Fic: Broken Threads 1/5?
Story: Broken Threads
Author: wmr
wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness; appearances by Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper
Rated: PG13
Spoilers: Doctor Who universe up to Voyage of the Damned and AU from there; Torchwood universe: reference to many S2 episodes, up to and including Fragments, but AU from Sleeper onwards.
Summary: “Knew you always wanted me, Jack. I thought that if I gave you what you wanted... you might say yes.”
With very many thanks to
dark_aegis for BRing and lots of brainstorming help. Not crossposted, mainly because I don't know where to crosspost to! Crossposted to
dwfiction.
Broken Threads
“When friendships are real, they are not glass threads, or frostwork, but the solidest things we know. A friend is the first person who comes in when the whole world has gone out.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson 1856, Essay VI, Friendship
Chapter 1: Proposition
The scrape of metal against tiles makes him sit up. It’s the middle of the night. He sent the rest of the team home hours ago. The Hub should be empty.
So, either a Weevil’s broken out of the cells, or there’s an intruder. No alarm’s gone off, though, and the monitors seem to be working fine. It could be one of the team, though it’s far too early for Ianto. Owen and Gwen would never be here at this time, but of course there’s Tosh the workaholic. If it’s her, then he’s definitely going to make her go home again. After the day they had yesterday, nothing’s that urgent.
Pulling on trousers, but not bothering with anything over his white T-shirt, Jack contemplates his route. If his guess is right, the noise came from the direction of his office, right above this room. A chair scraping against the floor, maybe. And there’s something odd: Tosh rarely goes into his office, and never uninvited. So, back exit it is, so he can come through the Hub.
There are no lights on, other than the muted glow from the various monitoring equipment that stays running through the night. His office is still in darkness. Even more suspicious.
Weapon in his hand, he creeps silently up to the door, staying in the shadows. In one coordinated movement, he kicks the door open and swings into the gap, gun at the ready and safety off. “Whoever you are, stand up and keep your hands where I can see them!”
A voice he never expected to hear again - or at least not for a very long time - pierces the darkness. “Really, Jack. Is this any way to welcome a friend?”
“Doctor.” Heart pounding, he lowers his gun, reaching with his free hand for the light-switch.
It’s him, lounging in a visitor’s chair in that brown suit that’s now almost as familiar as the leather jacket once was, trench-coat thrown over the side of the desk. The shaggy hair’s as untidy as the last time he saw the Doctor, and again his hand itches to rumple it further. And intense brown eyes are gazing at him.
“It is,” he says, finally answering the Doctor’s question, “when I wake up in the middle of the night because someone’s prowling around in my office.”
“I wasn’t prowling!” the Doctor objects. “I just got the time a tiny bit... well, wrong. Meant to get here before you went to bed.”
Oh, he so didn’t need the Doctor to mention bed, and definitely not while he’s still looking at him with that unblinking gaze. Has he any idea how damn sexy he is?
But he probably does. He just doesn’t care what kind of effect he has on humans. They’re only humans, after all. Not like Time Lords. Who cares if he, Martha, Rose or anyone else the Doctor’s travelled with are basically decent people? Who cares if they’ve helped to save the universe, or even saved the Doctor himself? Who cares if they never tried to murder the human race and enslave half the universe? They’re not Time Lords, so they don’t count.
Not that he’s gonna say any of that. The Doctor’s the way he is, and nothing’s going to change him. And it’s not as if this is any more than a fleeting visit, so why bother starting another argument? He’s had about the best he’s going to get in terms of a reconciliation with the Doctor, and they’ve agreed to go their separate ways.
“Well, not that it’s not good to see you, but what are you doing here? And couldn’t you use the door like anyone else?”
“Can’t I drop in to see an old friend without being interrogated?” Infuriating as ever, of course. The guy can’t even apologise for breaking in.
“Leaving aside the whole avoiding me for well over a century bit, you’ve never exactly been one for social calls, have you, Doctor?”
Eyebrows disappear under a floppy fringe. “Doesn’t mean I can’t. What? You want me to go?”
He rolls his eyes. “Course not. I’m just trying to work out why you’re here.”
“What, you don’t believe I’m just dropping in to see how you are? See how things’ve worked out since you came back? How your team’s doing? Bit of a chin-wag, catching up, all that?”
Now that’s gone way past credibility. “Truthfully? No.”
The Doctor sighs, his expression long-suffering. Feigned, of course. “All right, then. You want me to get straight to the point? Okay. I will.” He comes to his feet in one single, graceful moment and advances on Jack. Two hands grip his head, holding him steady, and suddenly he’s got a face-full of Time Lord.
The Doctor’s kissing him. No brief touch of lips to lips, either. This is full-on, open-mouthed, with heavy breathing and tongue participation. Pure shock means it takes him a second or two to get in on the action, but then he’s kissing back, more than a hundred years of longing pouring into his response.
Finally, the Doctor breaks the kiss, stands back and gives him a challenging look. The next move’s his, it’s clear.
“So, not that I’m complaining...” He moves to lean casually against his desk. Knowing the Doctor, the best strategy here is to pretend that this is no big deal, even though his heart’s still pounding and he’s hard, aroused as he hasn’t been in a long time. “... but what was that all about?”
The Doctor’s expression is suddenly predatory in a way Jack never knew he was capable of. “Had to see if it would work. Always thought it would, but you never know until you try, do you? I’d say that was a successful experiment, though. Wouldn’t you? For a first step, anyway.”
All right, this is making precisely no sense. “I’d rate it towards the top of the scale, yeah. But why? Why now?”
The Doctor shrugs, a suspiciously casual gesture. “I’m not entirely as oblivious as you all seem to think I am. I know you’ve always wanted me. So here I am.”
Here he is? For what? He can’t possibly mean sex, can he?
