A Quarter of Your Kingdom (Part 2)
Continued from here.
He was half through the door, a row of curses on his lips that would have made even Owen and Gwen blush, when he noticed that the lights were on the in the bathroom. Jack found the Doctor sitting on the cover of the toilet, picking at the stitches that held closed one particularly nasty gash in his arm. The door flew open so hard that it slammed into the wall, startling him.
“Jack,” he chided. “You could at least knock.”
“What the fuck are you doing there?” Jack walked over to his friend, prying his fingers away from the wound. “Do that again and I’ll carry you back to the hub in an instant.”
“It itches! And it’s not like there is much else to do here.”
“Oh, that’s our new game now, is it? Let’s cripple ourselves out of boredom!” Jack pulled his hair in frustration. “Bloody hell, you’re such a child!”
“Maybe it would help if you stopped treating me like one,” the Doctor snapped back. “I know I’m not exactly up to fighting monsters yet, but I can manage a train ride. I want to go back to my ship. Back home! And sitting around without anything to do will only make me miserable.”
“I’ll buy you a book tomorrow.” Jack didn’t feel like being sympathetic right now. He didn’t even feel bad for the pained sound the Doctor made when he pulled him roughly to his feet and dragged him back to the bed, so he could redress his wound. After tucking the sulking Time Lord back in and draping himself half over him so he would notice should the Doctor wriggle away again, Jack tried to get back to sleep. The fact that it took him ages didn’t exactly lift his spirit.
-
The next morning, Jack’s mood was a lot better from the moment he opened his eyes.
The sun was shining through the half-closed curtains, letting him know that he had slept much longer than expected. His first instinct was jumping up to see if his team had managed to destroy the city yet, but then he remembered that he had never intended to go to work today, and that the city was someone else’s concern for once.
His sleep, when it came, had been deep and filled with pleasant dreams. Not the sticky kind of pleasant, just… nice. Sweet. Jack couldn’t remember any details, but he woke up feeling content and well rested. It seemed strange to him for reasons he couldn’t name.
At some point the Doctor had fallen asleep as well, and he didn’t stir when Jack carefully moved away from him, unwilling to disturb his slumber, even if that meant the Doctor would be awake and bored at night again.
He was recovering from a terrible injury. Was it really asking for too much for him to just lie down and sleep a lot?
For the moment he was sleeping anyway, and Jack went to take a shower. This was another thing that would leave the Doctor frustrated and moody soon enough: washing was a problem with all the bandages he shouldn’t take off. Now he could stand on his own, Jack had little hope he would be allowed to help him.
At some point, while the hot water was battering down on him, Jack realised what was strange about him having good dreams.
He took his time in the giant bathroom, and when he finally emerged, the Doctor was gone from the bed. This time Jack didn’t jump, because he could hear him rummaging in the other room.
Today’s logo of Google greeted him, shining from the screen of the plasma television. The Doctor was just using the sonic screwdriver to put something back on, before sitting back to admire his work.
“The last time I checked, the TV didn’t have internet access,” Jack noted. The Doctor grinned at him.
“You can surf using the remote control.”
“Does it still get the regular TV program?”
The Doctor pressed a button on the remote and the screen showed… well, nothing.
“Uhm, no. But it seems I have a few days to fix that.”
Since the Doctor had needed twenty minutes to bless the television with functions never intended by it’s fabricator, Jack wondered how many of the electrical tools in this hotel suit would still serve their original purpose after a few days in the company of a bored Time Lord.
“It was you,” Jack said while he was standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee.
The Doctor didn’t look up from his work. “Of course. Who else would it have been?”
“I wasn’t talking about the TV. I was talking about my dreams.”
Now the Doctor did look at him, yet his face didn’t give away whether he knew what Jack was talking about or not.
“I use to have nightmares,” Jack explained, talking as casual as possible so the Doctor wouldn’t notice how much even the memory bothered him. “Probably inevitable in my line of work. Only when I’m travelling with you do I sleep well. I always thought it was the TARDIS doing that.”
He didn’t have the Doctor’s eyes on him for even half of his speech. The screwdriver was buzzing over the remote again, and the Doctor seemed absorbed in his work.
