justprompts Nightmare: Part 2
Note: This is part two of the story set in the alternate universe created in the Doctor Who episode 'Turn Left'. Part one is here.
The walk from the holding tent to the medical trailer is a quiet one. Jack is thankful for the military preposition not to make small talk. The walk isn't a short one and the security seems to increase the closer they get.
"Little extravagant to protect a dead guy, wouldn't you say?" Jack suggests to Colonel Mace, though he knows it isn't so simple. There are countless species and organisations that would like to get their hands on the Doctor, UNIT included. They aren't about to let him go, and that's a fact Jack is far from comfortable with.
At a desk at the bottom of the steps to the trailer Mace is approached by the soldier that collected Jack from the car. He speaks in whispered tones, but Jack makes sure he hears.
"Colonel, Sarah Jane Smith has arrived, she's currently with Captain Magambo. They're requesting your presence."
Mace glances his eyes cautiously towards Jack and back to the soldier beside him. He's less than happy with the idea of leaving him. Jack is a loose cannon, a fact they are well aware of, but needs must and he must do what he must do.
"Very well," Mace nods, "Private, you accompany the Captain to view the body." He turns his head back to Jack and nods, "Captain. I apologise. I shall return shortly."
Jack doesn't respond, he just turns his head and watches him leave, giving just a cursory glance to the private that replaces him.
"So I'm left with you, huh?"
"Afraid so, Captain."
With a nod Jack advances up the staircase to the medical trailer, the private just a step or two behind him. Inside is a flurry of men and women in white coats, scientists and medics, all running frantic tests. On the wall Jack sees a scan illuminated by a light box, on it the shape of two hearts are visible in the mass of organs. Jack's hand balls into a fist at his side. This isn't how he should be treated. He wants to say something, to shout and to break this all apart. But not yet. Not just yet.
It's barely a moment before one of those white coated medics is standing before Jack and greeting him with an outstretched hand that he doesn't take.
"Look. Lets skip the pleasantries, just take me to him."
The woman seems taken off her guard, but it's clear too that she's used to being barked at with orders from superiors. So she quietens, nods, and leads Jack and the private towards another door.
"He's being kept in a sterile environment, you'll have to pass through these two doors. Don't open the second one until the light turns green."
Jack agrees only with a nod, and a nod that's more with his eyes than his head. It's not her fault, but he doesn't care right now.
Without needing further prompt Jack steps into the first door, pushing aside plastic sheeting that covers it. The private is beside him, he knows it though he doesn't look at him. He'd rather do this alone, but there's no chance they'd allow that.
The door hisses shut and the timer on the second door counts down. The private beside him seems to falter and Jack hears him take a deep breath. He knows well enough to know that a slip like that shows more than just nerves under the military stoicism. But as well as that, it shows he's human. Not a programmed robot. It warms him to him.
"Nervous?" Jack asks, turning his head to the soldier.
"No, Sir," he says back, trying to be stronger than he feels.
That doesn't work on Jack though. He knows better. "Yes you are," he says and admits, showing his own humanity, "I know I am."
The soldier looks at him differently then, like he's seeing him in a new light. "Everyone's a bit nervous, Sir. And people aren't really allowed near the body."
Jack looks at him differently too. Differently in so much as he looks at him at all. "You got a name, Private?"
"Jenkins, Sir, Ross Jenkins."
"Well, Ross Jenkins," the counter on the wall turns to zero and the light flashes green. "Just you stand at the back and keep out my way and we won't have a problem here."
Without waiting for a response Jack opens the door. The room is clinical and cold; the breeze of an air conditioning can be felt blowing against his face, making his hairs stand on end, and there, lonely, in the centre of the room, there he is.
Jack's footsteps echo on the floor as he steps closer. The figure that lies on the cold mortuary table is dressed in a white gown and draped over with a sheet and if not for the unnatural whiteness in his cheeks Jack could pretend that he's sleeping. It would be a nice thing to pretend.