But the look in the Doctor’s eyes is unmistakeable. As is... well, those trousers of his are pretty close-fitting.
It’s a moment or two before he can control himself enough to respond. “You came here to have sex with me? Not that I don’t like the idea, and I think it was pretty clear that I like it a lot. But you don’t do that, Doctor. Believe me, I know.”
“Oh, yes, you’ve been talking to old companions of mine, haven’t you?” He’s treated to one of the Doctor’s highly effective doesn’t suffer fools gladly stares. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
Jack shrugs. “You don’t make a habit of staying in touch. Though I’ve never doubted you had your sources. So, why? And why me?”
“Why must you humans have an explanation for everything?” the Doctor retorts in return. “Especially you, Jack. I’d expect you just to... go with the flow, isn’t that how you’d put it?”
And now he definitely doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. Or seeing. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.
“Yeah, I admit it, I’ve got something of a reputation. And, sure, when you knew me before I’d’ve jumped right in, no questions asked.” But he’s a very different man now, and it’s not all got to do with being abandoned - though, true, that’s a large part of it.
Something flashes in the Doctor’s eyes. “You saying you’re not interested?”
He sighs. “You know, I think I’m gonna regret this for the rest of my life. And we both know how long that’s gonna be. But, no, I’m not interested - unless you tell me why. What’s going on, Doctor? Why suddenly break the habit of a lifetime when it comes to... fucking humans? And why me, the guy you once left on a graveyard satellite and you can’t even get close to without flinching?”
***
It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.
Turn up, seduce Jack, get what he wants. Should have been simple. Should have been the easiest thing he’s ever done, knowing Jack - once he’d managed to work up the determination to go ahead with it.
Now, it’s questions, questions, and this isn’t going at all like it should have.
This is Jack, who’ll shag anything that moves. Anything with a pulse, and even some things without. And he’s saying no?
Not no, true. But he is asking far too many questions, and this just isn’t working. Bad idea, obviously. Time to leave. Forget this ever happened. And given it’s Jack... well, he’ll just be avoiding Cardiff for a very, very long time.
Should’ve gone to Martha. But that wouldn’t have been fair. Martha always wanted more, much more than he’s willing to give, and that would have led to trouble in the end. Too much trouble, of a sort he really doesn’t want to deal with. Jack would have happily settled for sex, even if he might want more too. Or, at least, that’s what he thought, but... Well.
“If that’s your answer, Jack, then there’s nothing more to be said. I’ll be away, then. Sorry to disturb you.”
Scooping up his coat with one hand, he’s swinging around on his heel, preparing to stride from the room. But his arm’s caught in a very firm grip. “Not so fast, Doctor. Told you, I want an explanation.”
“And I don’t have one to give you.”
Jack’s body is pressed up against his before he can take a step backwards. Jack’s hands are at his waist, and Jack’s warm breath is at his throat. Nibbling kisses are being pressed to his neck, and the hands at his waist slide around his back, holding him still. “Doctor. Talk to me.” The words are whispered into his ear.
“No.” He’ll push back in a minute. It won’t hurt to... just... stay for a couple of minutes, will it? And maybe Jack will change his mind if he gets a bit more of what he’s always wanted so badly.
“I want you too, Doctor. I just wanna know why. That’s all. Just one simple explanation, and then we can do anything you want. Anything. No holds barred.” Jack’s voice drops until it’s low and seductive, and for a moment the yearning’s so strong...
But this isn’t what he came for. Sex, yes - a means to an end. To get what he wants. Not to talk.
Jack’s kissing his lips now, tantalising, frustrating kisses that don’t linger anywhere long enough. “Why, Doctor?” he murmurs, nibbling at his ear. “Just give me one reason I can actually believe,” he adds, grinding their hips together.
This shouldn’t be happening. He came here to seduce, not to be seduced himself. The tables have been turned on him decisively, and he was completely powerless to stop it.
This was supposed to be a quick shag, something mildly enjoyable on his side, and serving the greater purpose of an inducement for Jack. Jack’s wrong, of course: he has had sex with humans before, and even with one or two of the companions the Captain’s so convinced he didn’t sleep with, and wanted to with several more. But it’s never been like this. Never such a driving imperative...
“Doctor.” Jack’s more insistent now, and he’s switched to teasing by almost kissing, yet keeping his lips out of reach, pulling back every time the Doctor leans in to capture a kiss.
Frustrated, shaking, he pulls back. “Why can’t you believe I just want you?”
Jack’s laugh is humourless, and he just knows that this whole encounter has deteriorated in a way he never wanted, never intended. Things have spiralled completely out of his control - if they were ever really in his control to begin with - and the situation’s just become irretrievable.
“Because you could’ve had me for the taking any time you wanted, Doctor, before the Game Station. You didn’t. And then you ran away. I’m wrong, and you told me it’s in your Time Lordly nature to be repelled by me - and now you want to screw me? Yeah, right, sure I believe that.”
“You don’t feel so wrong to me now.” And that’s no less than the truth. “Getting used to you.”
“Thanks.” The word’s voiced with biting sarcasm, and suddenly Jack’s not holding him any more. He’s retreated several feet, arms folded over his chest, expression distant and angry. Oh, yeah, if he tries to leave now Jack’s not going to stop him.
And that, somehow, is what drives him to reveal the truth - or part of it, anyway.
He can’t look at Jack as he says it, instead staring down at the tiled floor. “Knew you always wanted me, Jack. I thought that if I gave you what you wanted... you might say yes.”
Jack’s brow furrows. “Yes to what?”
“Travelling with me again.”
***
As the initial incredulity fades and it sinks in that he really did hear the Doctor say what he thinks he heard, he says, “You couldn’t just have asked?”
The Doctor shrugs, and in that moment his friend looks very lost, very alone. “Just asked before. You said no.”
