Survivors

A/N: I don't own Doctor Who, only my obssession. For those not familiar with old skool Who, Tegan was the Fifth Doctor's companion, who walked out on him after having had too much of the violence. Her grandfather lives in the north of England, so as a certain Ninth Doctor seems to have a tie to Manchester...

Survivors


When she first sat down at the bar, Tegan set aside five peanuts and promised herself she would eat one for each beer she had, and when the peanuts were gone, she’d stop drinking. The problem was, a couple of beers in, she’d eaten all the peanuts and now she wasn’t sure how much she’d drunk.

She could ask the bartender, but then he’d think she was pissed and she wasn’t ready to go back out into the cold February night. Tegan had come to Manchester to drink alone, away from the gossips in the vicinity of Little Hodcombe. She didn’t want to upset her grandfather.

It was her anniversary. On this day, in 1981, she’d taken a detour and wound up going walkabout through the Universe. A psychopathic alien had murdered her aunt. It was a milestone that deserved the recognition of a drink or three, didn’t it? Tegan helped herself to a handful of peanuts, and figured that the salt made up for the stale. Four men had tried to pick her up. It was the fault of her outfit. The leather skirt, the whippy belt, and the little shirt blotched with red and black had once seemed edgy. Now they looked like a nostalgia trip. Which, after all, was why she was wearing them. Only the shoes were different from the outfit she’d worn the last time she’d seen the Doctor and Turlough. She was wearing motorcycle boots instead of high heels. They went with the motorcycle. So did the leather jacket. It made her look tougher than she was. The current style was to wear one’s leather all festooned with chains and chrome but she’d taken a knife to as much ornament as she could pry from the leather without making it unwearable. As a result she looked like a knife-fighter.

“Couldn’t prove it by the Master,” she snorted into her beer. He’d caught her thrown knife in mid-air.

A white object presented itself at the edge of her vision. “You look like you could use this,” said a heavily Mancunian voice.

“I’m not crying.”

“Maybe it’s beer foam, couldn’t say.” The handkerchief remained. Tegan took it ungraciously and mopped her face. She offered it back. “Thanks,” she said, and then stared at her neighbor. Her first impression was that he was unusually handsome, her second that he was awkward and homely. Like an optical illusion of a vase that becomes two profiles, her perception kept flipping back and forth. He was worth a few extra looks: tall, deep-set blue eyes, and a jacket that looked worn instead of battered like hers.

“You might as well keep it,” he said, quizzically examining the handkerchief she held out to him. “I’ve got more.”

“No one ever wants them back. It was just a little salty water. Tears wash away sin.”

“Is that what your tears are for?”

“I was thinking of people I lost, and people I found, and people I’ll never see again.”

“What makes you think you’ll never see them again?”

Why was she talking to this bloke? He was halfway to being a skinhead.

He listened. He wasn’t trying to keep her talking as a prelude to pulling her. “If you’re going to be picky, they could turn up any time. Let’s just say I’m not expecting them any time soon.” Tegan chuckled dryly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here either, Tegan. But I wasn’t going to walk away, especially considering what the date is. I remember it well—after all, I’m the one who died.”

She stared at him, then at the two empty glasses in front of him. “You didn’t used to drink beer.” Tegan wished she hadn’t drunk so much of it herself.

“At my age, I didn’t used to do a lot of things. The beer is full of nutrients and has a sedative effect. Just what I need after regeneration. But I wish the peanuts weren’t so stale.”

“How long has it been… Doctor?”

“A long time. And more than one me.” The grim expression suited him, drawing out the hard, masculine beauty from the bones of his face.

The last time she’d seen that expression he’d decided to execute Davros. She remembered her blond, boyish Doctor, his face soft and innocent with surprise as his new eyes first looked on the world. What had his life been to make this of him? He looked as though many such decisions had chiseled away his innocence one hammer blow at a time until the adamant behind the jelly babies and cricket bats was revealed.

Tegan felt like everyone was surreptitiously watching them, but it might just have been paranoia. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a hotel room; in the morning I'm off for home. And I’m not going back to the TARDIS in case you suddenly have to rush off and save the Universe.” She slid off her seat and left some cash on the bar to settle her tab.

“All right, then.” He followed her closely and she felt his hand come to rest on her back. The sense of his presence at her elbow was so familiar that her imagination insisted on picturing blond hair and a fawn tailcoat.

She’d picked the pub because it was near her hotel. It turned out to have been a wise choice. The Doctor was a little unsteady on his feet. She didn’t spot the TARDIS anywhere.

Disdainful of the knowing eyes of the night clerk, Tegan took the Doctor up to her room. The distance in his gaze was familiar: the unfathomable alien mind inside that human seeming was at work.

Tegan took off the leather jacket. “Sorry about the clothes. I only wore them for tonight. I promise, I’ve changed and washed and done laundry since then.” She grinned at him. Except for the motorcycle boots and slightly different hair, she was dressed exactly as he had seen her last. And except for—she raised her hand to her face.