“Least I could do,” Jack heard him mumble, as if saving a friend from nightmares was somehow a reason to be embarrassed. Jack decided to leave it at that for the moment.
Instead he watched the Doctor a little longer, sitting on the floor like a little boy with a Lego set. The way he moved, the way he breathed showed that he was in pain, but he was too absorbed in his work to take notice. Jack could understand that he needed distraction - not only from boredom but also from the pain. But this wouldn’t do him any good.
Therefore, after he’d finished his first cup of coffee, Jack went into the bedroom and took a blanket and both pillows, which he used to create a comfortable resting place for his friend. The Doctor, oblivious to his efforts, seemed surprised when Jack banned him on the couch, but gave in after a brief argument. Jack left him the remote control. By the time he ran out of coffee, the Doctor was deeply asleep.
-
In the end Jack managed to keep the Doctor confined inside the hotel suit for a grand total of three days. On the second day Owen showed up at the hotel, leaving generally satisfied with the process the Doctor’s healing was making. On the forth day he insisted on getting out, and eventually Jack agreed for the sake of peace. After a few minutes, he assumed, his friend would have to accept that he just wasn’t up to exercise yet and let Jack take him back.
Unfortunately he had, once again, underestimated the Doctor’s stubbornness. They had been running through Cardiff for an hour when Jack finally managed to talk his friend into going back, and by then the way back was, naturally, another hour. Jack called a taxi then, and despite the Time Lord’s protests he could tell the Doctor was relieved. Once back in the suite he fell onto bed (or rather carefully crawled under the covers) and was out like a light.
The next morning found them sitting in a train for London.
-
Jack had been sceptical about going to London. Not just because it made a journey that would put stress on his friend’s body even longer, but also - and before all else - because terrible things usually happened when the Doctor was in London. London and the Doctor didn’t mix well.
To be fair, he had to admit that the terrible things usually happened to London, and the Doctor just got caught up in things. It didn’t really matter - if danger threatened this city (or any other), the Doctor had to interfere and put his life on the line in the process. The fact that only a few inches of surgical thread were keeping his insides from falling out wouldn’t stop him.
Hell, he had to interfere if danger threatened a hamster!
Jack had gotten them tickets for the first class, but he needn’t have bothered, as the Doctor barely sat down anyway. Days of staying relative still and his usual hyperactivity had him running around, inspecting every coach and making friends with half of the people on the train, including the staff.
Well, ‘running’ around was too strong a word. ‘Limping’ was more like it. And Jack suspected that he also moved so much because of the pain sitting still caused him. That didn’t stop Jack from being surrounded by a general air of grumpiness as he tried to keep an eye on his restless friend without annoying him by appearing overly protective.
He was also mad at himself for failing to keep the Doctor in bed longer instead of letting him have his way once again. Though everyone who’d ever met the Time Lord would probably understand…
Because the Doctor was very good at pretending, Jack couldn’t say for sure how much of his good mood was only played to prevent Jack from seeing that he had been right and the Doctor had been wrong. He would never admit he had overestimated his own strength. Yet, as they were walking through the streets of London, Jack had the impression that he was indeed genuinely happy to be out and about again. He did not appreciate Jack’s efforts to keep him away from the big crowds that might run him over, insisting that he was neither a child nor stupid.
He was right, of course. But he also looked so fragile that Jack’s maternal instincts were constantly trying to protect him.
As it had turned out, Jack’s prediction of the reliability of the British railway companies had been correct: they arrived in London almost two hours late, which cut their stay there painfully short. There was no time to visit Martha, but Jack had the suspicion that the Doctor had not really planned to anyway. He didn’t like getting involved in the lives of people, not even for tea. No matter how much he liked them. Running into her fiancé would have been awkward, and running into her family even more. And he’d either have to let her hurt him, or tell her why she couldn’t hug him, and neither was something he’d have enjoyed very much.
He still seemed vaguely annoyed about the delay. Probably, Jack assumed, because he’d already thought of a clever reason why they couldn’t go and was now unable to present it to Jack.
Or he’d already completely forgotten he even proposed it in the first place.
There would have been time for chips, but the Doctor wasn’t allowed to eat, and Jack, while hungry, didn’t want to rub it in his face. Naturally, the idea that he, while immortal, still needed food, never even occurred to the Doctor.