Of course he did - because the offer was made out of obligation, he thought, compensation of sorts for what he’d been through on board the Valiant at the hands of the other surviving Time Lord. Because the Doctor thought it’s what he wanted - the reason why he searched for the Doctor for over a hundred years, and clung to the TARDIS through the Vortex. And because he thought it was something he owed Jack. None of those reasons were good enough. Not anywhere near. So he said no.
The offer of sex was an inducement, then - which means for some reason the Doctor wants his company very, very badly. That’s barely credible, after everything... and yet. Yes. There’s a part of the picture he’s not seeing yet, and he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he knows what it is. He’s slipping; it should have occurred to him before now. Though, to be fair, until a few minutes ago his brain was being led around by his libido.
“Who did you lose, Doctor?” Someone else special? God, please, no. After Gallifrey, after Rose, the Master - no matter how much that bastard deserved to die - after he and Martha both walked away. Did the Doctor go out and find someone else, only to lose her - or him - too?
The Doctor seems to crumple at the question. He almost falls back against the glass wall of the office, and then, very quietly, the truth emerges - even worse than Jack imagined.
“All of them. Thousands. All but three. And I promised, Jack. I told them who I was. Told them I was a genius. I promised I’d save them. I lost them, all of them. One by one, they sacrificed themselves to try to save the others. I was the useless one. And they died, Jack. I couldn’t save them.” His voice fades away almost to nothing, and then gives way on the final word.
His heart twists. Thousands of people? It’s Canary Wharf all over again, on only a slightly smaller scale. It was tens of thousands then, worldwide. And, of course, Rose. The Doctor’s bouncing from one massacre to another - the Time War, the Daleks’ return on Satellite Five, Torchwood One, the Master and that godawful year, and now this latest disaster, whatever it was. He’s been integral to every one of them, and - as is obvious - holds himself personally responsible for every life he failed to save.
And then, as he’s processing what he’s heard, it all becomes clear. He is the one person the Doctor can never lose. He’s immortal, the man who can’t die. Worth putting up with a little bit of wrongness for that, sure. Shows how desperate the Doctor is, or maybe what sort of mental state he’s in, if he’s decided that it’s even worth having to provide sexual services to get a companion he’ll never have to watch die - at least not permanently.
The Doctor needs a doctor, not a lover. But of course he’ll never accept that. He’s the Doctor. The idea that he might need therapy is something he’d never even contemplate. Too human. Too flawed. And, of course, it’s no use telling him that he arranged therapy - and even offered Retcon - for the Jones family after they returned home, or that Martha worked with a UNIT psychologist for a while, and that he and Martha also made arrangements for the UNIT soldiers who served on the Valiant, because no-one else in UNIT remembers. That everyone who survived and remembers that year needed help.
Though he of all people should understand. He’s told himself that he can cope with the memories, that he doesn’t need anyone’s help in learning to live with them. He’s more like the Doctor in that respect than he cares to accept.
Now, though, the Doctor’s falling apart right in front of him - and he’s the one who’s got to find a way to pick up the pieces. He, who of all the Doctor’s past companions is probably the most useless at this kind of thing. The only kind of comfort he knows how to give is physical - and, yes, it’s what the Doctor asked him for, but he knows the Doctor well enough to be aware that it’s the last thing he needs.
He’s good at practical stuff, too - after the Master’s death, he threw his own forceful personality and the entire weight of Torchwood into ensuring that the Doctor was allowed to deal with the Master’s body as he wanted. UNIT and the British government wanted to interfere - the guy was prime minister, after all, no matter what he’d done.
He had to silence the soldiers who’d been on board the Valiant, negotiate with more officials than he ever wanted to have to speak to in one day ever again, and then finally approach the Doctor, who’d ordered everyone to leave him and just shut himself up with that bastard’s body, to let him know that no-one would interfere. And then he’d insisted on going with the Doctor, against his friend’s stated wishes. He’d had to stay inside the TARDIS and wait, and even afterwards the Doctor rejected any overture of comfort. Not even so much as a hug, or a pat on the shoulder. Of course, he’s wrong. At the time, he hoped that Martha, with her medical training, would be able to make some progress at getting through to the Doctor. Now, though, he’s not so sure.
Even now Martha would’ve been a far better choice than himself. She’s the empathic one. She’s the one with training in dealing with post-traumatic stress. She’s the one who - she told him during one of the several late-night phone calls they’ve shared as they’ve helped each other to adjust to being back on Earth, back in the twenty-first century, while at the same time coping with the memories - made the Doctor talk about his planet when he’d been lying to her. She could handle this. He can’t. He has no idea how...
Yet he’s got no choice. The Doctor’s here, he’s hurting and he desperately needs to talk, properly, about everything. And he, always a doer, not a talker, who’s been useless at helping his own team cope with stuff - look what a mess he made with Ianto over the Lisa situation, and how the way he handled his team led to their mutiny months ago - is all the Doctor’s got. Great.
Even as his mind races furiously to try to find a way to start, there’s a tiny portion of his brain that’s really regretting turning down what was probably the only chance he’s ever going to have to get the Doctor into bed.
***
Right. Definitely a mistake. Definitely time to go. Jack’s silence makes that clear.
Shouldn’t be a surprise, really. What he’s just told Jack - well, it’s only one more cock-up to add to his long list, most of which Jack’s probably well aware of, given his job. Of course Jack’s been gathering information about him on the quiet for decades. He knows how many disasters and death-tolls are all his fault - and, too, the fact that the formation of Torchwood, with its mandate to destroy him, was all his own fault. Leaving him, as a result, shouldering a lot of the blame for Canary Wharf.
