Pendulum (3/?)
Rating: PG
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: The Master doesn't care for the consequences of his actions, as long as they have the desired result.
It was a slow awakening. He was drifting through a darkness filled with nightmares, terror and the knowledge that something wasn’t right. Every attempt to struggle out of the horror strengthened its hold on him, even as he got closer to the surface.
The nightmares faded while the wrongness became worse. The terror lingered and the brief moment between dreaming and the return of his memories offered no relief.
He gasped for air.
No. Something was wrong. He needed to get away from it but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Instinctively he knew he would never escape from this hell. Wrong. Wrong. Take it away, please. Nothing made sense. Everything was wrong, fractured, wrong.
The nightmare went on, reality wouldn’t settle. Knowing he couldn’t get away he still tried. It was too much. Too much. He longed for the peace he had to leave behind.
There was too much nothing here. No association. No echo. He was all alone, with nowhere to run. All around him strong expletives mixed with absolute negations, and all he had to fight with were helpless pleas and no air.
Please.
He didn’t know that his eyes were open, or that his hands were clawing at the sheets. He arched his back and had no voice to scream.
-
It was a slow awakening. He felt like he was climbing out of a dark well, with nothing below him but an endless fall. The void seemed to pull on his legs, but he broke out of its grip and came, gasping, to the surface.
His eyes flew open and the first things he saw was the Doctor’s face.
The Time Lord was lying on his side, facing Jack. An oxygen mask covered his white face and tubes and wires ran up to his body. His hair was a mess, his eyes closed. He didn’t move.
Jack sat up slowly - he limbs felt heavy, as if he hadn’t moved in a year, and his mind had a hard time shaking off the remnants of sleep. He had a headache, felt dizzy and generally miserable.
When he moved, the Doctor’s hand that had been resting on his forearm flopped to the mattress.
He looked even more miserable than Jack was feeling. Dark shadows around his eyes were the only colour in his white face, but at least the tears were gone. He looked very ill, but at least he also looked alive.
It occurred to Jack that he was laying on something soft, at equal height with the Doctor, in touching distance to him. Looking around he discovered that he’d been put on a bed in the infirmary, and that said bed had been placed right beside the Doctor’s. It surprised him quite a bit. Harry didn’t seem the type to do something like that, and the Doctor certainly hadn’t done it himself.
A noise made Jack turn around and fight nausea for a second. When his vision cleared he had to turn again because Harry had already passed his bed and was looking at the monitors beside the Doctor’s.
“It seems you are still alive,” he observed without sparing the human a glance.
“And it seems I’m lying in bed.” Jack noted with dismay how shaky his voice was. “I had expected you to leave me lying on the floor.”
Harry nodded towards the Doctor. “He insisted.”
“He woke up then!” Relief made Jack feel even weaker than before. “He’s going to be alright now, isn’t he?”
Harry snorted and for a moment Jack thought he wouldn’t answer him at all.
“He’s healing,” he finally said. “Slowly. But there’s progress, and that’s more than I’ve seen in a long time. Yes. He’s going to live.” The man reached out as if to stroke the Doctor’s hair, but withdrew his hand just before he touched it to look at Jack instead. “He drained you quite successfully. I’m surprised you have anything left at all.”
It certainly explained his weakness. Jack wondered just how much he had given the Doctor. Was he still immortal, or had the machine taken all that life away from him? He tried to listen into himself, to find out if anything had changed, but it was no use - he hadn’t known he was immortal until he’d died for the first time in the nineteenth century. Nothing had felt different for him then, and he felt just as normal now. Just weak. So incredibly weak.
Even breathing felt like too much of an effort.
But the Doctor was healing. Whatever the cost, it had been well worth it.
The Time Lord had woken up, he’d made sure Jack was comfortable, had even reached for his hand. Whatever Jack had done to him (if anything), he had been forgiven.
With a sigh Jack let himself fall back onto the pillow. He took the Doctor’s delicate hand and squeezed it slightly.
There was no response, but Harry frowning in annoyance was better than nothing. Jack didn’t doubt for a second that the man would rather have had him die.
Maybe he could die, now. Maybe the process of saving the Doctor had left him a mere mortal. Jack didn’t yet know how to feel about that. He’d suffered for his immortality, but had gotten used to its advantages as well. In any case he had forgotten how to take care of his own life.
