Fic: Not Ricky (Part Two)

[aisalynn]

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 had to admit that this Mickey wasn’t a complete screw up, once you got a computer in front of him. He was confident and demanding, barking out orders and pushing him aside impatiently so he could do the job himself.

 

It was almost like having Ricky here with him.

 

And that thing with the Cyberman, egging it on and deliberately drawing attention to himself, so that it would try to hit Mickey and miss, taking out the ear-pods instead--that’s exactly like something Ricky would have done.

 

It was hard to remember, when Mickey wrapped an arm around his shoulder, jumping and pumping his fist and crying, “The transmitter’s down!” that it really wasn’t Ricky beside him.

 

The clicking sound from the keyboard was constant as Mickey worked, fingers moving too fast for Jake to follow.

 

“Hold on…” Mickey muttered, “I’ve logged on to Cyber Control.” The tiny screen flashed and then showed the control room. “They’re alive! The Doctor and Rose--there they are!”

 

Yes, you’re friends are alive, but not Ricky.

 

Jake tasted something bitter in the back of his throat. “Never mind them, what the hell is that thing?” he pointed to the screen, where in the control room the Doctor was talking to a Cyberman. Only this one was different: it was hooked up to what looked like a huge throne of some sort.

 

“Shh! Has this thing got sound?” He pressed a few keys and suddenly they could hear what was being spoken.

 

A flat, digital voice came out of the speakers. “I will bring peace to world. Everlasting peace. And unity. And uniformity.”

 

Well, shit. Jake guessed that was the leader of the Cybermen then.

 

They listened as the Doctor preached to the Cyberman about the value of humanity. He pranced up an down the screen, waving his arms and deliberately getting in Cybermen’s faces. Several times he looked back at the camera, as if he knew they watching.

 

“You just don’t get it, do you? Those ordinary people, they’re the key. The most ordinary person could change the world! Some ordinary man or woman…some idiot--” Ricky--no, Mickey--stiffened beside him, eyes wide as he stared at the screen. “All it takes is for him to find, say the right numbers, say the right code… “

 

What was he going on about? Jake didn’t have a clue.

 

“Say, for example, the code behind the Emotional Inhibitor, the code right in front of him.”

 

The Emotional Inhibitor. Of course.

 

This Doctor was absolutely brilliant.

 

“Even an idiot knows computers these days, knows how to get past firewalls, and passwords…”

 

“That’s it!” Mickey breathed.

 

“Knows how to find something encrypted in the Lumic family database under--what was it, Pete? Binary what?”

 

“Binary nine.”

 

“Binary nine!” The clicking sound picked up again as Mickey’s fingers flew over the keyboard. The numbers of the code appeared on the screen as he typed.

 

Come on, come on…  Jake thought.  Three numbers were on the screen.

 

“And he’d keep on typing, keep on fighting.” The Doctor looked right at the camera. “Anything to save his friends!”

 

All the numbers were on the screen, and the Doctor said something about Rose’s phone, once again, looking directly at the camera.

 

“The phone!” Mickey gasped, digging into his pocket. He quickly typed up the code and sent it to them.

 

 The Doctor turned away from the camera and addressed the Cyberman. “Lets not forget how you seduced all those lovely people in the first place: by making every piece of technology compatible with everything else.”

 

Using Cybus’s own system against them… That Doctor is brilliant!

 

The Doctor caught the phone that Rose tossed to him. “Like this.” And he slammed it into the plug.

 

The effect was immediate. It was as if all the Cybermen just came alive: they were screaming and howling, grabbing at their head and arms, falling to their knees in despair when they realized what happened to them.

 

Jake jumped up and down, pumping his fist into the air. “Yes! Yes! We did it!” He threw his arms around the other man, “We did it, Ricky!”

 

Then he pulled back, grasped both sides of his face, and kissed him full on the mouth.

 “Whoa--whoa!” The other man pulled away, palms out as if to ward him off. “I’m not Ricky, remember? I’m Mickey.”

 

Jake stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open, absolutely dumbfounded at what he just did. For the second time that night, it was like he couldn’t breathe. Mickey’s eyes (Ricky’s eyes) were full of pity as he stared back.

 

Jake closed his so he wouldn‘t have to look at them.

 

“Look, mate,” Mickey said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

 

Oh, god…

 

“Forget it.” He opened eyes, jerked his shoulder away. “Come on, let’s take this zeppelin and get out of here.”

 

Jake watched from the doorway kitchen doorway as the other Ricky (what was it he said his name was? Mickey?) pulled his clothes back on. It was eerie, having him here. Everything about him was just like Ricky, even down to the tattoo on his arm.

 

Well, everything except his eyes.

 

Ricky’s eyes were hard, harsh even. Eyes that were set under constantly furrowed brows and a permanently scowling face. But this Mickey… there was something a little more gentle about him, a sort of innocent befuddlement that Jake couldn’t help admit he found appealing.

 

The double, Mickey, looked nervously around the kitchen as he slipped his jacket on, tied his boots.

 

“Like what you see?” a low voice whispered in his ear. A hand grabbed him and roughly pulled him into the dark hallway, a warm body pressed him against the wall.

 

“Ricky!” Jake gasped. He flushed under that hard gaze, though he wasn’t sure why. It’s true he had liked what he saw, but it wasn’t any different than if he’d been looking at Ricky, right? He shot a glance at the kitchen door. “It’s freaky, isn’t it? How much he looks like you?”

 

Ricky leaned forward so their faces were just inches a part. “Well, you better just remember that he’s not me,” he growled. “I saw how close you were getting with that scanner.”

 

Jake chuckled and pushed him lightly. “Aw, come off it.”