Jack knows, too, that the Master’s massacres, the Year that Never Was, is all his fault. He was there when the Master taunted him with it one day on the Valiant, pointing out that if he hadn’t destroyed Harriet Jones with his clever little whisper there wouldn’t have been a political vacuum to fill and the Master’s path to dominance would have been that much harder.
So why should Jack be remotely surprised - or sympathetic - at yet another disaster? Why should he even contemplate giving up everything he has here to travel with the man who abandoned him on top of everything else?
“Sorry. Sorry. I... Forget it, Jack. I’ll get out of your way.”
He’s turning to leave the office when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder. “Don’t go, Doctor. Sorry. I was just thinking.” The hand slides around until Jack’s arm is around his shoulders. “I’m glad you came to me. We should talk about this, but not here -” Jack glances at his watch. “A couple of my team have a tendency to get here early, and I don’t want them interrupting. Let’s get out of here.”
He swallows. Part of him still wants to run, but much more than that he wants to stay, to make the most of Jack’s company while he can, even if Jack clearly is about to take him up on the offer he’s no longer all that sure he wants to make.
Jack wants to steer him back into the office. “The TARDIS...” he suggests, resisting and gesturing towards the centre of Jack’s domain, below them - which, of course, he explored thoroughly before making his way to Jack’s office, taking advantage of his dead-of-night arrival. With a wave of his hand, he indicates his ship’s presence in a dark corner below.
Jack blinks. “Never even saw it there. Nah. Come down to my quarters.” A strong arm and pressure on his shoulders draws him in.
Ah, so Jack prefers to keep this on his territory? Well, he can’t really deny Jack that. It’s not much to concede anyway. Though there’s one potential pitfall. “What about that young man of yours - Ianto, isn’t it? Mightn’t he come looking for you?”
Jack turns abruptly, and stumbles into the edge of his desk. “How do you know about Ianto?”
“He taunted you about him. Threatened to bring him to the Valiant and rape and murder him in front of you. I heard it,” he says quietly, wearily. “There was a two-way mirror. When he tortured you, killed you, he made me watch.”
“I didn’t know.” Jack stifles a curse. “I never wanted you to see what he -”
“Why not? I should know what he did to you. It was my fault, Jack, all of it. I’m the one who made it possible. What I did to Harriet Jones -”
Jack waves a hand impatiently, then bends to pull a cover off the floor. So Jack’s quarters are below? Just a place to sleep when he works late - or is it possible that he lives here as well?
“That’s ridiculous. Were you inside his head telling him what to do? Might as well say it was Martha’s fault for drawing the Professor’s attention to the watch in the first place. Or mine for clinging to the TARDIS and making her fly all the way to the end of the universe to shake me off. It doesn’t work that way, Doctor, and you know that better than anyone.”
They’re climbing down a ladder now, which makes conversation difficult. Just as well. He has no idea how to respond to that. And, yes, it does look like Jack lives here.
“She’s prime minister again now,” Jack says, springing down from the ladder a few steps from the bottom. “Someone suggested to UNIT that she’d be the best person to form an emergency government, pick up the pieces and get things running again. She’d done it before, after all.”
He steps off the ladder himself as a light is snapped on, and abruptly he’s looking into Jack’s faintly accusing gaze. “You didn’t have to go to UNIT. I know you used to work for them, but what’m I? Chopped liver?”
No, it hadn’t ever occurred to him to ask Jack, had it? And yet Jack would have had all the resources to achieve the same end. Now it’s looking like he’s offended Jack yet again. Will he ever stop doing the wrong thing?
“Thought I’d asked enough of you. And the last thing I asked... you said no.” It’s mostly the truth. Well, part of it. The rest of it, of course, is that he was still running away from Jack, even after all this time.
Jack’s looking distinctly taken aback. “To travel with you? You know why I said no then.”
“Yep.” He turns away, begins to examine the bare walls of this subterranean cellar which, inconceivably, appears to be Jack’s home. Some home. His room on the TARDIS was more welcoming than this. “Your team.”
“That was part of it.” Jack’s right behind him, too close for comfort, actually. He can feel Jack’s breath against the back of his neck. Well, he did come promising seduction, offering himself in return for Jack’s company. Too late to turn around now and say he didn’t really mean it. “I did miss them. Worried about them, too. He had them killed, you know. Sent the Toclafane after them. Brought me the film as proof.”
“You saw them die?” He has to turn and face Jack on hearing that, the distance between them measured in inches. It seems everywhere he turns he faces consequences of his mistakes, including people he cares about suffering. It’s why he’s stayed well away from Martha and her family; he’s well aware that they’re traumatised, but there’s nothing he can do and he can’t face being reminded of what his actions led to.
“Yeah.” Jack’s expression darkens; clearly, the memory’s still painful. Hardly surprising, of course. He’s got some painful memories himself from down through the centuries, among which are of both Rose and Jack dying at the hands of Daleks. The fact that they each survived doesn’t make the memories any less raw.
“They’re fine, of course,” Jack continues, moving away until he’s leaning against a support beam. “No memory of any of it. Better that way. But it wasn’t only them. You asked because... well, I guess because you felt you owed me, after everything. Not because you wanted me. You had Martha, after all - and even without her I wouldn’t be your first choice.”
Because I’m wrong. Jack doesn’t say it, but the words echo between them anyway.
“Martha didn’t stay,” he says, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not news to Jack.
Jack inclines his head. “Yeah. She called me. She didn’t like to think of you being alone, but I told her the way it’s been for you. You always find someone to travel with.”
Said so casually, too. As if it’s always been off with the old, on with the new. It hasn’t. Never. Jack should know that - though has he really given him any reason to believe that?
But... wait a minute. What’s Jack actually saying here? That if he’d felt needed - if he’d felt wanted - he might have stayed? But that’s just silly.
“Jack.” All guard dropped now, all pride cast aside, nothing but the truth in his voice. “I need you. Come with me.”
