Doctor Who Fic: Mistaken Identity

[eloriekam]

Title: Mistaken Identity
Author: eloriekam/eloriekam
Rating: Teen
Characters: Jack, Doctor, Clara

Disclaimer: Not mine, if they were I would be more certain we'd get to see something like this.
Summary: Jack encounters a face he really, really doesn't want to see, and doesn't want anyone else to see again, either.
Author's Notes: If you don't know the casting for the Twelvth Doctor, you shouldn't read this, although the summary kind of gives it away. There are also spoilers up to the end of series 7 of Doctor Who, and to Torchwood: Children of Earth. I had three thoughts after learning of the casting for Twelve: this is the third. I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I couldn't resist. I may keep this a one-shot or follow up, I'm not sure.



He's out for a rather aimless walk when he sees them. There's a short young woman, with dark hair and a knee-length dress, examining something with a tall, slim man with mostly gray hair. The man says something, and Jack puts together the voice and the nose and the hair, even though the clothes are not what he expected that person to be wearing, and runs forward.

The young woman turns first, lightly touching the man's arm. She's not his wife, and how the hell had he come back anyway? More betrayal, by part of the government that was supposed to, at the least, work with them.

The man straightens to his full height, just a touch taller than Jack, and turns to face him. He looks both startled and pleased, face crinkling around his pale eyes, though he's reaching behind him with one hand. His thin mouth curls upward slightly to give him a look of wry amusement, above a patchwork jacket and light shirt, but Jack is nearly past noticing the clothes.

He knows that face. He thought it had ended. He'll end it now, before this man can cause more grief.

He'd tried to kill him, to cover the shadows with more shadows. He'd been shredded, because his government couldn't live with what it had done, wouldn't own up to it.

Jack is done thinking, and draws his gun and aims it square at the other man's heart, at Frobisher's heart, knowing that even with this it will never make up for bomb, concrete, Ianto.

The look in those eyes fades to shock, and he holds his hands out to the sides. The young woman moves toward him, close to Jack's sightline.

"Whatever you're planning, I'm going to end you, and it, now," Jack tells him, voice gone hard, like steel, like concrete, like the glass that wouldn't yield.

The man opposite him swallows, and gently takes the young woman by one shoulder and moves her aside. She leans back against it, resisting, but he keeps going. "Clara," he says quietly, and she tosses an upset, appalled look at him over one shoulder. "Clara, move out of the way. It's all right. It's a case of mistaken identity."

"How many times is that going to happen, and have you noticed he's going to shoot you?"

"Clara, please, step aside." His hands finally nudge her well out of Jack's firing line, and she turns to look between them. Jack steps closer and moves one finger and thinks that click is a beautiful sound.

"I wouldn't have wanted to shoot the girl," he says evenly, his hatred spilling over strong into his voice. "But you... they told us you were dead. Just another lie, but I can fix that for you."

"Jack, I can absolutely guarantee you that I am not Frobisher." His accent is different from Frobisher's, too, playing differently with the vowels. Jack doesn't care. An accent is an easy thing to fake. He's done it hundreds of times.

"Do you have that little remorse for what you did? To me, to Ianto, to my team, my base, to this country, to the world?!" He takes another step, staying where he can see Clara. She's still looking between them, mouth opening and closing.

"I'm the Doctor, Jack. Truly, I am. Captain, listen. I'm sorry about what happened with the 456, truly, it was terrible." His eyes are pinched and despairing. "But they won't bother Earth again, and I haven't had much chance to get used to this body, so please, could you--"

"Shut up," Jack snarls, caressing the trigger with one finger and glaring harder, wishing for the satisfaction of his gaze turning Frobisher to ash, breaking his body. "You're not him, and I haven't heard or seen the TARDIS, and I don't recognize Clara, you sick twisted bastard, so I'm going to end whatever con you're playing and put you down."

"TARDIS?" Clara says from the side. "Time and Relative Dimensions in Space? Bigger on the inside, smaller on the outside?"

"Oh, so you've read the Doctor's files as well, congratulations."

"I haven't read any file," Clara retorts. "He has mentioned you, though. Can't you put the gun away until he's shown you the TARDIS?"

"Like hell."

"She's travelling with me," Frobisher says, face hardening. His mouth is now a forbidding line, grim and unyielding.

Jack decides he could care less about this little byplay. "You're trying to distract me and find yet another way to weasel out of your responsibility, but you know what, it's not going to work."