The Doctor would be able to tell him more - he’d sensed Jack’s wrongness, after all. He’d sense it if it was gone.
Feeling much better for the knowledge that the Doctor would live, Jack closed his eyes and let the darkness wash over him again.
Even if the Time Lord could not tell him whether or not he was finally able to die, sooner or later he would definitely find out.
-
The Master frowned as the human drifted back to sleep, his mind far away. Contrary to his assumption for the case that his attempt to save the Doctor was actually successful, he was not entirely satisfied.
The stubborn fool would live. The Master had won this game. The Doctor’s survival should be all that mattered to him, regardless of the consequences. Yet, despite the relief that came with having the Doctor’s remaining heart beat a little stronger than before, the Master couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had merely traded one cause for concern for another.
He found himself unable to forget the Doctor’s reaction upon waking; the unspeakable horror in his eyes, the struggle that had cost him more strength than he had to spare.
Mere days had passed for the Master since he had trapped the Doctor in time, taking him out of existence. Where time did not matter it was of no consequence whether he had done so for seconds or years. There had been no cause for hurry but his own anxious curiosity concerning the amount of damage his ruthless action had caused.
And he had woken the Doctor by feeding the endless energies of the vortex into his body, the same energies that made it neigh impossible for any Time Lord to stand the presence of Jack Harkness. How the Doctor could possibly bear his own unbalanced, impossible existence the Master couldn’t guess. He was determined, however, not to care as long as the Doctor somehow bore it.
His determination wavered at the memory of the Doctor’s soundless scream.
But the Master took consolation from the fact that his friend had calmed down in the end and, when his strength left him, even reached a state near coherency. He had taken in his surroundings, had seen the human who’d fallen off his seat and in strengthless whispers demanded to have him made comfortable and put in reaching distance. He would not let it go, and the Master had complied for fear of the Doctor exhausting himself beyond measure in his agitation.
His presumption was that the other Time Lord had insisted on physical contact with the human before sinking back into oblivion because he didn’t trust the Master not to dispose of him in his weakened state. It that were true he was not completely wrong. Ideas such as that had indeed crossed the Master’s mind, but he would keep Jack close for a while, until he knew for certain he wasn’t needed anymore.
It was more of a symbolic gesture anyway. The Doctor was too far gone to wake in the event of the Master moving Jack, whether he touched him or not. The human moving all on his own had caused not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
Now they both lay still and silent, but Jack’s heart was beating strongly, his breaths even and deep without artificial help. Despite everything the Doctor was still fragile - even if the life force taken from the immortal had been enough to replace what had been lost, the Time Lord still had a lot of healing to do. But the Master already feared that what Jack had been able to offer was but a tiny portion of what the Doctor needed. Still, a tiny portion was far better than nothing at all.
After taking care of the Doctor’s needs and one last scornful look at the human, the Master left the infirmary and returned to the console room, sending the TARDIS back into the vortex where nothing could possibly disturb them except a catastrophe of truly universal proportions. Relishing in this moment when he didn’t have to worry about the Doctor too much and Jack wasn’t awake to get on his nerves, he grabbed something to eat in the kitchen before finally going to his own bedroom to rest.
The sight of his bed made him pause in the doorway. The last time he had been in this room he had placed the Doctor onto the same bed, just after he’d passed by the other’s room to find ‘Bill’ pounding him into the mattress. That time the Doctor had been feverish and weak, and yet the Master had never thought that the next day he’d be close to dying.
It seemed like such a long time ago.
The bed was made, the sheets smelled clean and fresh. There was no proof it had ever really happened but the Doctor himself, unconscious in his bed in the infirmary. The Master shook off the sudden urge to go back there, look for him once again. Instead he took a shower and slipped under the covers to finally get the rest this mortal body so badly craved.
-
When he woke up for the second time, Jack noted not without considerable relief that he was feeling much better. Some part of him had feared that he would stay weak like that forever.
‘Much better’ didn’t exactly mean ‘good’, but at least he could move without feeling the need to throw up everything he’d ever eaten. Beside him the Doctor was still sleeping, giving no impression of having moved during the past few hours. Jack watched him for a while, with a mixture of affection, worry and relief. His fingers were still lying on the Doctor’s limp hand, and now Jack realised that the Time Lord’s knuckles were reddened and warm to the touch. All the joints in that hand showed signs of infection. Jack frowned, suddenly relieved his friend was still sleeping and hoping the infection would lessen before he woke up.