***
tbc
Author: wmr
wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness; appearances by Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper
Rated: PG13
Spoilers: Doctor Who universe up to Voyage of the Damned and AU from there; Torchwood universe: reference to many S2 episodes, up to and including Fragments, but AU from Sleeper onwards.
Summary: “Knew you always wanted me, Jack. I thought that if I gave you what you wanted... you might say yes.”
With very many thanks to
dark_aegis for BRing and lots of brainstorming help. Not crossposted, mainly because I don't know where to crosspost to! Crossposted to
dwfiction.
Broken Threads
“When friendships are real, they are not glass threads, or frostwork, but the solidest things we know. A friend is the first person who comes in when the whole world has gone out.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson 1856, Essay VI, Friendship
Chapter 1: Proposition
The scrape of metal against tiles makes him sit up. It’s the middle of the night. He sent the rest of the team home hours ago. The Hub should be empty.
So, either a Weevil’s broken out of the cells, or there’s an intruder. No alarm’s gone off, though, and the monitors seem to be working fine. It could be one of the team, though it’s far too early for Ianto. Owen and Gwen would never be here at this time, but of course there’s Tosh the workaholic. If it’s her, then he’s definitely going to make her go home again. After the day they had yesterday, nothing’s that urgent.
Pulling on trousers, but not bothering with anything over his white T-shirt, Jack contemplates his route. If his guess is right, the noise came from the direction of his office, right above this room. A chair scraping against the floor, maybe. And there’s something odd: Tosh rarely goes into his office, and never uninvited. So, back exit it is, so he can come through the Hub.
There are no lights on, other than the muted glow from the various monitoring equipment that stays running through the night. His office is still in darkness. Even more suspicious.
Weapon in his hand, he creeps silently up to the door, staying in the shadows. In one coordinated movement, he kicks the door open and swings into the gap, gun at the ready and safety off. “Whoever you are, stand up and keep your hands where I can see them!”
A voice he never expected to hear again - or at least not for a very long time - pierces the darkness. “Really, Jack. Is this any way to welcome a friend?”
“Doctor.” Heart pounding, he lowers his gun, reaching with his free hand for the light-switch.
It’s him, lounging in a visitor’s chair in that brown suit that’s now almost as familiar as the leather jacket once was, trench-coat thrown over the side of the desk. The shaggy hair’s as untidy as the last time he saw the Doctor, and again his hand itches to rumple it further. And intense brown eyes are gazing at him.
“It is,” he says, finally answering the Doctor’s question, “when I wake up in the middle of the night because someone’s prowling around in my office.”
“I wasn’t prowling!” the Doctor objects. “I just got the time a tiny bit... well, wrong. Meant to get here before you went to bed.”
Oh, he so didn’t need the Doctor to mention bed, and definitely not while he’s still looking at him with that unblinking gaze. Has he any idea how damn sexy he is?
But he probably does. He just doesn’t care what kind of effect he has on humans. They’re only humans, after all. Not like Time Lords. Who cares if he, Martha, Rose or anyone else the Doctor’s travelled with are basically decent people? Who cares if they’ve helped to save the universe, or even saved the Doctor himself? Who cares if they never tried to murder the human race and enslave half the universe? They’re not Time Lords, so they don’t count.
Not that he’s gonna say any of that. The Doctor’s the way he is, and nothing’s going to change him. And it’s not as if this is any more than a fleeting visit, so why bother starting another argument? He’s had about the best he’s going to get in terms of a reconciliation with the Doctor, and they’ve agreed to go their separate ways.
“Well, not that it’s not good to see you, but what are you doing here? And couldn’t you use the door like anyone else?”
“Can’t I drop in to see an old friend without being interrogated?” Infuriating as ever, of course. The guy can’t even apologise for breaking in.
“Leaving aside the whole avoiding me for well over a century bit, you’ve never exactly been one for social calls, have you, Doctor?”
Eyebrows disappear under a floppy fringe. “Doesn’t mean I can’t. What? You want me to go?”
He rolls his eyes. “Course not. I’m just trying to work out why you’re here.”
“What, you don’t believe I’m just dropping in to see how you are? See how things’ve worked out since you came back? How your team’s doing? Bit of a chin-wag, catching up, all that?”
Now that’s gone way past credibility. “Truthfully? No.”
The Doctor sighs, his expression long-suffering. Feigned, of course. “All right, then. You want me to get straight to the point? Okay. I will.” He comes to his feet in one single, graceful moment and advances on Jack. Two hands grip his head, holding him steady, and suddenly he’s got a face-full of Time Lord.
The Doctor’s kissing him. No brief touch of lips to lips, either. This is full-on, open-mouthed, with heavy breathing and tongue participation. Pure shock means it takes him a second or two to get in on the action, but then he’s kissing back, more than a hundred years of longing pouring into his response.
Finally, the Doctor breaks the kiss, stands back and gives him a challenging look. The next move’s his, it’s clear.
“So, not that I’m complaining...” He moves to lean casually against his desk. Knowing the Doctor, the best strategy here is to pretend that this is no big deal, even though his heart’s still pounding and he’s hard, aroused as he hasn’t been in a long time. “... but what was that all about?”
The Doctor’s expression is suddenly predatory in a way Jack never knew he was capable of. “Had to see if it would work. Always thought it would, but you never know until you try, do you? I’d say that was a successful experiment, though. Wouldn’t you? For a first step, anyway.”
All right, this is making precisely no sense. “I’d rate it towards the top of the scale, yeah. But why? Why now?”
The Doctor shrugs, a suspiciously casual gesture. “I’m not entirely as oblivious as you all seem to think I am. I know you’ve always wanted me. So here I am.”
Here he is? For what? He can’t possibly mean sex, can he?