He doesn't recognise the face and somehow that's worse. Worse than if he were looking at a man with a bigger build, bigger ears and less hair. It gives him more questions than answers. Who was he like this? What was he like? Was he happy? Was he sad? He must have been alone and wasn't that a horrible thought. Would he have even remembered Jack?
"So this is you then, Doctor?" He whispers to him, both hands resting against the cold metal of the table. "I like the hair, good look for you, face isn't too bad either. Bit difference to the last time we met." He smiles though it's sad and put upon and he wonders why he's trying to make small talk with a dead man. In truth, if he didn't, he'd be accepting he's gone, and he's not prepared to do that yet.
"You know I'd hoped we'd meet again," he continues, respectfully quiet, "and believe you me did I try and find you. God did I try. Guess you just didn't want to be found. And look where that's got you. Did you know, Doctor? Did you know I was alive? Did you know I was looking?"
He looks at him for answers, but he won't get them, not any more. Maybe now he'd never get them at all.
"It's mine now, Doctor, Torchwood. I tried to be there when you were but I was too late, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm changing it though, Torchwood, I mean, I'm trying to change it for you. Make it better. In your name. In your honour. Too bad you'll never see it."
He stops talking just to shake his head, just to sigh and temper emotion. He won't let that happen, especially not while he's being watched.
"How do we carry on, Doctor?" He asks, desperate for an answer that will never come. "How will we cope without you? Just knowing you were out there somewhere I-" he takes a moment to pause, to compose and rethink his question, "how will the universe cope without you?"
Looking at the man so out of place, so helpless and empty, Jack feels as though he should do something. As though he should try. But what can he do? He feels just as helpless.
"I hope you knew how important you were."
Like a switch flicking in Jack's mind he knows what he has to do. He might not be able to help the Doctor, he might be too late to save him, but he can do just what the Doctor used to do: he can talk, and he can make people listen to him.
And if it's the last thing he ever does, he'll make them listen.
Word count for this part: 1290
The walk from the holding tent to the medical trailer is a quiet one. Jack is thankful for the military preposition not to make small talk. The walk isn't a short one and the security seems to increase the closer they get.
"Little extravagant to protect a dead guy, wouldn't you say?" Jack suggests to Colonel Mace, though he knows it isn't so simple. There are countless species and organisations that would like to get their hands on the Doctor, UNIT included. They aren't about to let him go, and that's a fact Jack is far from comfortable with.
At a desk at the bottom of the steps to the trailer Mace is approached by the soldier that collected Jack from the car. He speaks in whispered tones, but Jack makes sure he hears.
"Colonel, Sarah Jane Smith has arrived, she's currently with Captain Magambo. They're requesting your presence."
Mace glances his eyes cautiously towards Jack and back to the soldier beside him. He's less than happy with the idea of leaving him. Jack is a loose cannon, a fact they are well aware of, but needs must and he must do what he must do.
"Very well," Mace nods, "Private, you accompany the Captain to view the body." He turns his head back to Jack and nods, "Captain. I apologise. I shall return shortly."
Jack doesn't respond, he just turns his head and watches him leave, giving just a cursory glance to the private that replaces him.
"So I'm left with you, huh?"
"Afraid so, Captain."
With a nod Jack advances up the staircase to the medical trailer, the private just a step or two behind him. Inside is a flurry of men and women in white coats, scientists and medics, all running frantic tests. On the wall Jack sees a scan illuminated by a light box, on it the shape of two hearts are visible in the mass of organs. Jack's hand balls into a fist at his side. This isn't how he should be treated. He wants to say something, to shout and to break this all apart. But not yet. Not just yet.
It's barely a moment before one of those white coated medics is standing before Jack and greeting him with an outstretched hand that he doesn't take.
"Look. Lets skip the pleasantries, just take me to him."