He didn’t have the slightest idea where it came from.
Harry could probably tell him, but for the moment Jack was quite happy he was nowhere in sight.
Getting up wasn’t as hard as he’d thought, mainly due to the fact that the bed was so high he merely had to put his feet on the floor to reach a standing position. Staying up proved slightly harder. Suddenly the room was spinning again, but after a minute Jack felt balanced enough to walk a few steps. His body got used to it surprisingly quickly.
He was still wearing his clothes, and if he wanted them to remain in a wearable stated he needed a bathroom, and soon. The infirmary had only one door, leading back to the corridor. Jack opened it and found himself inside a large, luxurious bathroom. He didn’t complain, rather certain that the next time he tried the same door it would lead to the corridor again.
Briefly he wondered what Harry would find if he tried to get into the infirmary this moment.
Jack longed for a shower but decided it had to wait. When he got back to the infirmary his legs already felt wobbly again, yet he ignored his bed in favour of having a closer look at the monitors arranged beside the Doctor’s bed.
Like all monitors in the TARDIS they gave their information in Gallifreyan symbols. How Harry was able to make sense of them Jack didn’t even want to think about - the idea of the Doctor having taught him his people’s language hurt more than just Jack’s pride.
Fortunately the monitors also offered diagrams and pictures. Jack studied all he could make sense of and was shocked when he found a scan of the Doctor’s body, showing him more broken bones than he had ever seen in a person still living.
The Time Lord’s head and neck appeared to have escaped most of the damage, but both his legs had been broken in several places. Barely one rip had remained whole and Jack felt sick when he saw that even the Doctor’s spine had been harmed.
“Those are just the remains of old injuries,” Harry said right beside him and made him jump. “You should have seen him when it happened.” He chuckled, but there was no humour in it.
“When what happened?” asked Jack, his voice tight.
“A building collapsed on top of him.” Harry shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. “He would have regenerated had he still been able to. Like this I had a hard time keeping him alive. Time Lord’s are tougher than humans but the dear Doctor simply didn’t have the strength to properly recover from that. But now, I hope, he will.”
Jack glanced at his friend. “The look of him doesn’t make me feel very optimistic.”
“Patience, Harkness.” Jack had never known those words could sound quite so belittling. “You’ve been immortal for so long you’ve forgotten how it feels to be fragile. When you’re hurt or ill you just die and are fine again. Real recovery takes time. It’s a hard and painful process, but eventually things get better.”
Ah, the voice of experience. Jack grimaced, wondering if that experience was Harry’s own, or if he spoke of the recovery of people he’d hurt - possibly to see how recovering worked. Jack wouldn’t put it beyond him.
Despite not at all knowing him, the man struck Jack as not quite human every time they met. It reminded Jack that Harry wasn’t human after all. He looked it, but so did the Doctor.
It was about time to look up that planet Harry came from.
“Are you going to tell me now what exactly I’m supposed to have done to him?” Jack asked. To his annoyance the exhaustion in his voice drowned out the impatience. “You said it was my fault. Are you trying to tell me I dropped a building on him?”
“Don’t be silly. I said you were responsible he was still like this, not that you caused his injuries.”
“Now I’m about as smart as before.”
“And that’s about as smart as you’ll ever be, I’m afraid. Really, a monkey has more learning potential than you.”
The cool arrogance in Harry’s voice made it hard for Jack to stay calm. It reminded him of someone else in a way that made him want to break his nose, crack open his skull. Harry smirked and Jack wondered if he knew he was provoking pointless aggression.
The Doctor wouldn’t want them to fight. Probably. Right now all Jack wanted was for the Time Lord to wake up and tell him that Harry was really his friend and not some dangerous psychopath who had to be taken out.
Or maybe he was hoping for the exact opposite. Because taking out Harry would make for a nice change here…
It would have to wait until he felt stronger, though. At the moment Jack could only stand around uselessly and watch as Harry carefully slid his arms under the Doctor’s body and moved him so he was resting on his back. Watching him handle the helpless man with such care Jack couldn’t cling to his suspicion that Harry was the one really to blame for this mess.