But the look in the Doctor’s eyes is unmistakeable. As is... well, those trousers of his are pretty close-fitting.
It’s a moment or two before he can control himself enough to respond. “You came here to have sex with me? Not that I don’t like the idea, and I think it was pretty clear that I like it a lot. But you don’t do that, Doctor. Believe me, I know.”
“Oh, yes, you’ve been talking to old companions of mine, haven’t you?” He’s treated to one of the Doctor’s highly effective doesn’t suffer fools gladly stares. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
Jack shrugs. “You don’t make a habit of staying in touch. Though I’ve never doubted you had your sources. So, why? And why me?”
“Why must you humans have an explanation for everything?” the Doctor retorts in return. “Especially you, Jack. I’d expect you just to... go with the flow, isn’t that how you’d put it?”
And now he definitely doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. Or seeing. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.
“Yeah, I admit it, I’ve got something of a reputation. And, sure, when you knew me before I’d’ve jumped right in, no questions asked.” But he’s a very different man now, and it’s not all got to do with being abandoned - though, true, that’s a large part of it.
Something flashes in the Doctor’s eyes. “You saying you’re not interested?”
He sighs. “You know, I think I’m gonna regret this for the rest of my life. And we both know how long that’s gonna be. But, no, I’m not interested - unless you tell me why. What’s going on, Doctor? Why suddenly break the habit of a lifetime when it comes to... fucking humans? And why me, the guy you once left on a graveyard satellite and you can’t even get close to without flinching?”
***
It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.
Turn up, seduce Jack, get what he wants. Should have been simple. Should have been the easiest thing he’s ever done, knowing Jack - once he’d managed to work up the determination to go ahead with it.
Now, it’s questions, questions, and this isn’t going at all like it should have.
This is Jack, who’ll shag anything that moves. Anything with a pulse, and even some things without. And he’s saying no?
Not no, true. But he is asking far too many questions, and this just isn’t working. Bad idea, obviously. Time to leave. Forget this ever happened. And given it’s Jack... well, he’ll just be avoiding Cardiff for a very, very long time.
Should’ve gone to Martha. But that wouldn’t have been fair. Martha always wanted more, much more than he’s willing to give, and that would have led to trouble in the end. Too much trouble, of a sort he really doesn’t want to deal with. Jack would have happily settled for sex, even if he might want more too. Or, at least, that’s what he thought, but... Well.
“If that’s your answer, Jack, then there’s nothing more to be said. I’ll be away, then. Sorry to disturb you.”
Scooping up his coat with one hand, he’s swinging around on his heel, preparing to stride from the room. But his arm’s caught in a very firm grip. “Not so fast, Doctor. Told you, I want an explanation.”
“And I don’t have one to give you.”
Jack’s body is pressed up against his before he can take a step backwards. Jack’s hands are at his waist, and Jack’s warm breath is at his throat. Nibbling kisses are being pressed to his neck, and the hands at his waist slide around his back, holding him still. “Doctor. Talk to me.” The words are whispered into his ear.
“No.” He’ll push back in a minute. It won’t hurt to... just... stay for a couple of minutes, will it? And maybe Jack will change his mind if he gets a bit more of what he’s always wanted so badly.
“I want you too, Doctor. I just wanna know why. That’s all. Just one simple explanation, and then we can do anything you want. Anything. No holds barred.” Jack’s voice drops until it’s low and seductive, and for a moment the yearning’s so strong...
But this isn’t what he came for. Sex, yes - a means to an end. To get what he wants. Not to talk.
Jack’s kissing his lips now, tantalising, frustrating kisses that don’t linger anywhere long enough. “Why, Doctor?” he murmurs, nibbling at his ear. “Just give me one reason I can actually believe,” he adds, grinding their hips together.
This shouldn’t be happening. He came here to seduce, not to be seduced himself. The tables have been turned on him decisively, and he was completely powerless to stop it.
This was supposed to be a quick shag, something mildly enjoyable on his side, and serving the greater purpose of an inducement for Jack. Jack’s wrong, of course: he has had sex with humans before, and even with one or two of the companions the Captain’s so convinced he didn’t sleep with, and wanted to with several more. But it’s never been like this. Never such a driving imperative...
“Doctor.” Jack’s more insistent now, and he’s switched to teasing by almost kissing, yet keeping his lips out of reach, pulling back every time the Doctor leans in to capture a kiss.
Frustrated, shaking, he pulls back. “Why can’t you believe I just want you?”
Jack’s laugh is humourless, and he just knows that this whole encounter has deteriorated in a way he never wanted, never intended. Things have spiralled completely out of his control - if they were ever really in his control to begin with - and the situation’s just become irretrievable.
“Because you could’ve had me for the taking any time you wanted, Doctor, before the Game Station. You didn’t. And then you ran away. I’m wrong, and you told me it’s in your Time Lordly nature to be repelled by me - and now you want to screw me? Yeah, right, sure I believe that.”
“You don’t feel so wrong to me now.” And that’s no less than the truth. “Getting used to you.”
“Thanks.” The word’s voiced with biting sarcasm, and suddenly Jack’s not holding him any more. He’s retreated several feet, arms folded over his chest, expression distant and angry. Oh, yeah, if he tries to leave now Jack’s not going to stop him.
And that, somehow, is what drives him to reveal the truth - or part of it, anyway.
He can’t look at Jack as he says it, instead staring down at the tiled floor. “Knew you always wanted me, Jack. I thought that if I gave you what you wanted... you might say yes.”
Jack’s brow furrows. “Yes to what?”
“Travelling with me again.”
***
As the initial incredulity fades and it sinks in that he really did hear the Doctor say what he thinks he heard, he says, “You couldn’t just have asked?”
The Doctor shrugs, and in that moment his friend looks very lost, very alone. “Just asked before. You said no.”