His eyes abruptly focused on her. “You haven’t changed,” he said wonderingly, and gently pushed her hair back from her forehead where once there had been a wound but no mark now showed.

His thumb was cool, and any tiny doubt she had that he wasn’t the Doctor left her.

“Can’t say the same for you.” That couldn’t be truer. She’d left a fair-haired young man in antique cricket gear and a celery boutonnière. The man standing in front of her was different in nearly every detail. The only color about him was the blue of his eyes and his navy blue jumper. Even his mouth was stern, adding another hard line to the carved planes of his face. Did he ever smile any more?

Tegan realized his fingers were still sifting through her hair. Her Doctor had been of a similar height, but he had never loomed over her. He’d been close to sexless, and she had always wondered how much of that was deliberate choice. The ‘No Trespassing’ signs had been clearly posted.

This Doctor was definitely not sexless, and his signpost would have read ‘Danger’ of some kind, only he had the look of a man who did not give warnings. “I can hardly believe it’s you, Tegan. It’s like a dream,” he said.

Long fingers cradled her skull and held her still. He leaned slowly in, and Tegan told herself it must be for any other reason than a kiss. The Doctor would never do this. He would never taste like beer and salt, never possess her mouth with the stroke of his tongue. He would never put his hand square on her bum and pull her up against his body.

She would kiss him back and put her arms around his neck. She’d rub her breasts up against his chest and moan at the painful stiffness of her nipples. And it was inevitable that every single dram of emotion in her would collect between her thighs and turn into a burning need to fuck him senseless.

The grip of his hands anchored her. He broke the kiss and put his lips to her ear. “You need to move on, brave heart,” he said, then fastened his teeth in her earlobe. The hard pinch woke up every nerve ending in her body and shut down her mind. The next sound she processed that wasn’t her own panting breath was the ripping of her shirt. She didn’t protest. She worked her hands under the hem of his jumper and ran them over the cool skin of his torso, leaving heat trails where they passed.

He tore her bra, the polyester giving way under the ruthless twist of his hands.

“You’ll never do the skirt that way,” she said dreamily into his shoulder.

His jacket came off. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the skirt up as high as it would go. Tegan clung to him, digging her nails into his skin, her arms pinioned by the jumper—she was practically wearing it too. He cupped an arse cheek, squeezing it, then slid his hand down the back of her thigh and tugged her knee up, hooking her leg over his thigh.

“Sonic screwdriver.” His low chuckle was followed by a whir. The studded belt dropped to the floor in three pieces, ruined. He sliced off the skirt wedge by wedge while they devoured each other’s mouths.

A couple of minutes later Tegan was naked except for the motorcycle boots and two cool hands were exploring every inch of her bare skin. “I didn’t know it could do that.”

“I’ve made some improvements since I lost the last one.” He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. “Shoes off. Unless you want them cut away too?”

“No, they’re brand new.” Tegan yanked the boots off. He started stripping whilst she watched with avid curiosity. He was not shy about baring himself, but he didn’t make a show of it. His body was lean and strong looking, as if he’d used it hard and used it almost up. “You don’t look so… so different from a human, naked.”

“There’s more difference than the eye sees.” He came closer, took her hand, and folded her fingers over his erection. Even here, he was strangely cool to the touch. His ribs showed in the deep breath he took when her hand fitted to him. A double-time pulse danced in the blood-swollen tissue.

“Two hearts. I remember.” Tegan closed her eyes. Her next breath made her aware of his scent. She’d never especially noticed it before, but a trace memory whispered, Doctor.

She kissed his belly, and felt him shudder under her lips. “Your skin is cool.”

“Your skin is hot.”

Tegan looked up. “Are we arguing again?” She caught herself giggling and cut it off. It was the beer giggling: Tegan did not giggle.

His hand slapped her thigh and she scooted back reflexively from the sting.

“Hey!”

“No arguing,” he said firmly, and pounced on her.

Tegan grunted from the sudden weight and let her head drop back onto a pillow. She was slightly dizzy, and the cool lips gliding over her breasts were contributing to the sensation. She felt awash in a warm glow of arousal and tipsiness. “Will I have an alien baby?” she wondered aloud.

His barked laughter shook the bed. “You won’t,” he promised, his knee nudging her thigh to the side. Once he had her spread out under him, their loins in contact but not joined, he leaned over her on an elbow. “Mouthy little Australian girl. Always shouting at the Universe. Are you still on fire inside, Tegan, or are you quenched? Do you still own the passion I remember?”

Blue eyes held hers. Some of the haze cleared from Tegan’s head. The Doctor had never before let her see him like this, and bare skin was the least thing he’d revealed. That façade of an English gentleman had hidden the power and intensity she felt now. He wasn’t mocking her or asking an idle question. He wasn’t even really asking her. He was going to find out for himself.

He was no gentleman.

Tegan was ready for the kiss. He might have her body pinned, but she could meet him passion for passion. It was the old way of quarrelling, only now their tongues dueled directly instead of being armed with words. His skin was cool, but her heat was warming them both.