He tried anyway. Just for the sake of it.
-
Harry kindly left them alone once he was done caring for the Doctor. Jack still felt tired and weak, but sleep wouldn’t come to him. Now, without a splitting headache to distract him there was too much thinking going on in his head for him to find any rest.
So he sat cross-legged on his bed, took the Doctor’s brittle hand and willed him to move.
It worked. Eventually.
Jack’s heart skipped a beat when his friend’s eyes fluttered open, and broke when he closed them again and whimpered, a lost little sound. Under his oxygen mask he seemed to gasp for air and Jack automatically reached out for him, stoked his hair, tired to calm him.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “You’re going to be fine.” Then it struck him that his presence might not be helping at all. If he had not lost his immortality and still felt wrong to the Doctor he was probably causing more harm than he made up for.
But when he tried to move away, the Doctor’s hand around his arm kept him from getting very far.
The other hand pushed away the mask before flopping bonelessly to the mattress. The Doctor’s gaze was on the human even though he was struggling to keep open his eyes.
“Jack.” It sounded like a sob.
“Yes, I’m here,” Jack said eagerly. “Don’t speak. You’re very ill.” Stupid words - rumour had it that the Doctor already knew. “But you’ll get better,” Jack hastily added. “Just keep your strength.” He reached for the mask, tried to put it back. The Doctor stopped him, with the hint of a gesture.
“What is it?” Jack leaned in closer. “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want me to get Harry?” he added, hoping the answer would be No.
“Harry,” the Doctor repeated, his weak voice barely reaching Jack’s ears. It sounded almost like a question. “He’s…”
“He’s what?” Jack asked, suddenly eager for the Doctor to continue. “Did he do something to you? Who is he?”
The Doctor shook his head, desperately trying to from words. “Leave him alone,” he eventually managed. “No fighting.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack lied. “We get along great. Don’t worry.” But the Doctor shook his head again.
“He’ll tell you…” The Time Lord seemed to sink deeper into the pillow as his strength left him. “Don’t believe him. He’s lying.” His eyes closed and he passed out, leaving Jack with even more questions than before.
- tbc
September 20, 2008
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: The Master doesn't care for the consequences of his actions, as long as they have the desired result.
It was a slow awakening. He was drifting through a darkness filled with nightmares, terror and the knowledge that something wasn’t right. Every attempt to struggle out of the horror strengthened its hold on him, even as he got closer to the surface.
The nightmares faded while the wrongness became worse. The terror lingered and the brief moment between dreaming and the return of his memories offered no relief.
He gasped for air.
No. Something was wrong. He needed to get away from it but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Instinctively he knew he would never escape from this hell. Wrong. Wrong. Take it away, please. Nothing made sense. Everything was wrong, fractured, wrong.
The nightmare went on, reality wouldn’t settle. Knowing he couldn’t get away he still tried. It was too much. Too much. He longed for the peace he had to leave behind.
There was too much nothing here. No association. No echo. He was all alone, with nowhere to run. All around him strong expletives mixed with absolute negations, and all he had to fight with were helpless pleas and no air.
Please.
He didn’t know that his eyes were open, or that his hands were clawing at the sheets. He arched his back and had no voice to scream.
-
It was a slow awakening. He felt like he was climbing out of a dark well, with nothing below him but an endless fall. The void seemed to pull on his legs, but he broke out of its grip and came, gasping, to the surface.
His eyes flew open and the first things he saw was the Doctor’s face.
The Time Lord was lying on his side, facing Jack. An oxygen mask covered his white face and tubes and wires ran up to his body. His hair was a mess, his eyes closed. He didn’t move.
Jack sat up slowly - he limbs felt heavy, as if he hadn’t moved in a year, and his mind had a hard time shaking off the remnants of sleep. He had a headache, felt dizzy and generally miserable.
When he moved, the Doctor’s hand that had been resting on his forearm flopped to the mattress.
He looked even more miserable than Jack was feeling. Dark shadows around his eyes were the only colour in his white face, but at least the tears were gone. He looked very ill, but at least he also looked alive.
It occurred to Jack that he was laying on something soft, at equal height with the Doctor, in touching distance to him. Looking around he discovered that he’d been put on a bed in the infirmary, and that said bed had been placed right beside the Doctor’s. It surprised him quite a bit. Harry didn’t seem the type to do something like that, and the Doctor certainly hadn’t done it himself.