Of course he did - because the offer was made out of obligation, he thought, compensation of sorts for what he’d been through on board the Valiant at the hands of the other surviving Time Lord. Because the Doctor thought it’s what he wanted - the reason why he searched for the Doctor for over a hundred years, and clung to the TARDIS through the Vortex. And because he thought it was something he owed Jack. None of those reasons were good enough. Not anywhere near. So he said no.
The offer of sex was an inducement, then - which means for some reason the Doctor wants his company very, very badly. That’s barely credible, after everything... and yet. Yes. There’s a part of the picture he’s not seeing yet, and he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he knows what it is. He’s slipping; it should have occurred to him before now. Though, to be fair, until a few minutes ago his brain was being led around by his libido.
“Who did you lose, Doctor?” Someone else special? God, please, no. After Gallifrey, after Rose, the Master - no matter how much that bastard deserved to die - after he and Martha both walked away. Did the Doctor go out and find someone else, only to lose her - or him - too?
The Doctor seems to crumple at the question. He almost falls back against the glass wall of the office, and then, very quietly, the truth emerges - even worse than Jack imagined.
“All of them. Thousands. All but three. And I promised, Jack. I told them who I was. Told them I was a genius. I promised I’d save them. I lost them, all of them. One by one, they sacrificed themselves to try to save the others. I was the useless one. And they died, Jack. I couldn’t save them.” His voice fades away almost to nothing, and then gives way on the final word.
His heart twists. Thousands of people? It’s Canary Wharf all over again, on only a slightly smaller scale. It was tens of thousands then, worldwide. And, of course, Rose. The Doctor’s bouncing from one massacre to another - the Time War, the Daleks’ return on Satellite Five, Torchwood One, the Master and that godawful year, and now this latest disaster, whatever it was. He’s been integral to every one of them, and - as is obvious - holds himself personally responsible for every life he failed to save.
And then, as he’s processing what he’s heard, it all becomes clear. He is the one person the Doctor can never lose. He’s immortal, the man who can’t die. Worth putting up with a little bit of wrongness for that, sure. Shows how desperate the Doctor is, or maybe what sort of mental state he’s in, if he’s decided that it’s even worth having to provide sexual services to get a companion he’ll never have to watch die - at least not permanently.
The Doctor needs a doctor, not a lover. But of course he’ll never accept that. He’s the Doctor. The idea that he might need therapy is something he’d never even contemplate. Too human. Too flawed. And, of course, it’s no use telling him that he arranged therapy - and even offered Retcon - for the Jones family after they returned home, or that Martha worked with a UNIT psychologist for a while, and that he and Martha also made arrangements for the UNIT soldiers who served on the Valiant, because no-one else in UNIT remembers. That everyone who survived and remembers that year needed help.
Though he of all people should understand. He’s told himself that he can cope with the memories, that he doesn’t need anyone’s help in learning to live with them. He’s more like the Doctor in that respect than he cares to accept.
Now, though, the Doctor’s falling apart right in front of him - and he’s the one who’s got to find a way to pick up the pieces. He, who of all the Doctor’s past companions is probably the most useless at this kind of thing. The only kind of comfort he knows how to give is physical - and, yes, it’s what the Doctor asked him for, but he knows the Doctor well enough to be aware that it’s the last thing he needs.
He’s good at practical stuff, too - after the Master’s death, he threw his own forceful personality and the entire weight of Torchwood into ensuring that the Doctor was allowed to deal with the Master’s body as he wanted. UNIT and the British government wanted to interfere - the guy was prime minister, after all, no matter what he’d done.
He had to silence the soldiers who’d been on board the Valiant, negotiate with more officials than he ever wanted to have to speak to in one day ever again, and then finally approach the Doctor, who’d ordered everyone to leave him and just shut himself up with that bastard’s body, to let him know that no-one would interfere. And then he’d insisted on going with the Doctor, against his friend’s stated wishes. He’d had to stay inside the TARDIS and wait, and even afterwards the Doctor rejected any overture of comfort. Not even so much as a hug, or a pat on the shoulder. Of course, he’s wrong. At the time, he hoped that Martha, with her medical training, would be able to make some progress at getting through to the Doctor. Now, though, he’s not so sure.
Even now Martha would’ve been a far better choice than himself. She’s the empathic one. She’s the one with training in dealing with post-traumatic stress. She’s the one who - she told him during one of the several late-night phone calls they’ve shared as they’ve helped each other to adjust to being back on Earth, back in the twenty-first century, while at the same time coping with the memories - made the Doctor talk about his planet when he’d been lying to her. She could handle this. He can’t. He has no idea how...
Yet he’s got no choice. The Doctor’s here, he’s hurting and he desperately needs to talk, properly, about everything. And he, always a doer, not a talker, who’s been useless at helping his own team cope with stuff - look what a mess he made with Ianto over the Lisa situation, and how the way he handled his team led to their mutiny months ago - is all the Doctor’s got. Great.
Even as his mind races furiously to try to find a way to start, there’s a tiny portion of his brain that’s really regretting turning down what was probably the only chance he’s ever going to have to get the Doctor into bed.
***
Right. Definitely a mistake. Definitely time to go. Jack’s silence makes that clear.
Shouldn’t be a surprise, really. What he’s just told Jack - well, it’s only one more cock-up to add to his long list, most of which Jack’s probably well aware of, given his job. Of course Jack’s been gathering information about him on the quiet for decades. He knows how many disasters and death-tolls are all his fault - and, too, the fact that the formation of Torchwood, with its mandate to destroy him, was all his own fault. Leaving him, as a result, shouldering a lot of the blame for Canary Wharf.
Jack knows, too, that the Master’s massacres, the Year that Never Was, is all his fault. He was there when the Master taunted him with it one day on the Valiant, pointing out that if he hadn’t destroyed Harriet Jones with his clever little whisper there wouldn’t have been a political vacuum to fill and the Master’s path to dominance would have been that much harder.