Frobisher's expression darkens, more than Jack would have thought possible before now, more than he's seen in any human. It almost looks like the Doctor, but even he wouldn't be daft enough to regenerate looking like the man who tried to orchestrate such a heinous crime on the world's families. "Listen," he snarls, "you stupid ape--"

That phrase and his face and all the memories of what Frobisher did snap in Jack, and the crack echoes around them. Clara moves, trying to support Frobisher as he staggers, pressing one hand against the left side of his chest. They stagger, landing in an untidy heap, and Clara tries to support him with one hand as she starts peeling off her coat with the other.

Jack is on them, pulse pounding, gun ready again in his hand, avenging and stormy. Frobisher is still trying to brace himself with one hand, impossibly, and looks up at Jack, looming over him.

"Did I miss?" Jack hisses, and crouches down to place the muzzle of his gun under Frobisher's chin. The other man tries to jerk back, fear in his eyes, but to Jack's surprise and confusion there's betrayal mixed in with the fear.

"Stop it!" Clara cries out, anger clear in her voice.

"No," Jack growls, and presses the muzzle in harder. He's just calm enough to be surprised that Frobisher hasn't said anything, hasn't started begging.

"Doctor, do you have anything else I can use on this?" she asks, despairing, pressing her coat carefully against the wound. He cries out in a low breathy wail, and Jack relishes the sound.

"Right... pocket. Maybe?" He grimaces. "Haven't... stuff. Yet."

"OK, stay still, stay still, Doctor." She starts to reach across, then pauses. "Your blood?"

"Yes?" He slides his eyes to the side, temporarily breaking contact with Jack. "Normal. Clara...."

"All right. Keep holding the coat?" Her eyes are very wide as she looks between the two men, one hand stretching for the opposite pocket. Jack slaps her hand away, and she raises her eyebrows and glowers at him, then pokes at his hand and reaches across again. "Look at his blood!"

"Stop that," Jack growls.

"Jack, please." Frobisher utters the words as a harsh, pained groan. "Please... it's me. It's the... Doctor. We met... in World War... II here on... Earth. We went... to Malca...ssairo. Valiant. Crucible. Please, Jack."

Jack presses the muzzle hard against the underside of Frobisher's chin, and then looks at the drying blood on his other hand.

He must look uncertain, for Clara steps in again. "Doctor. Doctor. Is there anything only you know about Jack? Anything only the two of you know, something this Frobisher wouldn't know?" She is poking in his pocket as she speaks, arm in halfway to the elbow, and frowns. "I can't find anything in here, Doctor, except jelly babies."

"Oh, s'all... right," Frobisher gasps. "Make him... so happy. If I die. No one to... sense he's... impossible."

Jack frowns, and pulls the gun away a little. He can still use it, if he has to. "Tell me about Malcassairo."

"End. Universe. You rode... TARDIS. Humans... utopia. Foot... print. Sent you in. Took off... coat, shirt. Said look good."

"World War II."

"Nanogenes. You were... conning. Got everywhere. TARDIS... onto your ship. Before blew up." He is breathing more harshly now, short gasps.

"When Martha's apartment got blown up, she grabbed the laptop as we left."

"No... I did."

"And then she phoned her brother."

"Her mum."

Jack pulls the gun back further, rests his right elbow on his thigh. "What happened the 180th day we were on the Valiant?" He asks the bleeding man in front of him. It's not... but it can't be, can it? If it is... he did doubt him, after saying he never would.

"Jack, please," there is a too-long pause for a breath, "please, sorry, so... sorry." He pauses, and tries to breathe again, in a long, drawn-out sound, but arches instead, panicky. "Tried... convince him. I tried. He... wanted to. To show Earth." He closes his eyes for a moment, and tears trickle out and over the creases to his hair, cover the lashes when he opens them up again to look at Jack. His eyes are old, so old and scarred and scared and guilty. "And I... I didn't want to. Later. Didn't. Never... wanted... that way. Jack, please..." He trails off into a sobbing cough, and blood shows on his lips, on one corner of his mouth.

"Doctor," Jack whispers, loving and horrified, and holsters his gun. He isn't sure he's more horrified he shot the Doctor or about what he asked the Doctor to remember, just now. "I'm so sorry. Oh, Doctor, I'm so sorry."

"TARDIS," the Doctor gasps.

"Can you help me, please, if you're done hating him?" Clara requests sharply, hands pressed against the Doctor's chest. Jack suspects that she'll be yelling at him or hitting him later, possibly both.

"I've never hated him," he tries to reassure her, reaching out to cup the Doctor's cheek.

"You hated someone else enough to hate him," she retorts. "It hasn't been that long since he changed, although he ends up changing too often anyway, trying to save the universe. He's still bleeding and he can't breathe properly. Help us."

"Do you know the way to the TARDIS?" Jack almost cringes at the look she gives him in return. "I'll take that as a yes. Leave the coat on there and I'll carry him."

