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Not So Alone: Part 3

Jack blinked a couple of times, his brow furrowed. He kept his staff aimed right at the man’s chest.

“‘The Doctor?’” he repeated warily.

“That’s me. Hello!” the man said, waving his hand in greeting. His toothy smile hadn’t faded in the least.

“Doctor…what?”

The man turned his gaze skyward, raising his eyebrows and turning the corners of his thin lips down into a half-pout, saying to nobody but himself, “Oh, not too often I get that one. It’s usually ‘Doctor who?’” He redirected his attention to Jack. “No, no. That’s it. Just ‘The Doctor.’”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Was this guy serious?

Him, with his headful of brown hair fluffed up in the middle and mildly spiked, falling slightly into his forehead, reminding Jack of some sort of cockatoo. And those sideburns! Him, with the thick eyebrows, thin upper lip, slightly pudgier lower one, and square jaw. Wearing that brown pinstripe suit, complete with a white dress shirt and faintly dotted tie, all enveloped in a lighter brown, ankle-length coat that he left casually unbuttoned, leading right down to a pair of bright red Converses.

And then, there were his eyes.

His eyes, round and a deep brown. They were young and teeming with life, smiling, always looking for an adventure. And yet, they were old. So very, very old. Eyes that told of ages that even Jack had not known, that were there and yet also galaxies away. Eyes that bore such a colossal sadness—recently born—that Jack could practically feel it seeping into his own consciousness as they stood there observing one another. Eyes that spoke of an inner power, a beast that needed a keeper, and of a knowledge larger than any known library, that said they knew everything about anything, including you.

Still, he felt that he could relax. He didn’t feel that The Doctor—if that’s what this guy wanted to be called—would hurt him. He just seemed like a very lonely man with a child’s heart. And yet…

“What about you? Bit rude, you know, asking a fellow for his name but not giving yours in return.”

Jack snapped out of his train of thought, lowering his staff as he approached The Doctor, also stepping into the TARDIS’s light.

“My name is Jack,” he said, having to look up slightly. The Doctor was a few inches taller than him. If he had to guess, Jack would say The Doctor stood at a skinny 6’1”.

Around the same height as the Easter Kangaroo.

“Jack,” The Doctor said thoughtfully. “Jack. I know a Jack. Bit eccentric. Quite the flirt. Wonder when I’ll run into him again,” he added on, once more seeming to speak to himself. “D’you have a last name, Jack? Accurate as it would be, I don’t think it’s ‘Mister I’m-No-Ordinary-Human.’”

As he said that final sentence, he reached into his inner coat pocket and took out what appeared to be a metal stick, roughly the length of your average screwdriver. The handle was thicker, fitting comfortably into The Doctor’s hand. It slimmed down just past his grip, widening once again to end in what looked like a silver cage topped with a radiant blue light.

It made a high-pitched whirring noise as he pressed a button and pointed the thing at Jack. Its sound resembled that of the buzzing wings of an insect. Maybe a mosquito? Or maybe a couple of summer cicadas singing together in perfect harmony. Yeah, that’s more like it. It wasn’t painful to the ears. Quite musical, actually.

But Jack didn’t really appreciate having this device pointed at him, seemingly scanning every inch of him.

“Frost,” he said, staring down the odd gadget with slight annoyance. “My name is Jack Frost.”

The Doctor looked up from behind the device momentarily. “Jack Frost? As in, ‘nipping at your nose’ and ‘spirit of Winter’? That Jack Frost?”

Jack simply nodded.

He got an amazed chuckle in response. “Well, I’ll be. Pleasure to finally meet you, Jack. Not every day I get to meet the stuff of legends. Have met quite a few though, like—” He stopped aiming his device at the spirit, ceasing the noise and bringing it up to his eyes and examining it, as if reading a report.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” He looked back over at Jack. “Oh!”

It was at this moment that a realization came to Jack.

The Doctor was looking at him. Right at him.

“How could I have been so stupid?” the two of them said at the exact same time, clapping their hands to their foreheads.

They then exchanged questioning glances, not only at the odd synchronization but each one also wondering what the other had come to know.

“You first,” The Doctor commanded, putting away the gizmo.

“You…can see me,” Jack said cautiously.

“It appears so.”

“Most people can’t. Well, I mean, adults can’t, since they don’t believe in stuff like me. So, why can you?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrow, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You just answered that for yourself.”

“So you…believe in me?”

“I suppose if you put it into those terms, yes. That does work quite nicely. I’ve lived for quite a while, been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, know a lot about a lot of different people.” He paused, sensing that Jack didn’t quite understand. “Tend to keep something of an open mind, so it’s only natural. Plus, I’ve heard stories about you in particular. Other than the myths.”