So why should Jack be remotely surprised - or sympathetic - at yet another disaster? Why should he even contemplate giving up everything he has here to travel with the man who abandoned him on top of everything else?
“Sorry. Sorry. I... Forget it, Jack. I’ll get out of your way.”
He’s turning to leave the office when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder. “Don’t go, Doctor. Sorry. I was just thinking.” The hand slides around until Jack’s arm is around his shoulders. “I’m glad you came to me. We should talk about this, but not here -” Jack glances at his watch. “A couple of my team have a tendency to get here early, and I don’t want them interrupting. Let’s get out of here.”
He swallows. Part of him still wants to run, but much more than that he wants to stay, to make the most of Jack’s company while he can, even if Jack clearly is about to take him up on the offer he’s no longer all that sure he wants to make.
Jack wants to steer him back into the office. “The TARDIS...” he suggests, resisting and gesturing towards the centre of Jack’s domain, below them - which, of course, he explored thoroughly before making his way to Jack’s office, taking advantage of his dead-of-night arrival. With a wave of his hand, he indicates his ship’s presence in a dark corner below.
Jack blinks. “Never even saw it there. Nah. Come down to my quarters.” A strong arm and pressure on his shoulders draws him in.
Ah, so Jack prefers to keep this on his territory? Well, he can’t really deny Jack that. It’s not much to concede anyway. Though there’s one potential pitfall. “What about that young man of yours - Ianto, isn’t it? Mightn’t he come looking for you?”
Jack turns abruptly, and stumbles into the edge of his desk. “How do you know about Ianto?”
“He taunted you about him. Threatened to bring him to the Valiant and rape and murder him in front of you. I heard it,” he says quietly, wearily. “There was a two-way mirror. When he tortured you, killed you, he made me watch.”
“I didn’t know.” Jack stifles a curse. “I never wanted you to see what he -”
“Why not? I should know what he did to you. It was my fault, Jack, all of it. I’m the one who made it possible. What I did to Harriet Jones -”
Jack waves a hand impatiently, then bends to pull a cover off the floor. So Jack’s quarters are below? Just a place to sleep when he works late - or is it possible that he lives here as well?
“That’s ridiculous. Were you inside his head telling him what to do? Might as well say it was Martha’s fault for drawing the Professor’s attention to the watch in the first place. Or mine for clinging to the TARDIS and making her fly all the way to the end of the universe to shake me off. It doesn’t work that way, Doctor, and you know that better than anyone.”
They’re climbing down a ladder now, which makes conversation difficult. Just as well. He has no idea how to respond to that. And, yes, it does look like Jack lives here.
“She’s prime minister again now,” Jack says, springing down from the ladder a few steps from the bottom. “Someone suggested to UNIT that she’d be the best person to form an emergency government, pick up the pieces and get things running again. She’d done it before, after all.”
He steps off the ladder himself as a light is snapped on, and abruptly he’s looking into Jack’s faintly accusing gaze. “You didn’t have to go to UNIT. I know you used to work for them, but what’m I? Chopped liver?”
No, it hadn’t ever occurred to him to ask Jack, had it? And yet Jack would have had all the resources to achieve the same end. Now it’s looking like he’s offended Jack yet again. Will he ever stop doing the wrong thing?
“Thought I’d asked enough of you. And the last thing I asked... you said no.” It’s mostly the truth. Well, part of it. The rest of it, of course, is that he was still running away from Jack, even after all this time.
Jack’s looking distinctly taken aback. “To travel with you? You know why I said no then.”
“Yep.” He turns away, begins to examine the bare walls of this subterranean cellar which, inconceivably, appears to be Jack’s home. Some home. His room on the TARDIS was more welcoming than this. “Your team.”
“That was part of it.” Jack’s right behind him, too close for comfort, actually. He can feel Jack’s breath against the back of his neck. Well, he did come promising seduction, offering himself in return for Jack’s company. Too late to turn around now and say he didn’t really mean it. “I did miss them. Worried about them, too. He had them killed, you know. Sent the Toclafane after them. Brought me the film as proof.”
“You saw them die?” He has to turn and face Jack on hearing that, the distance between them measured in inches. It seems everywhere he turns he faces consequences of his mistakes, including people he cares about suffering. It’s why he’s stayed well away from Martha and her family; he’s well aware that they’re traumatised, but there’s nothing he can do and he can’t face being reminded of what his actions led to.
“Yeah.” Jack’s expression darkens; clearly, the memory’s still painful. Hardly surprising, of course. He’s got some painful memories himself from down through the centuries, among which are of both Rose and Jack dying at the hands of Daleks. The fact that they each survived doesn’t make the memories any less raw.
“They’re fine, of course,” Jack continues, moving away until he’s leaning against a support beam. “No memory of any of it. Better that way. But it wasn’t only them. You asked because... well, I guess because you felt you owed me, after everything. Not because you wanted me. You had Martha, after all - and even without her I wouldn’t be your first choice.”
Because I’m wrong. Jack doesn’t say it, but the words echo between them anyway.
“Martha didn’t stay,” he says, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not news to Jack.
Jack inclines his head. “Yeah. She called me. She didn’t like to think of you being alone, but I told her the way it’s been for you. You always find someone to travel with.”
Said so casually, too. As if it’s always been off with the old, on with the new. It hasn’t. Never. Jack should know that - though has he really given him any reason to believe that?
But... wait a minute. What’s Jack actually saying here? That if he’d felt needed - if he’d felt wanted - he might have stayed? But that’s just silly.
“Jack.” All guard dropped now, all pride cast aside, nothing but the truth in his voice. “I need you. Come with me.”
***
tbc