get in some more rest and a little extra cuddle time with the Doctor. It'll be good f'r both of you."
"I'll be fine, once I loosen up," he started to protest, but Rose cut him off.
"I mean it. Back to bed, now. Shoo!" She waved her hand at him, affectionately but firmly, and he gave in.
He walked slowly back to the bedroom, trailing one hand along the warm, living wall of the TARDIS, feeling the faint thrum of her engines (or was that the beating of her heart? He was never sure . . .) Behind him, Rose was humming to herself again, a bright, joyous presence, perfectly happy and pleased to be looking after the people she loved. Ahead of him, he could feel the massive (if dozing) presence of the Doctor, like a distant stormwall of clouds shot full of swirling undercurrents and quick lightning, paradoxically safe and comforting -- at least for those he counted as friends and adopted family.
It was times like this he really felt the strangeness of his new life. The whole down-the-rabbit-hole craziness of Time Lords and TARDISes and Daleks and Universe-spanning adventure he could take in stride. It was moments like this that surprised him: a safe place that felt like home, people who were happy to share a bed for more than sex, people who liked looking after one another (and him) in small, everyday ways . . . that was the unbelievable bit.
In his more morbid moments, Jack was inclined to wonder if he wasn't really lying face-down on some battlefield after taking a fatal shot to the head -- or, even more likely, in an alleyway with a knife in his back -- and this was all some comforting fantasy generated by his dying brain as the last of his consciousness ran down the drain into oblivion. It was certainly the more plausible scenario, given his life thus far.
The TARDIS sent ripples of vibration up his arm, and he got the faintest hint of liquid gold in the back of his mind, reassuring. It certainly felt real enough. Might as well just believe in it and enjoy, he thought, the decision he always reached in these moments.
Besides, he was achy enough for this to be real. Most dreams didn't include lactic acid buildup. The thought cheered him considerably.
Unlatching the bedroom door as silently as possible, he slipped inside to cuddle with a Time Lord, as ordered.