It was Jack’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “From who?”

The Doctor just continued staring at him. A lightbulb went off in Jack’s head.

“You know North?!”

“Yup!” he exclaimed with a smile. “Good old Nicholas St. North.” He pulled out a picture from his other breast pocket and showed it to Jack. “See? There’s me, and there’s our dear friend.”

Jack craned his neck to get a good look at the old photo. Sure enough, there was North, his beard bright white, cheeks rosy, and eyes shining bright even in the black-and-white color scheme. He had his large hand resting on the shoulder of a man beside him, a man that Jack now immediately recognized as being The Doctor.

The Winter spirit laughed lightly in spite of himself. He secretly wondered why North hadn’t told him any stories about the good Doctor.

Jack leaned casually on his staff, crossing one ankle over the other. “So, Doctor, why were you slapping yourself upside the head?”

“The sonic—sonic screwdiver, that’s what that little device is called—told me something I should have realized the moment I saw you.”

“And that would be?”

“Who you are. Or rather, what.”

“It can tell you I’m Jack Frost?”

“Yes. Well, no. Well, not quite. Wait.” He squinted at the spirit of Winter. “You…don’t know?”

Jack returned The Doctor’s stare with a blank one of his own. “Don’t know what?”

“Oh,” he said softly, straightening his back, his countenance turning to one of deep sympathy, his left eyebrow slightly raised as he subtly shook his head. “Oh, Jack. I hadn’t a clue, North never even hinted. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

But, before Jack could ask just what The Doctor was sorry about, something moved in the forest just behind the TARDIS, tearing the two’s attention away from the matter at hand.

A twig snapped.

Jack aimed his staff as The Doctor whipped out the sonic screwdriver, scanning for the identity of their newest third party. After a few brief moments, he read what the screwdriver had to tell him.

Jack side-glanced at The Doctor, picking up a new feeling from him.

Fear.

A shadow moved amongst the trees.

And then, a word.

A single word. A single syllable uttered by The Doctor as some presence moved closer. So small, yet so significant. A world-shattering word that had been spoken since the beginning of time. A short, imperative command that would turn everything Jack thought he knew upside-down and inside-out, forever altering his fate.

“Run!”

Description
Not So Alone: Part 3

Jack blinked a couple of times, his brow furrowed. He kept his staff aimed right at the man’s chest.

“‘The Doctor?’” he repeated warily.

“That’s me. Hello!” the man said, waving his hand in greeting. His toothy smile hadn’t faded in the least.

“Doctor…what?”

The man turned his gaze skyward, raising his eyebrows and turning the corners of his thin lips down into a half-pout, saying to nobody but himself, “Oh, not too often I get that one. It’s usually ‘Doctor who?’” He redirected his attention to Jack. “No, no. That’s it. Just ‘The Doctor.’”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Was this guy serious?

Him, with his headful of brown hair fluffed up in the middle and mildly spiked, falling slightly into his forehead, reminding Jack of some sort of cockatoo. And those sideburns! Him, with the thick eyebrows, thin upper lip, slightly pudgier lower one, and square jaw. Wearing that brown pinstripe suit, complete with a white dress shirt and faintly dotted tie, all enveloped in a lighter brown, ankle-length coat that he left casually unbuttoned, leading right down to a pair of bright red Converses.

And then, there were his eyes.

His eyes, round and a deep brown. They were young and teeming with life, smiling, always looking for an adventure. And yet, they were old. So very, very old. Eyes that told of ages that even Jack had not known, that were there and yet also galaxies away. Eyes that bore such a colossal sadness—recently born—that Jack could practically feel it seeping into his own consciousness as they stood there observing one another. Eyes that spoke of an inner power, a beast that needed a keeper, and of a knowledge larger than any known library, that said they knew everything about anything, including you.

Still, he felt that he could relax. He didn’t feel that The Doctor—if that’s what this guy wanted to be called—would hurt him. He just seemed like a very lonely man with a child’s heart. And yet…

“What about you? Bit rude, you know, asking a fellow for his name but not giving yours in return.”

Jack snapped out of his train of thought, lowering his staff as he approached The Doctor, also stepping into the TARDIS’s light.

“My name is Jack,” he said, having to look up slightly. The Doctor was a few inches taller than him. If he had to guess, Jack would say The Doctor stood at a skinny 6’1”.

Around the same height as the Easter Kangaroo.

