WHO: Becker and Jack Harkness WHAT: They're doing the mature relationship thing. This confuses them. WHEN: Today. WHERE: The TARDIS (Jack's room specifically) RATING: TBD, but this IS Jack Harkness we're talking about. STATUS: In Progress
Five months. They had been dating for five months.
It was close to his record for longest relationship. Technically Becker's record was around the eight month mark, but considering around half of that had involved them being on different continents, he wasn't entirely sure it counted. But this relationship with Jack had involved them seeing each other consistently, and not just in a sexual way but having fun together too, hanging out like mates and being relaxed in each other's company. Becker was almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punchline of some cosmic joke to be said. But nope, so far they had weathered him being mauled by one duo of vampires, Jack being actually killed by another set of vampires and them both suffering under the loss of all the glorious caffeine for that far too long a time. Admittedly, it was entirely possible that Jack had suffered more that week. Half the time Becker thought Jack was actually orgasmic over coffee. At least those were the kinds of sounds Jack could make over the first morning cup, and he had to admit, it was sexy as hell.
Becker wasn't entirely sure when the realization that he was actually in love with Jack had hit him, only that he had admitted it to Rose a while ago. And so so many times he had thought about saying it to Jack himself, and every single one of those times he had chickened out. Which he mentally kicked himself for, hard. He'd faced torture and dinosaurs, why were three little words so absolutely terrifying? Especially when he knew that if he didn't say them and Jack was taken from him, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.
So he tried to approach it in a calm way. Rule out the times he knew saying it would be potentially awkward. Straight after sex, for example, could be dismissed as an endorphins high, which could be either a really good thing or a terrible one. Saying something during some kind of fighting for their lives occasion could simply be an adrenaline thing. And saying something in his own flat might have the home turf advantage but could also lead to Jack stammering and making excuses and Becker being forced to watch as Jack left. At least here, in the TARDIS, Becker had the chance to leave if things got awkward.
So every time he stayed over, he told himself that this would be the time he said it. And every time he went home, the words still unsaid. Without fail. Sometimes he wondered if the living, sentient ship was actually disapproving of him. Wasn't she telepathic or something? Did she know how he felt about the man who couldn't die, the fixed point in space and time? And if she did, did she approve? Becker paused slightly, eying the ship's kitchen, well one of them, where he was making the coffee. "Don't you judge me," he muttered, glad no one else was around to hear him, even if they all could probably guess he was talking to the TARDIS. He would tell Jack. In his own time.
Right now, there was caffeine, and taking the first mug of the morning back to Jack. Becker swore that the kitchen was closer to Jack's room in the morning than later in the day. Ever changing ship and the confusion that came with it. Carefully balancing the two mugs, he nudged open the door.
"I still haven't figured out how you persuade me every morning to make this for you," he smirked at his lover even as he held out the mug. "Tell me I am least getting a nine these days?"