300-word Doctor Who ficlet: Schooled with a Strap, Alt!Jack/Ricky, PG-13

[shinodabear.livejournal.com]

Title Schooled with a Strap
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, some imagery/death
Pairing: Alt!Jack/Ricky
Disclaimer: They are but figments of the imagination that someone else patented and made a bunch of money off of.
Note: Takes place within the establishment alternate universe, but previous to the timeline the show enters. (That is, Ricky's early days.) Also, assumes that the Bad Wolf is one big bad and scattered herself across dimensions while she was playing Time God.


“Don’t get easier, does it?” he asked as his partner gasped raggedly beside him. The blood was still drying on his brow, sluggishly dripping down his temples, but the hole in his forehead was healed.

Ricky remembered the nights when Jack bled like a mortal man, and they’d discuss death like the two rogues they were. Then came the night when Jack woke in a cold sweat, raving about the golden woman who’d brought him life. He’d thought Jack was bonkers, until the day he was gunned down. Ricky remembered screaming, running towards his fallen partner and composing Jack’s eulogy in his mind -- He was a right arse, had a fine arse, and couldn’t be arsed to do anything unless it was the right thing. Then Jack came back. Ricky kissed him then, happy to have him alive, and he kissed him each time thereafter, until the frequency of fatality increased. It happened too often. Somehow, they became worse criminals than delinquents, and things got serious. The whole world turned on them, forced them into becoming the resistance and preaching their word to whoever would listen.

“Not one bit, Mickey,” Jack answered as he sat up from the ground.

“How many times I gotta tell you, mate? It’s Ricky.” He punched his partner’s shoulder, not caring to be gentle.

“I only do it to see you get angry.” Jack winked, hauling himself to his feet.

“Listen, Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” he gave his partner a playful shove towards their van, “the only thing I want outta you right now is cash. Another bloody parking ticket! S’your turn to pay.”

Jack plucked the slip of paper from the windscreen. “I’ll pay you when we get home.” Jack tossed the ticket away. “What kind of resistance group pays the government parking fines?”