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Title: Not Ricky
Author: Aisalynn
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Jake/Rickey, slight Jake/Mickey
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers for "Rise of the Cybermen" and "Age of Steel"
Summary: While fighting to save the world, Jake mourns.
Jake heard footsteps coming from the dark street behind him and he turned around. Excitement and relief flooded into him when he saw the familiar figure running towards them, and he couldn’t help the broad smile that made its way to his face.
“Here he is!” The smile faded as the man got close enough to him in the dim lamp light. The relief he felt was immediately replaced with confusion, and fear.
He couldn’t remember if Ricky was wearing that jacket or not.
“Which one are you?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry…the Cybermen… I couldn’t--” The words came out in a sort of mumbled gasp as the man tried to catch his breath. His eyes flickered between the group uncertainly as he spoke.
The fear grew stronger.
“Are you Ricky?” The man (Ricky? Or not Ricky?) didn’t answer, but just looked around helplessly, and Jake felt like the ground had dropped out from under him. “Are you Ricky?”
The girl spoke up. “Mickey, that’s you, isn’t it?”
The man shot Jake an apologetic look before turning back to her. “Yeah.” he said, and opened his arms as she ran towards him.
Jake held absolutely still.
Ricky’s dead.
The word’s hadn’t been said, but Jake knew it, he could tell it from the expression on Mickey’s face. There was no other option; Ricky wouldn’t have let himself be turned into one of those Cybermen, he would have fought, would have died.
Dead. Gone. Deleted.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“I tried. He was running…” Mickey explained, arms wrapped around the blonde girl like Ricky’s arms should have been wrapped around him.
Jake turned away.
“There were too many of them--”
“Shut it.” He didn’t need to hear it, didn’t want to hear it. Not from him, not in that voice.
“There was nothing I could do…”
Jake whipped around. “I said just shut it!” He was angry. So angry that this man, this double had lived and Ricky hadn’t. His anger burned away all warm feelings he once had for this Mickey, all the trust and loyalty he couldn’t help but give him because of his face. “You’re nothing you are!” He turned away again. It was hard to look at that face now. “Nothing.”
Not Ricky.
It was silent for just a moment, and then the Doctor spoke. “We can mourn him when London is safe. For now, we move on.”
Maybe they would, Ricky thought as they made their way to the Cyberman factory, these people who didn’t even know Ricky, didn’t even belong to this world. Maybe they would go on with the mission, not to give the dead man a thought as they got the job done, putting it off until they were back on that ship or wherever it was they came from, where they might spend a few second’s time thinking of how it was oh so sad, what happened to him. Maybe they would, but Jake wouldn’t.
Jake would mourn now.
Their first time wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow and loving, but rough, fast, and angry. They’d been drinking in Ricky’s room, cheap whiskey that twisted his empty stomach in knots and went straight to his head. Jake knew he would regret it later, but right now it didn’t matter.
They’d failed.
The new ear-pods had just come out. Now people were not only constantly connected to the same network, letting themselves be tracked and monitored, but they could receive Cybus’s download’s straight into their brains, receiving all the same information, all the same thoughts.
Like they were machines.
Despite the information that had been given to them by their inside contact, Gemini, they hadn’t been able to stop it. Cybus was just too powerful. And what’s more, their old school mate, Tommy, had been one of the many to rush out for the latest upgrade. They’d tried to tell him not to get it, that Cybus was up to no good and that he shouldn’t trust anything they made, that by purchasing their products the world was slowly giving up the very things that made them human. Tommy had just laughed, called them ridiculous and went to wait in line at the nearest tech store.
Such failures like these, Ricky had bitterly muttered, needed to be drowned out in alcohol.
Which is how they ended up here.
Ricky’s nails dug into his skin as he pinned Jake’s wrists above his head, gripping them so hard Jake knew there would be bruises. The wood floor was cold against his back, and Jake spared a thought for the bed not five feet from them but decided it didn’t matter. He’d wanted, dreamed of this for months, and he wasn’t stopping or pausing for anything now.
They kissed roughly, mouths open and teeth clanging together, biting and gnawing at each other’s lips hard enough to draw blood. Jake groaned as the other man entered him, and Ricky ripped his mouth away, giving a short gasp directly into Jake’s ear with each thrust of his hips.
“This,” Ricky muttered hoarsely, “is what they’re giving up.”