 

“No, you listen!” He hissed grabbing Jake’s shoulders and slamming him back against wall. “He may have my face, my voice, my body, but he is not me. Got that, Jake? He. Is. Not. Me.” And without waiting for an answer he closed the space between and them and kissed him, hard, forcing Jake’s mouth open with his tongue and running it along the line of his teeth, biting at his scraping his teeth along his lower lip, fingers digging harshly into Jake’s shoulder as he did so.

 

And Jake forgot all about Mickey the Double as he kissed him back with equal fervor, because this was what he loved about Ricky Smith. His passion. The rush of pure emotion he put into everything: the joy, love, pain, even anger, even jealousy. The fearless way he lived his life. And Jake would throw away any amount gentle and confused looks--for moments like these.

 

They pulled apart, gasping, and Ricky leaned his forehead against Jake’s. He could feel the moisture of their mingled breath warm their skin as they breathed, hear the sound of it echoing in the empty hall.

 

“You better be careful tonight.” Jake whispered, moving his hand from where it gripped Ricky’s shoulder and curling it gently around his neck. He could feel the pulse racing underneath his fingertips.

 

Ricky gave him a half grin, eyes warm. “You too. Don’t want anything to happen to that pretty boy face of yours, yeah?” He tugged playfully at one of Jake’s spikes, chuckling when Jake immediately swatted his hand away. “Come on,” he said, giving Jake’s shoulder one last squeeze. “Let’s get to the van.” And he walked into the kitchen to get the others.

 

Jake followed and this time, his eyes never strayed from his Ricky.

 

 

 

Jake shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he and Mickey walked down the empty London streets. It was late, but dawn was still far off and the cold bit at his hands and face. He shot a glare towards Mickey.

 

“You mean to tell me, we just spent thirty minutes digging around the grass near Peter’s house, looking for a suit?”

 

Mickey just shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s the Doctor’s suit, you see.” As if that explained everything.

 

Maybe it did.

 

For a while the only sound was that of their footsteps on the pavement. It was weird, seeing London so empty; even after curfew there was usually some noise, some life.

 

Over six thousand people had been turned into Cybermen, and were now dead. And that’s not even counting the number of people who got deleted.

 

Jake tried not to think about that.

 

“Hey,” Mickey said suddenly. “Are you still gonna fight? Go to all them Cyber factories and try to shut ‘em down?”

 

Jake sighed, kicked at a stray pebble. “I s’pose so.” It’s what Ricky would do.

 

“Well…” he hesitated. “What would you say if I were to stay here. You know, help out?”

 

Jake’s stomach clenched. To have him stay here, to see Ricky‘s face and yet it not be Ricky, to always remind him of what he had, of what he‘d lost. The idea made him ache somewhere inside. But if he thought about it, he knew it was a good idea. He had the whole world to save from the Cybermen, and he couldn’t do it alone. Mickey had proven himself useful tonight--he’d be a fool to turn down his help.

 

“I guess that could work,” he muttered.

 

“Great.” Mickey smiled, but still didn’t look quite happy.

 

“Here it is!” Mickey called out when they caught up with the Doctor and Rose. “I found it--not a crease.”

 

“My suit!” The Doctor smiled broadly as he took it from him. “Good man!”

 

Apparently the suit was a big deal.

 

He turned to Jake. “Now then, Jake, we’ve got to run. But one more thing: Mrs. Moore. Her real name was Angela Price. She’s got a husband out there, and children. Find them. Tell them how she died saving the world.”

 

“Yeah, of course I will.” Angela Price? Really. It never crossed his mind that Mrs. Moore wasn’t her real name.

 

“Off we go then!” He started to turn around.

 

Mickey stopped him. “Uh, the thing is…I’m staying.”

 

“You’re doing what?” Even after this whole, terrible night, that was the first time Jake had seen that man shocked. He looked utterly nonplussed. And that was nothing to the expression on the girl’s face.

 

“You can’t!” she cried.

 

“It all balances out,” Mickey explained, “’cause this world lost it’s Ricky, but there’s me.” He stuttered to a stop, taking a few controlling breaths before he continued. “And there’s still work to be done, with all the Cybermen still out there.”

 

She shook her head, and sniffed back tears. “But you can’t stay.”

 

Jake looked away, trying not to listen to the conversation. He was sure there was a long story between them, but he didn’t want to know it. It seemed so wrong, watching what looked to be Ricky, having such an emotional moment with a girl Jake didn’t even know.

 

But you don’t know him, either, because that isn’t Ricky.

 

He’s not Ricky.

 

Jake told himself that as they talked about Mickey’s gran, as he said goodbye to the Doctor, as he and the girl exchanged tearful words about their childhood together. Jake tried to smother the anger and jealousy he felt when they embraced.

 

“Go on, don’t miss your flight,” Mickey muttered into her shoulder. She ran to he police box, wiping at tears and stopping to look back one more time at Mickey before she shut the door.

 

“Jake, you’ll want to watch this.”

 

He looked over curiously, and dropped his mouth as the police box started to fade away. “What the hell?”

 

So the Doctor had been telling the truth all along. Jake had half believed they were all crazy.

 

“Come on then,” Mickey said, walking away from where the police box disappeared from. “Let’s get to the van.” 

 

Jake stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths as he tried to fight the fresh wave of pain those words brought.

 

“Come on,” Ricky said, pulling away and squeezing his shoulder, which was tender with newly formed bruises. “Let’s get to the van.”

 

Jake reached up and touched his left shoulder, feeling the slight pain that was still there, letting it remind him.

 

“He may have face, my voice, my body, but he’s not me. Got that, Jake?”

 

He wouldn’t allow himself to forget--Jake swore it. No matter what, he wouldn’t let himself forget that.

 

Goodbye, Ricky…

 

Jake took one last, steeling breath of the cold night air, and walked after Mickey.