Only when they sat in the taxi to King’s Cross to catch their next train did the Time Lord hear Jack’s stomach rumble - and pretended not to hear it. Jack only knew he’d noticed when they were settling into their reserved seats and the Doctor wordlessly put a sandwich in his hand.
A large sandwich. Where he’d hidden it prior was a mystery to Jack, magical pockets or not.
While the human tore into the food, his alien friend went exploring again, though Jack noted he was lacking energy now. Hardly seven hours after getting up, he had already reached the end of his strength. It just proved to Jack that they had left far too early.
When, once he had finished eating, the immortal left their coach to look for the Doctor, Jack could tell his friend was in pain from the way he knelt on one of the seats - and why this window was better for looking out than the one beside their seats was as mysterious as the pockets of his suit.
The Doctor straightened his pose when he noticed Jack approaching and went back to pretending. He smiled at his friend, pointing out of the window. “We’ve already reached York.”
“And how much longer before we see the coast of Scotland?”
“Not sure. At this rate two hours at least, probably more. We’re already getting slower again, do you notice? And there is no station for another ten minutes at least.”
The Doctor was right: they were slowing down, and soon stopped completely. From experience, Jack knew that it would be a few minutes before anyone told them what had caused the delay this time.
“Let’s go back to our seats before someone steals our coats,” he suggested. They had no luggage with them except a bag that contained the Doctor’s torn greatcoat. He had insisted on taking it with him, claiming the TARDIS would repair it. For the journey, in the height of summer, he shouldn’t need one - except that it was uncomfortably cool inside the train, and he was shivering.
The bag was still lying on the seat the Doctor had barely occupied for a minute, right beside Jack’s big, warm coat. He loved the thing about as much as the Doctor loved his brown one and wouldn’t abandon it for a few tears either. Fortunately he hadn’t worn it when the swamp beast had plunged its claws into him.
The memory brought back of the sight presented to him when he had reached the tripulator and seen the Doctor on the ground in front of it, sacrificing his left arm to keep the teeth of the beast from his throat while its claws were slashing at his body. At that moment, Jack hadn’t even found the time to be horrified. All he had focused on was the fact that the Doctor was still struggling and thus still alive. And if he were alive now, Jack had been certain while he threw himself at the vicious animal, then he would be alive later.
He hadn’t been prepared for the moment when the Time Lord had slumped lifelessly against him, nor for the sight hidden by bad bandages and torn clothing. Jack really needed to think of something special to thank Owen.
Although, knowing Owen, the medic would probably think of something special - and highly inconvenient - himself.
Thinking of this reminded Jack that he could never trust the Doctor when it came to his own health. He’d woken from unconsciousness after his fight, and the Doctor had just pulled his coat back on, assured Jack that he was fine, and Jack had believed him. He’d been dazed from the fight, disoriented and bleeding to death, and the Doctor had seemed nothing but strong and supportive. He had half-carried Jack to the hub. He had bantered with him, joked with Owen - until he’d very nearly dropped dead.
Involuntarily, Jack pulled the Time Lord closer as he guided him back to their coach with an arm around his shoulder. At the same moment he realised that he wasn’t even angry with his friend. The Doctor didn’t look after himself. Jack had learned that by now.
So he would look after him instead.
When they reached their seats, Jack let the Doctor take the one by the window. Five minutes later, when a speaker came to life and informed them that the lorry that had been stuck on the track would shortly be removed (probably), he was getting restless again.
“Does it hurt?” Jack asked. Predictably, the Doctor shook his head.
“Not so much, if I manage to shift my weight just right.” He squirmed in his seat, in a way that made Jack have dirty thoughts. The train was just starting to move again, when the Time Lord found out that he could sit relatively painlessly if he shifted his upper body to the right far enough. Of course the resulting pose wasn’t exactly comfortable.
Until Jack, sitting to his right, pulled him down so the Doctor was leaning against him. As the other’s head was resting on his shoulder, Jack fished for his coat and wrapped it around the Doctor’s shoulders. It was colder in this train than should be legal, and his friend was still weak.
By the time of their delayed arrival at the next station, the Doctor was asleep, as Jack had hoped he would be. The immortal leaned back with a sigh that could be described as content, and watched the world go by outside the window.