A noise made Jack turn around and fight nausea for a second. When his vision cleared he had to turn again because Harry had already passed his bed and was looking at the monitors beside the Doctor’s.
“It seems you are still alive,” he observed without sparing the human a glance.
“And it seems I’m lying in bed.” Jack noted with dismay how shaky his voice was. “I had expected you to leave me lying on the floor.”
Harry nodded towards the Doctor. “He insisted.”
“He woke up then!” Relief made Jack feel even weaker than before. “He’s going to be alright now, isn’t he?”
Harry snorted and for a moment Jack thought he wouldn’t answer him at all.
“He’s healing,” he finally said. “Slowly. But there’s progress, and that’s more than I’ve seen in a long time. Yes. He’s going to live.” The man reached out as if to stroke the Doctor’s hair, but withdrew his hand just before he touched it to look at Jack instead. “He drained you quite successfully. I’m surprised you have anything left at all.”
It certainly explained his weakness. Jack wondered just how much he had given the Doctor. Was he still immortal, or had the machine taken all that life away from him? He tried to listen into himself, to find out if anything had changed, but it was no use - he hadn’t known he was immortal until he’d died for the first time in the nineteenth century. Nothing had felt different for him then, and he felt just as normal now. Just weak. So incredibly weak.
Even breathing felt like too much of an effort.
But the Doctor was healing. Whatever the cost, it had been well worth it.
The Time Lord had woken up, he’d made sure Jack was comfortable, had even reached for his hand. Whatever Jack had done to him (if anything), he had been forgiven.
With a sigh Jack let himself fall back onto the pillow. He took the Doctor’s delicate hand and squeezed it slightly.
There was no response, but Harry frowning in annoyance was better than nothing. Jack didn’t doubt for a second that the man would rather have had him die.
Maybe he could die, now. Maybe the process of saving the Doctor had left him a mere mortal. Jack didn’t yet know how to feel about that. He’d suffered for his immortality, but had gotten used to its advantages as well. In any case he had forgotten how to take care of his own life.
The Doctor would be able to tell him more - he’d sensed Jack’s wrongness, after all. He’d sense it if it was gone.
Feeling much better for the knowledge that the Doctor would live, Jack closed his eyes and let the darkness wash over him again.
Even if the Time Lord could not tell him whether or not he was finally able to die, sooner or later he would definitely find out.
-
The Master frowned as the human drifted back to sleep, his mind far away. Contrary to his assumption for the case that his attempt to save the Doctor was actually successful, he was not entirely satisfied.
The stubborn fool would live. The Master had won this game. The Doctor’s survival should be all that mattered to him, regardless of the consequences. Yet, despite the relief that came with having the Doctor’s remaining heart beat a little stronger than before, the Master couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had merely traded one cause for concern for another.
He found himself unable to forget the Doctor’s reaction upon waking; the unspeakable horror in his eyes, the struggle that had cost him more strength than he had to spare.
Mere days had passed for the Master since he had trapped the Doctor in time, taking him out of existence. Where time did not matter it was of no consequence whether he had done so for seconds or years. There had been no cause for hurry but his own anxious curiosity concerning the amount of damage his ruthless action had caused.
And he had woken the Doctor by feeding the endless energies of the vortex into his body, the same energies that made it neigh impossible for any Time Lord to stand the presence of Jack Harkness. How the Doctor could possibly bear his own unbalanced, impossible existence the Master couldn’t guess. He was determined, however, not to care as long as the Doctor somehow bore it.
His determination wavered at the memory of the Doctor’s soundless scream.
But the Master took consolation from the fact that his friend had calmed down in the end and, when his strength left him, even reached a state near coherency. He had taken in his surroundings, had seen the human who’d fallen off his seat and in strengthless whispers demanded to have him made comfortable and put in reaching distance. He would not let it go, and the Master had complied for fear of the Doctor exhausting himself beyond measure in his agitation.
His presumption was that the other Time Lord had insisted on physical contact with the human before sinking back into oblivion because he didn’t trust the Master not to dispose of him in his weakened state. It that were true he was not completely wrong. Ideas such as that had indeed crossed the Master’s mind, but he would keep Jack close for a while, until he knew for certain he wasn’t needed anymore.