“Jack,” The Doctor said thoughtfully. “Jack. I know a Jack. Bit eccentric. Quite the flirt. Wonder when I’ll run into him again,” he added on, once more seeming to speak to himself. “D’you have a last name, Jack? Accurate as it would be, I don’t think it’s ‘Mister I’m-No-Ordinary-Human.’”

As he said that final sentence, he reached into his inner coat pocket and took out what appeared to be a metal stick, roughly the length of your average screwdriver. The handle was thicker, fitting comfortably into The Doctor’s hand. It slimmed down just past his grip, widening once again to end in what looked like a silver cage topped with a radiant blue light.

It made a high-pitched whirring noise as he pressed a button and pointed the thing at Jack. Its sound resembled that of the buzzing wings of an insect. Maybe a mosquito? Or maybe a couple of summer cicadas singing together in perfect harmony. Yeah, that’s more like it. It wasn’t painful to the ears. Quite musical, actually.

But Jack didn’t really appreciate having this device pointed at him, seemingly scanning every inch of him.

“Frost,” he said, staring down the odd gadget with slight annoyance. “My name is Jack Frost.”

The Doctor looked up from behind the device momentarily. “Jack Frost? As in, ‘nipping at your nose’ and ‘spirit of Winter’? That Jack Frost?”

Jack simply nodded.

He got an amazed chuckle in response. “Well, I’ll be. Pleasure to finally meet you, Jack. Not every day I get to meet the stuff of legends. Have met quite a few though, like—” He stopped aiming his device at the spirit, ceasing the noise and bringing it up to his eyes and examining it, as if reading a report.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” He looked back over at Jack. “Oh!”

It was at this moment that a realization came to Jack.

The Doctor was looking at him. Right at him.

“How could I have been so stupid?” the two of them said at the exact same time, clapping their hands to their foreheads.

They then exchanged questioning glances, not only at the odd synchronization but each one also wondering what the other had come to know.

“You first,” The Doctor commanded, putting away the gizmo.

“You…can see me,” Jack said cautiously.

“It appears so.”

“Most people can’t. Well, I mean, adults can’t, since they don’t believe in stuff like me. So, why can you?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrow, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You just answered that for yourself.”

“So you…believe in me?”

“I suppose if you put it into those terms, yes. That does work quite nicely. I’ve lived for quite a while, been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, know a lot about a lot of different people.” He paused, sensing that Jack didn’t quite understand. “Tend to keep something of an open mind, so it’s only natural. Plus, I’ve heard stories about you in particular. Other than the myths.”

It was Jack’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “From who?”

The Doctor just continued staring at him. A lightbulb went off in Jack’s head.

“You know North?!”

“Yup!” he exclaimed with a smile. “Good old Nicholas St. North.” He pulled out a picture from his other breast pocket and showed it to Jack. “See? There’s me, and there’s our dear friend.”

Jack craned his neck to get a good look at the old photo. Sure enough, there was North, his beard bright white, cheeks rosy, and eyes shining bright even in the black-and-white color scheme. He had his large hand resting on the shoulder of a man beside him, a man that Jack now immediately recognized as being The Doctor.

The Winter spirit laughed lightly in spite of himself. He secretly wondered why North hadn’t told him any stories about the good Doctor.

Jack leaned casually on his staff, crossing one ankle over the other. “So, Doctor, why were you slapping yourself upside the head?”

“The sonic—sonic screwdiver, that’s what that little device is called—told me something I should have realized the moment I saw you.”

“And that would be?”

“Who you are. Or rather, what.”

“It can tell you I’m Jack Frost?”

“Yes. Well, no. Well, not quite. Wait.” He squinted at the spirit of Winter. “You…don’t know?”

Jack returned The Doctor’s stare with a blank one of his own. “Don’t know what?”

“Oh,” he said softly, straightening his back, his countenance turning to one of deep sympathy, his left eyebrow slightly raised as he subtly shook his head. “Oh, Jack. I hadn’t a clue, North never even hinted. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

But, before Jack could ask just what The Doctor was sorry about, something moved in the forest just behind the TARDIS, tearing the two’s attention away from the matter at hand.

A twig snapped.

Jack aimed his staff as The Doctor whipped out the sonic screwdriver, scanning for the identity of their newest third party. After a few brief moments, he read what the screwdriver had to tell him.

Jack side-glanced at The Doctor, picking up a new feeling from him.

Fear.

A shadow moved amongst the trees.

And then, a word.

A single word. A single syllable uttered by The Doctor as some presence moved closer. So small, yet so significant. A world-shattering word that had been spoken since the beginning of time. A short, imperative command that would turn everything Jack thought he knew upside-down and inside-out, forever altering his fate.

“Run!”