Jake wrapped his legs around Ricky, letting the other man control the rhythm, unable to do anything more than gasp as the combination of pleasure and pain flooded his senses.
“Emotion. Passion.” Ricky’s voice was gruff in his ear, his breath skating across the skin of Jakes neck, making him shudder. “They’re letting themselves be controlled by a computer, giving away all freedom and spontaneity. This,” he gasped, “is what makes us human.”
Jake leaned his head back against the hard floor, closing his eyes and letting the motion of their bodies and the rhythm of Ricky’s voice carry him away.
It was cold on the hill. Jake’s breath came out in little puffs of white as he stood there, staring off into the night sky. The others were near the picnic table, huddled around Mrs. Moore and her computer as they tried to plan what to do.
Ricky should be here, pacing the ground impatiently and knocking down idiotic ideas with cutting words and harsh glares.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. They hadn’t been separated for an hour when he saw Mickey running through the street. How, in such short a time can a man go from living, planning, thinking… to not existing?
Deleted.
Jake clenched his fists. Oh, how he hated those cyber-freaks.
“There’s another way in,” Pete was saying, “through the front door. If they’re taking Jackie for upgrading that’s how she’ll get in.”
Is he crazy?
Jake marched over there, if Ricky wasn‘t here to shoot down stupid ideas, then he‘d do it. “You can’t just go strolling up.” Idiot.
“Well, we could…” Mrs. Moore pulled something out of her bag, “with these.” As she held up her hand the light from the factory glinted off small metal lumps. “Fake ear-pods. Dead. No signal.” The Doctor took one and examined it. “But put them on and the Cybermen will mistake you for one of the crowd.”
Jake had to admit, the idea sounded better with those. If they could manage to conceal their emotions. He’d doubted at first that the girl could do it, but seeing her determination as she talked to the Doctor changed that. He was more concerned now about Peter. He’d proven himself very emotional, especially when it came to his wife.
“Tell you what…” the Doctor began, “We can attack the ear-pods at the same time. Give people their minds back, so they don’t walk into that place like sheep. Jakey boy!” The Doctor walked to the edge of the hill, gesturing for Jake to follow him.
Jakey boy?
Who was this guy? How is it that he’d apparently only been in this world for less than a day and yet he’d taken control, made plans, gave orders? How did he know so much about the Cybermen?
And who travels between parallel worlds anyway? Is this guy for real?
“Lumic’s transmitting the control signal; it must be from over there.” He took out what seemed to be a small blue flashlight and clicked it a few times. “There it is, on the zeppelin, see?” Jake didn’t, but he guessed that didn’t matter. “Reckon you can take it out?”
That was just what he needed, something for him to do, to take his mind off of Ricky. Something reckless, something dangerous. He grinned. “Consider it done.”
The Doctor walked back to the table. “We’ll attack from three sides: above, between, below. We get to the control center we can stop the conversion machines.”
“What about me?”
Jake’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been trying to ignore him. Trying to forget he existed, this man who looked so much like Ricky.
“Uh, Mickey…” The Doctor didn’t look like he knew what to say. “You can… um…”
“What? Stay out of trouble, be the tin dog? No, those days are over, I’m going with Jake.” He walked around the table.
What? No. No. “I don’t need you, idiot!”
“I’m not an idiot, got that? I’m offering to help.”
Jake was suddenly faced with what he was trying to ignore all night: Ricky’s face in front of him, Ricky’s voice in his ears, Ricky’s eyes boring into his, challenging him, like they so often did before.
His own flesh and blood ghost.
He didn’t think he could take this and stay sane. But how could he say no?
“Whatever.”
Ricky pulled the van up to the sidewalk, right in front of the door to the apartment building where they were supposed to meet their--hopefully--new techie, Mrs. Moore.
“Uh, Ricky?” Jake began, “You can’t park here. It’s illegal.”
Ricky didn’t show any reaction, just put the car in park and shut off the engine. “Yeah, so?”
“Well…” Jake was at a loss. “That means you’re not supposed to do it.”
Ricky turned to him, a rare, wry grin curling on his mouth. “And you do everything you’re supposed to do, yeah?”
“Well, no.”
“Isn’t this what we are supposed to do? Fight the system?”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “By parking wherever you want?”