It was more of a symbolic gesture anyway. The Doctor was too far gone to wake in the event of the Master moving Jack, whether he touched him or not. The human moving all on his own had caused not so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
Now they both lay still and silent, but Jack’s heart was beating strongly, his breaths even and deep without artificial help. Despite everything the Doctor was still fragile - even if the life force taken from the immortal had been enough to replace what had been lost, the Time Lord still had a lot of healing to do. But the Master already feared that what Jack had been able to offer was but a tiny portion of what the Doctor needed. Still, a tiny portion was far better than nothing at all.
After taking care of the Doctor’s needs and one last scornful look at the human, the Master left the infirmary and returned to the console room, sending the TARDIS back into the vortex where nothing could possibly disturb them except a catastrophe of truly universal proportions. Relishing in this moment when he didn’t have to worry about the Doctor too much and Jack wasn’t awake to get on his nerves, he grabbed something to eat in the kitchen before finally going to his own bedroom to rest.
The sight of his bed made him pause in the doorway. The last time he had been in this room he had placed the Doctor onto the same bed, just after he’d passed by the other’s room to find ‘Bill’ pounding him into the mattress. That time the Doctor had been feverish and weak, and yet the Master had never thought that the next day he’d be close to dying.
It seemed like such a long time ago.
The bed was made, the sheets smelled clean and fresh. There was no proof it had ever really happened but the Doctor himself, unconscious in his bed in the infirmary. The Master shook off the sudden urge to go back there, look for him once again. Instead he took a shower and slipped under the covers to finally get the rest this mortal body so badly craved.
-
When he woke up for the second time, Jack noted not without considerable relief that he was feeling much better. Some part of him had feared that he would stay weak like that forever.
‘Much better’ didn’t exactly mean ‘good’, but at least he could move without feeling the need to throw up everything he’d ever eaten. Beside him the Doctor was still sleeping, giving no impression of having moved during the past few hours. Jack watched him for a while, with a mixture of affection, worry and relief. His fingers were still lying on the Doctor’s limp hand, and now Jack realised that the Time Lord’s knuckles were reddened and warm to the touch. All the joints in that hand showed signs of infection. Jack frowned, suddenly relieved his friend was still sleeping and hoping the infection would lessen before he woke up.
He didn’t have the slightest idea where it came from.
Harry could probably tell him, but for the moment Jack was quite happy he was nowhere in sight.
Getting up wasn’t as hard as he’d thought, mainly due to the fact that the bed was so high he merely had to put his feet on the floor to reach a standing position. Staying up proved slightly harder. Suddenly the room was spinning again, but after a minute Jack felt balanced enough to walk a few steps. His body got used to it surprisingly quickly.
He was still wearing his clothes, and if he wanted them to remain in a wearable stated he needed a bathroom, and soon. The infirmary had only one door, leading back to the corridor. Jack opened it and found himself inside a large, luxurious bathroom. He didn’t complain, rather certain that the next time he tried the same door it would lead to the corridor again.
Briefly he wondered what Harry would find if he tried to get into the infirmary this moment.
Jack longed for a shower but decided it had to wait. When he got back to the infirmary his legs already felt wobbly again, yet he ignored his bed in favour of having a closer look at the monitors arranged beside the Doctor’s bed.
Like all monitors in the TARDIS they gave their information in Gallifreyan symbols. How Harry was able to make sense of them Jack didn’t even want to think about - the idea of the Doctor having taught him his people’s language hurt more than just Jack’s pride.
Fortunately the monitors also offered diagrams and pictures. Jack studied all he could make sense of and was shocked when he found a scan of the Doctor’s body, showing him more broken bones than he had ever seen in a person still living.
The Time Lord’s head and neck appeared to have escaped most of the damage, but both his legs had been broken in several places. Barely one rip had remained whole and Jack felt sick when he saw that even the Doctor’s spine had been harmed.
“Those are just the remains of old injuries,” Harry said right beside him and made him jump. “You should have seen him when it happened.” He chuckled, but there was no humour in it.
“When what happened?” asked Jack, his voice tight.