He was on a train, tired but relaxed. Everything was calm and the last of the Time Lords was using him as a pillow. Altogether it came dangerously close the Jack Harkness’ idea of a happy moment.
-
The coast came to view almost three hours later. Jack looked out into the golden light of late afternoon and thought the Doctor had wanted to see it, and that he should wake him. Another part of Jack insisted the Doctor needed sleep. He gazed at his still friend, and before he could reach a decision noticed he was already awake, watching the scenery pass through heavy lidded eyes.
“Any adventures in this area I should know about?” Jack asked quietly. The Doctor shook his head, just the hint of a motion.
“No,” he said. “None you should know about.”
Jack watched him then - the melancholy look on his face, the quiet sadness. “You wanted to come here.”
“Yeah.” The Doctor gave the window a half smile. “Funny, isn’t it?” He reached out a hand to press his palm to the glass, and Jack didn’t ask.
-
They reached Edinburgh just after sunset, when the sky was still yellow and red at the horizon. Jack’s cell phone rang as the train left Haymarket station, and half a minute later he hung up on a very agitated Owen who had wanted to check on his patient again, only to discover that his patient was about to leave the planet.
Jack cut off the call. He would deal with Owen’s wrath when he saw him the next time. Which, for Owen, could well be tomorrow. He’d have to ask the Doctor to give the medic enough time to cool down when he brought Jack back.
Still, he’d have to be back before next Monday. For next Monday Gwen would return from Paris, and if she discovered he’d been abandoning them for the Doctor again… well, it was hard enough dealing with one of them when they were angry with him.
As they stepped out of the train and into the warm darkness at Waverley station, Jack recalled the way from here to Cardiff by various cars, hijacked buses and hanging from the underside of a Tranian space hopper for several miles. The way had seemed so much shorter then.
And it had been fun. Now the world was saved, the Doctor was going to be fine and this danger was over, the next only one trip away, Jack could look back and say that it had been fun, and that he wouldn’t miss this life for anything.
He took the Doctor’s hand when they walked down the road to where the TARDIS was waiting for them. Not because he was scared of losing him. Not because the Doctor looked exhausted and Jack wanted to support him.
Just because he could.
February 6, 2009
He was half through the door, a row of curses on his lips that would have made even Owen and Gwen blush, when he noticed that the lights were on the in the bathroom. Jack found the Doctor sitting on the cover of the toilet, picking at the stitches that held closed one particularly nasty gash in his arm. The door flew open so hard that it slammed into the wall, startling him.
“Jack,” he chided. “You could at least knock.”
“What the fuck are you doing there?” Jack walked over to his friend, prying his fingers away from the wound. “Do that again and I’ll carry you back to the hub in an instant.”
“It itches! And it’s not like there is much else to do here.”
“Oh, that’s our new game now, is it? Let’s cripple ourselves out of boredom!” Jack pulled his hair in frustration. “Bloody hell, you’re such a child!”
“Maybe it would help if you stopped treating me like one,” the Doctor snapped back. “I know I’m not exactly up to fighting monsters yet, but I can manage a train ride. I want to go back to my ship. Back home! And sitting around without anything to do will only make me miserable.”
“I’ll buy you a book tomorrow.” Jack didn’t feel like being sympathetic right now. He didn’t even feel bad for the pained sound the Doctor made when he pulled him roughly to his feet and dragged him back to the bed, so he could redress his wound. After tucking the sulking Time Lord back in and draping himself half over him so he would notice should the Doctor wriggle away again, Jack tried to get back to sleep. The fact that it took him ages didn’t exactly lift his spirit.
-
The next morning, Jack’s mood was a lot better from the moment he opened his eyes.
The sun was shining through the half-closed curtains, letting him know that he had slept much longer than expected. His first instinct was jumping up to see if his team had managed to destroy the city yet, but then he remembered that he had never intended to go to work today, and that the city was someone else’s concern for once.
His sleep, when it came, had been deep and filled with pleasant dreams. Not the sticky kind of pleasant, just… nice. Sweet. Jack couldn’t remember any details, but he woke up feeling content and well rested. It seemed strange to him for reasons he couldn’t name.
At some point the Doctor had fallen asleep as well, and he didn’t stir when Jack carefully moved away from him, unwilling to disturb his slumber, even if that meant the Doctor would be awake and bored at night again.