The woman seems taken off her guard, but it's clear too that she's used to being barked at with orders from superiors. So she quietens, nods, and leads Jack and the private towards another door.
"He's being kept in a sterile environment, you'll have to pass through these two doors. Don't open the second one until the light turns green."
Jack agrees only with a nod, and a nod that's more with his eyes than his head. It's not her fault, but he doesn't care right now.
Without needing further prompt Jack steps into the first door, pushing aside plastic sheeting that covers it. The private is beside him, he knows it though he doesn't look at him. He'd rather do this alone, but there's no chance they'd allow that.
The door hisses shut and the timer on the second door counts down. The private beside him seems to falter and Jack hears him take a deep breath. He knows well enough to know that a slip like that shows more than just nerves under the military stoicism. But as well as that, it shows he's human. Not a programmed robot. It warms him to him.
"Nervous?" Jack asks, turning his head to the soldier.
"No, Sir," he says back, trying to be stronger than he feels.
That doesn't work on Jack though. He knows better. "Yes you are," he says and admits, showing his own humanity, "I know I am."
The soldier looks at him differently then, like he's seeing him in a new light. "Everyone's a bit nervous, Sir. And people aren't really allowed near the body."
Jack looks at him differently too. Differently in so much as he looks at him at all. "You got a name, Private?"
"Jenkins, Sir, Ross Jenkins."
"Well, Ross Jenkins," the counter on the wall turns to zero and the light flashes green. "Just you stand at the back and keep out my way and we won't have a problem here."
Without waiting for a response Jack opens the door. The room is clinical and cold; the breeze of an air conditioning can be felt blowing against his face, making his hairs stand on end, and there, lonely, in the centre of the room, there he is.
Jack's footsteps echo on the floor as he steps closer. The figure that lies on the cold mortuary table is dressed in a white gown and draped over with a sheet and if not for the unnatural whiteness in his cheeks Jack could pretend that he's sleeping. It would be a nice thing to pretend.
He doesn't recognise the face and somehow that's worse. Worse than if he were looking at a man with a bigger build, bigger ears and less hair. It gives him more questions than answers. Who was he like this? What was he like? Was he happy? Was he sad? He must have been alone and wasn't that a horrible thought. Would he have even remembered Jack?
"So this is you then, Doctor?" He whispers to him, both hands resting against the cold metal of the table. "I like the hair, good look for you, face isn't too bad either. Bit difference to the last time we met." He smiles though it's sad and put upon and he wonders why he's trying to make small talk with a dead man. In truth, if he didn't, he'd be accepting he's gone, and he's not prepared to do that yet.
"You know I'd hoped we'd meet again," he continues, respectfully quiet, "and believe you me did I try and find you. God did I try. Guess you just didn't want to be found. And look where that's got you. Did you know, Doctor? Did you know I was alive? Did you know I was looking?"
He looks at him for answers, but he won't get them, not any more. Maybe now he'd never get them at all.
"It's mine now, Doctor, Torchwood. I tried to be there when you were but I was too late, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm changing it though, Torchwood, I mean, I'm trying to change it for you. Make it better. In your name. In your honour. Too bad you'll never see it."
He stops talking just to shake his head, just to sigh and temper emotion. He won't let that happen, especially not while he's being watched.
"How do we carry on, Doctor?" He asks, desperate for an answer that will never come. "How will we cope without you? Just knowing you were out there somewhere I-" he takes a moment to pause, to compose and rethink his question, "how will the universe cope without you?"
Looking at the man so out of place, so helpless and empty, Jack feels as though he should do something. As though he should try. But what can he do? He feels just as helpless.
"I hope you knew how important you were."
Like a switch flicking in Jack's mind he knows what he has to do. He might not be able to help the Doctor, he might be too late to save him, but he can do just what the Doctor used to do: he can talk, and he can make people listen to him.
And if it's the last thing he ever does, he'll make them listen.
Word count for this part: 1290