“A building collapsed on top of him.” Harry shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. “He would have regenerated had he still been able to. Like this I had a hard time keeping him alive. Time Lord’s are tougher than humans but the dear Doctor simply didn’t have the strength to properly recover from that. But now, I hope, he will.”
Jack glanced at his friend. “The look of him doesn’t make me feel very optimistic.”
“Patience, Harkness.” Jack had never known those words could sound quite so belittling. “You’ve been immortal for so long you’ve forgotten how it feels to be fragile. When you’re hurt or ill you just die and are fine again. Real recovery takes time. It’s a hard and painful process, but eventually things get better.”
Ah, the voice of experience. Jack grimaced, wondering if that experience was Harry’s own, or if he spoke of the recovery of people he’d hurt - possibly to see how recovering worked. Jack wouldn’t put it beyond him.
Despite not at all knowing him, the man struck Jack as not quite human every time they met. It reminded Jack that Harry wasn’t human after all. He looked it, but so did the Doctor.
It was about time to look up that planet Harry came from.
“Are you going to tell me now what exactly I’m supposed to have done to him?” Jack asked. To his annoyance the exhaustion in his voice drowned out the impatience. “You said it was my fault. Are you trying to tell me I dropped a building on him?”
“Don’t be silly. I said you were responsible he was still like this, not that you caused his injuries.”
“Now I’m about as smart as before.”
“And that’s about as smart as you’ll ever be, I’m afraid. Really, a monkey has more learning potential than you.”
The cool arrogance in Harry’s voice made it hard for Jack to stay calm. It reminded him of someone else in a way that made him want to break his nose, crack open his skull. Harry smirked and Jack wondered if he knew he was provoking pointless aggression.
The Doctor wouldn’t want them to fight. Probably. Right now all Jack wanted was for the Time Lord to wake up and tell him that Harry was really his friend and not some dangerous psychopath who had to be taken out.
Or maybe he was hoping for the exact opposite. Because taking out Harry would make for a nice change here…
It would have to wait until he felt stronger, though. At the moment Jack could only stand around uselessly and watch as Harry carefully slid his arms under the Doctor’s body and moved him so he was resting on his back. Watching him handle the helpless man with such care Jack couldn’t cling to his suspicion that Harry was the one really to blame for this mess.
He tried anyway. Just for the sake of it.
-
Harry kindly left them alone once he was done caring for the Doctor. Jack still felt tired and weak, but sleep wouldn’t come to him. Now, without a splitting headache to distract him there was too much thinking going on in his head for him to find any rest.
So he sat cross-legged on his bed, took the Doctor’s brittle hand and willed him to move.
It worked. Eventually.
Jack’s heart skipped a beat when his friend’s eyes fluttered open, and broke when he closed them again and whimpered, a lost little sound. Under his oxygen mask he seemed to gasp for air and Jack automatically reached out for him, stoked his hair, tired to calm him.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “You’re going to be fine.” Then it struck him that his presence might not be helping at all. If he had not lost his immortality and still felt wrong to the Doctor he was probably causing more harm than he made up for.
But when he tried to move away, the Doctor’s hand around his arm kept him from getting very far.
The other hand pushed away the mask before flopping bonelessly to the mattress. The Doctor’s gaze was on the human even though he was struggling to keep open his eyes.
“Jack.” It sounded like a sob.
“Yes, I’m here,” Jack said eagerly. “Don’t speak. You’re very ill.” Stupid words - rumour had it that the Doctor already knew. “But you’ll get better,” Jack hastily added. “Just keep your strength.” He reached for the mask, tried to put it back. The Doctor stopped him, with the hint of a gesture.
“What is it?” Jack leaned in closer. “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want me to get Harry?” he added, hoping the answer would be No.
“Harry,” the Doctor repeated, his weak voice barely reaching Jack’s ears. It sounded almost like a question. “He’s…”
“He’s what?” Jack asked, suddenly eager for the Doctor to continue. “Did he do something to you? Who is he?”
The Doctor shook his head, desperately trying to from words. “Leave him alone,” he eventually managed. “No fighting.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack lied. “We get along great. Don’t worry.” But the Doctor shook his head again.
“He’ll tell you…” The Time Lord seemed to sink deeper into the pillow as his strength left him. “Don’t believe him. He’s lying.” His eyes closed and he passed out, leaving Jack with even more questions than before.
- tbc
September 20, 2008