He was recovering from a terrible injury. Was it really asking for too much for him to just lie down and sleep a lot?
For the moment he was sleeping anyway, and Jack went to take a shower. This was another thing that would leave the Doctor frustrated and moody soon enough: washing was a problem with all the bandages he shouldn’t take off. Now he could stand on his own, Jack had little hope he would be allowed to help him.
At some point, while the hot water was battering down on him, Jack realised what was strange about him having good dreams.
He took his time in the giant bathroom, and when he finally emerged, the Doctor was gone from the bed. This time Jack didn’t jump, because he could hear him rummaging in the other room.
Today’s logo of Google greeted him, shining from the screen of the plasma television. The Doctor was just using the sonic screwdriver to put something back on, before sitting back to admire his work.
“The last time I checked, the TV didn’t have internet access,” Jack noted. The Doctor grinned at him.
“You can surf using the remote control.”
“Does it still get the regular TV program?”
The Doctor pressed a button on the remote and the screen showed… well, nothing.
“Uhm, no. But it seems I have a few days to fix that.”
Since the Doctor had needed twenty minutes to bless the television with functions never intended by it’s fabricator, Jack wondered how many of the electrical tools in this hotel suit would still serve their original purpose after a few days in the company of a bored Time Lord.
“It was you,” Jack said while he was standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee.
The Doctor didn’t look up from his work. “Of course. Who else would it have been?”
“I wasn’t talking about the TV. I was talking about my dreams.”
Now the Doctor did look at him, yet his face didn’t give away whether he knew what Jack was talking about or not.
“I use to have nightmares,” Jack explained, talking as casual as possible so the Doctor wouldn’t notice how much even the memory bothered him. “Probably inevitable in my line of work. Only when I’m travelling with you do I sleep well. I always thought it was the TARDIS doing that.”
He didn’t have the Doctor’s eyes on him for even half of his speech. The screwdriver was buzzing over the remote again, and the Doctor seemed absorbed in his work.
“Least I could do,” Jack heard him mumble, as if saving a friend from nightmares was somehow a reason to be embarrassed. Jack decided to leave it at that for the moment.
Instead he watched the Doctor a little longer, sitting on the floor like a little boy with a Lego set. The way he moved, the way he breathed showed that he was in pain, but he was too absorbed in his work to take notice. Jack could understand that he needed distraction - not only from boredom but also from the pain. But this wouldn’t do him any good.
Therefore, after he’d finished his first cup of coffee, Jack went into the bedroom and took a blanket and both pillows, which he used to create a comfortable resting place for his friend. The Doctor, oblivious to his efforts, seemed surprised when Jack banned him on the couch, but gave in after a brief argument. Jack left him the remote control. By the time he ran out of coffee, the Doctor was deeply asleep.
-
In the end Jack managed to keep the Doctor confined inside the hotel suit for a grand total of three days. On the second day Owen showed up at the hotel, leaving generally satisfied with the process the Doctor’s healing was making. On the forth day he insisted on getting out, and eventually Jack agreed for the sake of peace. After a few minutes, he assumed, his friend would have to accept that he just wasn’t up to exercise yet and let Jack take him back.
Unfortunately he had, once again, underestimated the Doctor’s stubbornness. They had been running through Cardiff for an hour when Jack finally managed to talk his friend into going back, and by then the way back was, naturally, another hour. Jack called a taxi then, and despite the Time Lord’s protests he could tell the Doctor was relieved. Once back in the suite he fell onto bed (or rather carefully crawled under the covers) and was out like a light.
The next morning found them sitting in a train for London.
-
Jack had been sceptical about going to London. Not just because it made a journey that would put stress on his friend’s body even longer, but also - and before all else - because terrible things usually happened when the Doctor was in London. London and the Doctor didn’t mix well.
To be fair, he had to admit that the terrible things usually happened to London, and the Doctor just got caught up in things. It didn’t really matter - if danger threatened this city (or any other), the Doctor had to interfere and put his life on the line in the process. The fact that only a few inches of surgical thread were keeping his insides from falling out wouldn’t stop him.
Hell, he had to interfere if danger threatened a hamster!