The Doctor tenses and tries to move away when Jack tucks his arms under the Doctor's shoulders and knees. "New. Imposs...ible," he gasps.

"That's me. Shh. We're taking you to the TARDIS. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jack shifts him a little, preparing to lift. Those pale, old eyes look at him, teeth biting down on his lip, face in a grimace. "It'll hurt, I'm sorry."

"We'll get you back, Doctor," Clara reassures him, laying one hand across his forehead to try to soothe his tensing body. "You'll be all right, soon." The Doctor looks at her and smiles faintly, eyes wistful, then goes limp.

"Lead the way, please," Jack asks Clara as he stands, trying to keep the Doctor's awkward length relatively tidy and comfortable.

"It's not far," she answers, brushing lightly at the silvered hair before turning and striding away.

Halfway there, Jack winces when he feels dampness on his skin. The blood has come through. He can hear the Doctor's short breaths. "Hold on," he whispers.

Clara places one hand against the TARDIS when they get there, pulling out her key with the other. "Please, let us in this time? I know you haven't always been so sure about me, but you've known Jack for longer, and the Doctor needs you." Please, don't let him regenerate again, she adds silently. This time was bad enough, he was scared, so hurt.

The TARDIS door swings open obediently, and Jack follows Clara, then stops and stares at the console room. "That's a bit different."

"Different?" Clara asks, starting up some stairs.

"It used to be all... coral and looking even more like he'd sourced half the console parts from a junkyard," he answers, following her.

"Oh, could you tell me about it later? He'll talk about himself but not, if you know what I mean?"

"Different face, same Doctor," Jack sighs. Lights flash around a door ahead, and he strides into the room beyond.

"Do you know what to do in here?" Clara asks, looking around the room.

"Not right now with it looking like this," he answers. "What about you? Has he gotten hurt other than regenerating, or have you gotten hurt while you've been traveling with him?" She shook her head, biting her lip a little. "Well..." Jack moved to a bed and carefully laid the Doctor down on it. One arm falls over the edge, and Clara tucks it back over the side, then helps Jack to straighten his legs out until he lies neatly on the bed.

"I still don't see anything to hook up or treat him," she muses with a worried face.

"Me neither," Jack sighs. "And I think I might know a greater range of medical technologies than you do."

A curtain drops down around the bed, draping itself across one of Jack's shoulders. Jack ducks forward to check on the Doctor and almost bumps into Clara, who has also ducked beyond the heavy fabric. It drops down further, then blows against them.

"That's a hint," Jack sighs. "Let's back off."

"And leave him alone?"

"Looks like the TARDIS is telling us to bugger off so she can take care of him. Hopefully that means healing and not a regeneration." Part of one curtain whips around his face, and he crouches down before moving back from the bed. "We were going! We were just worried."

Clara appears from behind the curtain and stands by Jack. "She should know what to do, I suppose? I know she's aware. I just didn't realize she had that much control over all of her interior." Jack looks at her, confused. "She kept rearranging herself, this one time. It was completely mad, and I was separated from him."

"Sounds interesting," Jack offers, looking at her. He holds out a hand and smiles broadly. "Captain Jack Harkness. Fifty-first century, but he picked me up in the twentieth. And I got separated from him a lot further out than that, long story."

"Clara Oswald. Twenty-first century." Lights strobe colorfully, and they both wince. "Oi, we stepped back, now she wants us out of the room?"

"Apparently." Jack grins crookedly. "I wonder if she'll let me into the wardrobe and then the kitchen?"

"Only one way to find out, Captain." She smiles up at him.

Jack looks over his shoulder as Clara urges him out the door. It's up to the Doctor and the TARDIS now. His Doctor, whom he mustn't ever doubt again.

"I hope the TARDIS lets us check on him," he sighs.

"I have no doubt she'll let us know. She's very opinionated that way."

"Yeah," Jack says, and snorts out a brief laugh, one he isn't sure is happy or sad.

"New clothes."

"Yep. Or the laundry. So," he says, knowing he should save his worrying for when the Doctor wakes up and they can talk, "how did you meet?"

"There was a mechanical consciousness infiltrating Earth." She hesitates a little. "He says we've met twice before, though. Only not me, but someone that looks like me. He kept calling me the impossible girl."

"Well, I can believe that, considering what I just did. We're diverse, but at the end of the day there really are a finite number of faces."

"I suppose," Clara answers thoughtfully.

"Tell me more about how you're the impossible girl?" Jack asks her, thinking about the newest impossible face on the friend who calls him impossible.

And she tells him about time and Daleks and vicious snowmen and different faces and painful, joyful history of the same impossible man.