His smile grew bigger. “Why not? Fight it anyway you can, that’s what I say. By doing this we are sending them a message: we’ll not conform to their ideas of what the world should be like. We exist to defy them.”
Fighting through parking? It sounded kind of silly to Jake. But Ricky hadn’t smiled like that in a long time, and that mischievous look in is eyes…it reminded him of the old Ricky, back in their school days, before Cybus and the rebellion.
He grinned and clasped Ricky’s shoulder. “Right. Let’s send them a message.” With that he hopped out of the car.
An hour later, after they had met with Mrs. Moore, who had been introduced to them by another member of The Preachers, they exited the building and walked to the van. Jake supposed there had never been anybody who was as happy as they were to see a parking ticket on their window.
Jake hopped over the wall on the roof, landing quietly and instantly falling into a crouch. He ran across the roofing, darting out of the light and pressing close to the wall so as not to be seen by the guards. He heard soft footsteps behind him and then Mickey was there, next to him, so close he could feel the body heat from him.
Jake pressed closer to the wall.
“Two guards,” he told him. “We can take ‘em.”
“Don’t kill them.”
Jake glared. He didn’t like this man giving orders, he sounded too much like him. “And who put you in charge?” he snapped.
“If you kill ‘em, what’s the difference between you and a Cyberman?”
Jake was silent for a minute. Compassion. Forgiveness. Mercy. Weren‘t those human qualities? Ricky may have been ruthless at times, but his main goal was always about preserving humanity. He wouldn’t want Jake to sacrifice his.
“Well, I suppose we could use these.” He dug one of the little brown bottles out of his pocket and handed it to Mickey.
“Smelling salts?”
He grinned. “A bit stronger than that. One of Mrs. Moore’s little tricks. Should knock them out.” He looked in the direction of the guards, made sure they weren’t looking their way. “Now…” he whispered, “Three, two, one…”
They ran.
Jake sighed contentedly against Ricky’s bare shoulder. It was one of those rare times when they had nothing to do: no Cybus agents to spy on, no information to gather, no parking tickets to collect. One of the few times when Ricky had let go enough of his anger to allow them to just relax and be.
Ricky’s arm was tucked around him, keeping Jake close against his side. He could feel Ricky’s fingertips on his skin, running idly over his stomach, following the line of his ribs, tracing patterns up and down his side. He stared at his own hand, which was curled around Ricky’s bicep. Jake decided he liked the way his pale skin contrasted with Ricky’s dark skin in the late afternoon sun.
“You know,” Ricky said softly, “sometimes I feel like I should give it all up. Just give up the fight and pack my bags, get out of this crazy place while it falls apart. Run away.”
“Mmm…” Jake pressed himself closer. “Where would you go?”
Ricky was quiet for a moment, the only noise was the soft rustling as he moved his hand along Jake’s skin. Jake drowsily closed his eyes.
“Paris.”
Jake shifted. “Hmm?”
“Paris. We could go to Paris. Imagine it: you and me, just taking the Chunnel there one day, getting ourselves a hotel room. Dinners at open cafés on the street, taking a boat ride on the Seine…”
Jake could imagine it: days spent with Ricky, walking down the tree lined avenue’s of Paris, peering into all the white painted shops, nights spent in the hotel room, sweaty and tangled in the sheets, mornings spent sleeping in each other’s arms… perfect. Like this moment now.
He sat up. “Why don’t we do it?”
Ricky squinted at him. “What?”
“Why don’t we do it?” He was really excited now. “Lets just go, pack our bags and go. Just like you said.”
Ricky pushed Jake away and sat up. “Don’t be a fool, Jake,” he said gruffly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on his jeans. “Of course we can’t go. It was just a stupid dream.”
Jake didn’t move from the bed. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Ricky sighed and looked down at his shoes. “Look, we’ve got responsibilities here. We can’t just leave when we get tired of it. Cybus is still out there, and we need to fight them.”
Cybus. It was an obsession with him. Ever since his mum, terrible parent though she was, disappeared off the streets just like all those other people. There was never any time for anything else, never any time to live.
Ricky stood up and pulled on his shirt, the time for peace and contentment gone. He headed for the door.
But Jake wasn’t ready to give up on it yet. “Maybe someday then, yeah?”
Ricky stopped in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “Someday. Yeah.” His tone was flat. Emotionless.
He walked out, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
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