Title: Two lovers, One kiss.
Word Count: 843
Characters: Rose/Doctor, Jake/Mickey, Jackie
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I do own this ficlet.
Summary: Mickey recalls a memory as he replaces an old one with a new.
Note: This is my first ever attempt at slash so please be kind!
Spoilers for The Age of Steel.
He’d been here before. December 31st 2006.
Rose was grinning on the balcony, leaning against the railing as fireworks exploded in the sky. The top level of the Powell Estate block was the perfect place to watch the New Year come in. They’d done this every year since they were thirteen. Empty beer cans strewn on the floor, their eyes glazed over as they began the countdown. In the distance, Big Ben creaked nearer the midnight mark and Rose turned, taking the Doctor’s hand first, then Mickey’s.
“10…9…8...7...6...” Rose began ahead of them as Jackie appeared behind, arms folded, she leant against the door to her flat. Rose was, as always, oblivious to the fact that Mickey wasn’t particularly happy, especially since he knew she wasn’t going to stay. But he chose to put that down to the alcohol, for now. Doing so lessened the hurt. Any excuse to make the pain fade.
“5…4…3…2…1…” Rose’s grip on both their hands tightened. The Doctor and Mickey turned to look and caught each other’s eyes as Rose screamed, whooping, dropping their hands and throwing her arms in the air as she screamed, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”
They connected, the Doctor and Mickey, if only for a brief second, before Rose crushed Ten with a huge bear hug, sloppily planting a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a trail of saliva. She giggled, wiped his face and her lips with her sleeve and spun around to pounce Mickey. But he was gone, back inside the flat, with Jackie. Rose had later apologised and insisted she only went for the Doctor first because she was drunk. And Mickey had forgiven her, just as he’d gotten used to, even though he knew deep down that the drink had nothing to do with it.
So here he was again, December 31st 2006. Except this wasn’t London, it was Paris. And this was the alternate reality, his new real world. Well, not so new now.
Things had been hectic since the Doctor had left. Plenty to do and not enough time to do it in, Jake had said, slapping Mickey playfully on the arm as they got on the first flight to Paris. He’d even slipped his arm around Mickey’s shoulders and, surprisingly, Mickey had found he didn’t care.
Eventually everything was put right. The cybermen were stopped and, along with many volunteers, he and Jake set about destroying the stored shells once and for all. Mickey took great pleasure in using their heads as footballs, kicking them into incinerators.
And Jake would sit there, watching, laughing. At first Mickey thought he was imagining it. The way Jake would touch him at every opportunity (though never indecently), those looks out of the corner of his eyes, the way he laughed at all his jokes even when they weren’t funny. Not even Rose did that.
And now they were here, several levels up on the Eiffel Tower, leaning against the railings in the same manner as Rose had done, empty beer cans on the floor, laughing. Fireworks were exploding in the sky all around and Mickey distinctly felt Jake’s hand tighten about his waist as midnight drew closer.
It felt good, feeling important, like someone actually cared about you. Properly, without taking you for granted or accidentally forgetting you. It felt great to have this moment back, to be with someone who, without being obliged to, had travelled the world with you to save the day and then had come back to celebrate in style. Together.
Mickey found he didn’t mind as Jake’s hand slipped, taking his hand, lacing their fingers as a clock chimed in the distance. Mickey’s skin slipped slightly as sweat began to form in his palm. His heart was hammering against his chest. He hadn’t felt this buzz, this proper adrenaline, since he and Rose had kissed for the first time when they were fourteen. And before he knew it, he was facing Jake. The words fell out his mouth.
“Happy New Year!” Mickey grinned, wide and toothy, caring little for how silly he may or may not have looked. Jake smiled back and, tugging on Mickey’s hand, pulled him into a hug. Not the typical bloke kind, where men usually pat each other on the back, but an intimate embrace which clearly told the other that they were comfortable with their sexuality, their friendship, their feelings, whatever you might call it. That was when Jake stood back, just far enough to look at Mickey’s face and brought his hand to his cheek.
“Come on you, I hear Chirac’s got a bit of a do going on and we’re invited!” Quite suddenly, with a casual but swift movement, Jake pressed his lips against Mickey’s. Mickey closed his eyes and kissed him back, smiling as Jake stayed put for a few brief seconds before moving away. “Let’s go live it up, hero style!” smiled Jake, patting Mickey on the shoulder as they walked away, arms around each other, slightly wobbly on their feet, as high as kites on happiness.