Jack had gotten them tickets for the first class, but he needn’t have bothered, as the Doctor barely sat down anyway. Days of staying relative still and his usual hyperactivity had him running around, inspecting every coach and making friends with half of the people on the train, including the staff.
Well, ‘running’ around was too strong a word. ‘Limping’ was more like it. And Jack suspected that he also moved so much because of the pain sitting still caused him. That didn’t stop Jack from being surrounded by a general air of grumpiness as he tried to keep an eye on his restless friend without annoying him by appearing overly protective.
He was also mad at himself for failing to keep the Doctor in bed longer instead of letting him have his way once again. Though everyone who’d ever met the Time Lord would probably understand…
Because the Doctor was very good at pretending, Jack couldn’t say for sure how much of his good mood was only played to prevent Jack from seeing that he had been right and the Doctor had been wrong. He would never admit he had overestimated his own strength. Yet, as they were walking through the streets of London, Jack had the impression that he was indeed genuinely happy to be out and about again. He did not appreciate Jack’s efforts to keep him away from the big crowds that might run him over, insisting that he was neither a child nor stupid.
He was right, of course. But he also looked so fragile that Jack’s maternal instincts were constantly trying to protect him.
As it had turned out, Jack’s prediction of the reliability of the British railway companies had been correct: they arrived in London almost two hours late, which cut their stay there painfully short. There was no time to visit Martha, but Jack had the suspicion that the Doctor had not really planned to anyway. He didn’t like getting involved in the lives of people, not even for tea. No matter how much he liked them. Running into her fiancé would have been awkward, and running into her family even more. And he’d either have to let her hurt him, or tell her why she couldn’t hug him, and neither was something he’d have enjoyed very much.
He still seemed vaguely annoyed about the delay. Probably, Jack assumed, because he’d already thought of a clever reason why they couldn’t go and was now unable to present it to Jack.
Or he’d already completely forgotten he even proposed it in the first place.
There would have been time for chips, but the Doctor wasn’t allowed to eat, and Jack, while hungry, didn’t want to rub it in his face. Naturally, the idea that he, while immortal, still needed food, never even occurred to the Doctor.
Only when they sat in the taxi to King’s Cross to catch their next train did the Time Lord hear Jack’s stomach rumble - and pretended not to hear it. Jack only knew he’d noticed when they were settling into their reserved seats and the Doctor wordlessly put a sandwich in his hand.
A large sandwich. Where he’d hidden it prior was a mystery to Jack, magical pockets or not.
While the human tore into the food, his alien friend went exploring again, though Jack noted he was lacking energy now. Hardly seven hours after getting up, he had already reached the end of his strength. It just proved to Jack that they had left far too early.
When, once he had finished eating, the immortal left their coach to look for the Doctor, Jack could tell his friend was in pain from the way he knelt on one of the seats - and why this window was better for looking out than the one beside their seats was as mysterious as the pockets of his suit.
The Doctor straightened his pose when he noticed Jack approaching and went back to pretending. He smiled at his friend, pointing out of the window. “We’ve already reached York.”
“And how much longer before we see the coast of Scotland?”
“Not sure. At this rate two hours at least, probably more. We’re already getting slower again, do you notice? And there is no station for another ten minutes at least.”
The Doctor was right: they were slowing down, and soon stopped completely. From experience, Jack knew that it would be a few minutes before anyone told them what had caused the delay this time.
“Let’s go back to our seats before someone steals our coats,” he suggested. They had no luggage with them except a bag that contained the Doctor’s torn greatcoat. He had insisted on taking it with him, claiming the TARDIS would repair it. For the journey, in the height of summer, he shouldn’t need one - except that it was uncomfortably cool inside the train, and he was shivering.
The bag was still lying on the seat the Doctor had barely occupied for a minute, right beside Jack’s big, warm coat. He loved the thing about as much as the Doctor loved his brown one and wouldn’t abandon it for a few tears either. Fortunately he hadn’t worn it when the swamp beast had plunged its claws into him.
The memory brought back of the sight presented to him when he had reached the tripulator and seen the Doctor on the ground in front of it, sacrificing his left arm to keep the teeth of the beast from his throat while its claws were slashing at his body. At that moment, Jack hadn’t even found the time to be horrified. All he had focused on was the fact that the Doctor was still struggling and thus still alive. And if he were alive now, Jack had been certain while he threw himself at the vicious animal, then he would be alive later.