He was still supporting himself on one elbow, his hips spreading her thighs. Long clever fingers traced over her skin, then closed together in a hard pinch.

Tegan gasped and pulled back, glaring at him. He was changing the game.

“I know that look!” he grinned. So he could smile--like a maniac. He twisted her nipple next and Tegan snapped her teeth into his shoulder. “Such a temper. Go on, say I can’t tell time as well as a broken clock. That was classic.” Fingertips closed together and pain ran in hot streaks along her skin.

Two could play at that. “You bastard,” Tegan snarled, and hauled back a hand meaning to slap the grin off his face.

He grabbed both wrists and pinned them over her head, shifting his hips between her thighs. Something cool and hard probed at the slick heat of her sex.

“Tell me to go to hell. You always wanted to,” he suggested. His lips grazed the join of neck and shoulder.

“Go to hell,” Tegan said breathlessly, quivering in anticipation.

His teeth entered her skin as slowly as his erection slid between the lips of her sex. Doubly-pierced, she mewed and tilted her hips to take him at a better angle. Her anger melted into need.

“That’s my brave heart. Did I never tell you how beautiful you are, Tegan?” His tongue soothed the bitten spot on her neck, and his breath raised gooseflesh. Inch after inch slid in until she was full of him.

“You have big ears,” she said, having just noticed this.

He chuckled into her neck then gasped as she sucked his earlobe between her teeth and started playing with it. His hands released her wrists and planted into the mattress. He kept his head bent to her mouth while his hard length stroked inside her.

Why now, Doctor? Tegan didn’t ask the question. Their paths had intersected at a point where they were both in pain, and sex was an ancient cure. If she hadn’t met the Doctor tonight, she might have been here now with some stranger. What would he have done? It would be more like him to dig an alien menace out of the Manchester bar scene rather than pick up a stranger for relief through anonymous sex.

“I’m so glad I met you, Doctor,” she said, stroking his back.

He drove himself in her to the root, and lifted his head from her neck. He was smiling now, the steel gone from the blue eyes. It was a surprisingly sweet smile; even a little goofy. “I’m lucky I met you, Tegan.”

She pulled him down into a kiss. They had reached a rare accord mentally, but their bodies still strove. Cool alien hardness thrust into soft human heat until they found mutual annihilation.

They held each other for a few minutes, but she could feel that he wasn’t really relaxed. She didn’t want anything to spoil this good memory, so she pushed his shoulder and he rolled aside while she wriggled away. It took all the strength of will she possessed not to reach for him as he got out of bed. This was a moment stolen out of time for both of them. Tegan sat up and watched him dress. “I really have moved on, Doctor. I’ve only been soppy one night out of the year. The rest of the time I’ve got a good life.”

He pulled the jumper on over his head and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his boots. “I’d rather remember you like this than remember you the way you left that day.”

“Me too,” Tegan said fervently.

He chuckled.

“I think you’ve had the worse time since then.” Even with his back turned to her, Tegan could see the way his walls went up. “I’m not going to ask. But don’t you forget to have a good life too, Doctor.”

He stood, reaching for his jacket. He shrugged it on, turning to look at her sitting naked on the bed. Tegan didn’t cover up. He was damn well going to have as fantastic a memory of her as she could contrive. The wide smile shone again, no longer manic. “I could have made a worse start.”

“Lucky, right?” Tegan said dryly, quoting him. She got up and padded naked to the door, feeling his eyes on her.

“Definitely.” He followed her over. “Tegan, are you all—“

“Don’t. It’s not every girl that gets to have a one-night stand with a Time Lord. I’m glad I met you. You’re lucky you met me. Let’s leave it at that,” before I muck it up. She lifted her chin proudly and met his eyes, hers stubbornly tearless.

“Your wish is my command.” His eyes were far too keen, making her feel transparent.

“Hah—“ snorted Tegan, and if there were to have been any words after the snort she forgot them in the Doctor’s kiss. The embrace was swift but intense, belying their breezy words. Tegan wondered if he were grateful that she kept it light, but she was protecting herself more than him.

She opened the door enough to let him out. “Let the beer wear off before you try flying that TARDIS. You have enough trouble sober.”

“How do you know I was sober before?” Her last sight of him was the flash of his jackanapes grin.

Tegan closed the door and locked it. She was proud that she wasn’t crying. Suddenly, she ran out to the little balcony. Holding a curtain over her as a somewhat inadequate sop to decency, she listened. Even at this hour, Manchester was full of traffic noise, too big a city to sleep through the night. She listened with all her might. Was that the TARDIS, or a distant siren? There. She’d know that sound anywhere, anytime.

When the last howl faded, she staggered back to bed. Tegan was absolutely exhausted, but her pillow had been stuffed with rocks while her back was turned. Her mind wouldn’t settle down to sleep.

At last she gave in to the inevitable. “Goodbye, Doctor,” Tegan yawned, sniffled, and blinked. Her pillow softened under the impact of a few grudged teardrops. Sleep was the reward for her surrender.

The End