He hadn’t been prepared for the moment when the Time Lord had slumped lifelessly against him, nor for the sight hidden by bad bandages and torn clothing. Jack really needed to think of something special to thank Owen.
Although, knowing Owen, the medic would probably think of something special - and highly inconvenient - himself.
Thinking of this reminded Jack that he could never trust the Doctor when it came to his own health. He’d woken from unconsciousness after his fight, and the Doctor had just pulled his coat back on, assured Jack that he was fine, and Jack had believed him. He’d been dazed from the fight, disoriented and bleeding to death, and the Doctor had seemed nothing but strong and supportive. He had half-carried Jack to the hub. He had bantered with him, joked with Owen - until he’d very nearly dropped dead.
Involuntarily, Jack pulled the Time Lord closer as he guided him back to their coach with an arm around his shoulder. At the same moment he realised that he wasn’t even angry with his friend. The Doctor didn’t look after himself. Jack had learned that by now.
So he would look after him instead.
When they reached their seats, Jack let the Doctor take the one by the window. Five minutes later, when a speaker came to life and informed them that the lorry that had been stuck on the track would shortly be removed (probably), he was getting restless again.
“Does it hurt?” Jack asked. Predictably, the Doctor shook his head.
“Not so much, if I manage to shift my weight just right.” He squirmed in his seat, in a way that made Jack have dirty thoughts. The train was just starting to move again, when the Time Lord found out that he could sit relatively painlessly if he shifted his upper body to the right far enough. Of course the resulting pose wasn’t exactly comfortable.
Until Jack, sitting to his right, pulled him down so the Doctor was leaning against him. As the other’s head was resting on his shoulder, Jack fished for his coat and wrapped it around the Doctor’s shoulders. It was colder in this train than should be legal, and his friend was still weak.
By the time of their delayed arrival at the next station, the Doctor was asleep, as Jack had hoped he would be. The immortal leaned back with a sigh that could be described as content, and watched the world go by outside the window.
He was on a train, tired but relaxed. Everything was calm and the last of the Time Lords was using him as a pillow. Altogether it came dangerously close the Jack Harkness’ idea of a happy moment.
-
The coast came to view almost three hours later. Jack looked out into the golden light of late afternoon and thought the Doctor had wanted to see it, and that he should wake him. Another part of Jack insisted the Doctor needed sleep. He gazed at his still friend, and before he could reach a decision noticed he was already awake, watching the scenery pass through heavy lidded eyes.
“Any adventures in this area I should know about?” Jack asked quietly. The Doctor shook his head, just the hint of a motion.
“No,” he said. “None you should know about.”
Jack watched him then - the melancholy look on his face, the quiet sadness. “You wanted to come here.”
“Yeah.” The Doctor gave the window a half smile. “Funny, isn’t it?” He reached out a hand to press his palm to the glass, and Jack didn’t ask.
-
They reached Edinburgh just after sunset, when the sky was still yellow and red at the horizon. Jack’s cell phone rang as the train left Haymarket station, and half a minute later he hung up on a very agitated Owen who had wanted to check on his patient again, only to discover that his patient was about to leave the planet.
Jack cut off the call. He would deal with Owen’s wrath when he saw him the next time. Which, for Owen, could well be tomorrow. He’d have to ask the Doctor to give the medic enough time to cool down when he brought Jack back.
Still, he’d have to be back before next Monday. For next Monday Gwen would return from Paris, and if she discovered he’d been abandoning them for the Doctor again… well, it was hard enough dealing with one of them when they were angry with him.
As they stepped out of the train and into the warm darkness at Waverley station, Jack recalled the way from here to Cardiff by various cars, hijacked buses and hanging from the underside of a Tranian space hopper for several miles. The way had seemed so much shorter then.
And it had been fun. Now the world was saved, the Doctor was going to be fine and this danger was over, the next only one trip away, Jack could look back and say that it had been fun, and that he wouldn’t miss this life for anything.
He took the Doctor’s hand when they walked down the road to where the TARDIS was waiting for them. Not because he was scared of losing him. Not because the Doctor looked exhausted and Jack wanted to support him.
Just because he could.
February 6, 2009