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wintercompanion2010-07-17 12:25 am
trobadora) wrote in wintercompanion2010-07-17 12:25 am
Entry tags:
wendymr: The Road Not Travelled (Ten/Jack) [PG] - SUMMER HOLIDAYS, PROMPT 9
Title: The Road Not Travelled
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendymr
Challenge: Summer Holidays 2
Prompt Group: 9 - navigate - hurdle - rush - wrangle
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: Spoilers for The End of Time and Children of Earth
Summary: He should have died today.
With many thanks todark_aegis and yamx for BRing, and to trobadora and wojelah for organising this fun ficathon again!
The Road Not Travelled
“Wilfred. It’s my honour.”
He lays his hand on the door-handle, ready to pull it open and step in to his death. But, just as his fingers close around the handle, the door into the room bursts open.
“Where is he? That bastard Saxon’s here. I’m going to kill him!”
“Jack!” He whirls around, hand still at the door. “What-? No. I don’t care what. This isn’t the time.” He turns back, starts to pull at the door to the chamber.
“Doctor.” Jack slams to a halt and stares at him. “Should’ve guessed you’d-”
“No!” Wilf’s sounding panicky now. “Sir, I don’t know who you are, but you have to stop him. Please!”
“Stop him?” Jack strides over to the containment room, his gaze sweeping over the interior and his eyes widening at the alarm and the flashing lights. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He keeps his voice curt. They’ve got seconds left. “Wilf, I’m coming in.”
“No! Stop him, sir! He shouldn’t die, not him-”
“Get out of the way.” Suddenly, Jack’s bulk rams him, and he stumbles to the side. Before he can stop the Captain, Jack’s wrenching the door open and walking inside.
“No, sir, please don’t come in,” Wilf protests.
“Jack, no!” the Doctor shouts, trying to follow him. “You don’t know... That’s Vinvocci radiation!” Of course, Jack will revive – but for a human it’ll be an agonising death.
Jack slams the door, keeping him out. “This the right button?” he asks Wilf, indicating the red button on the console. At Wilf’s shocked nod, he presses it. The warning beep is growing louder, more insistent.
Too late to stop Jack now. Instead, the Doctor wrenches at the other door. It opens, at last, and he reaches inside and grabs Wilf’s arm. “Come on!” he shouts. “Out!”
Wilf stumbles out and into his steadying arms. The alarm intensifies.
Radiation floods the chamber. Jack cries out, agonised. The sound pierces his hearts, but all he can do is stand, still clutching Wilf, and stare, helpless, as Jack collapses to the floor and dies the death he would have died himself. Almost died himself.
Of course, Jack will resuscitate, as always, but that isn’t the point.
Ever since Satellite Five, he’s done nothing but ignore Jack or, when he’s been forced to acknowledge the Captain’s existence, he’s taken him for granted and treated him appallingly. And now Jack’s dying in extreme pain yet again, and all for him, the one person in the universe Jack has every reason to hate.
It’s the last thing he deserves. Why should Jack show him mercy? He never showed it to Jack.
He should have died today. Deserved to die today, as his penance for Gallifrey, for failing to stop Rassilon all those years ago, for not trying to figure out what caused the drums in the Master’s head. So much that he could have prevented, and so many who died because he failed.
Jack’s pained gasps cease, and Wilf starts to sob. He feels like sobbing himself.
***
Breath surges back into his body with the usual agonising pain – you’d think he’d be used to it by now, but every time’s just as bad. Well, okay, not as bad as the time his body literally grew back from one limb.
He winces. Bad memories.
What was it this time? Oh, right. Radiation. The Doctor, and some other guy-
And wait a second, isn’t that the other guy he’s hearing now, going on about how it’s not fair and he never asked anyone to die for him? Damnit, can’t he shut up?
“Jack? Jack, you all right?”
A firm hand presses to his shoulder and shakes him, but it’s the voice he’s focused on. The Doctor. He’s still here, then. Course he would be. The Master was here, wasn’t he? At least, that was the rumour he heard, and of course if the Master’s here the Doctor will be too.
He sits up, pushing against the Doctor’s hand, and immediately there’s a gasp from the old man. “It’s all right,” he says, turning to the guy as he springs to his feet. “I don’t stay dead. The Doctor should’ve told you that.” He looks back at the Doctor, who’s also pulling himself to his feet – and what the hell has he been up to? His suit’s torn to shreds, and there are cuts all over his face. But Jack’s not going to let sympathy get in the way here. “Where’s the Master? I swear, this time I will kill the bastard-”
“He’s gone,” the Doctor says, his voice sober. “Permanently. He’s back inside the time-lock. It’s not possible to escape from that. Not again.”
Time-lock? What time-lock? The only time he ever heard of anything like that was the little bit the Doctor told him about the Time War, during their year on the Valiant.
But, even if the Doctor’s told him this much, it’s obvious from the closed look on his face that he’s not saying any more.
“So!” the Doctor exclaims abruptly, and he’s actually bouncing on his heels now. “Here we are, all alive, and not in any danger of dying! Wilf, think it’s time I got you home before Sylvia sends out the search-party... and if there’s any danger of Minnie being in the search-party I’d really prefer not to run into it.”
That sounds like Jack’s cue to leave. Of course, if the Master’s not here then he’s got no reason to stick around anyway. He’s done his job: saved the Doctor’s skin once again, for what it’s worth. And besides, if he stays he’s going to say – or do – something he’ll regret.
This old man, whoever he is, was clearly important enough that the Doctor was prepared to regenerate to save him. Yet Steven and Ianto and everyone else who died six months ago aren’t important. Helping him, saving people he loves, isn’t important.
Yeah. He knows where he stands.
He strides past the Doctor and the old man, heading for the door.
***
“Oi!”
The protest’s escaped his lips before he has a chance to think better of it. There’s a reason, after all, why he’s avoided Jack since the 456. He simply hasn’t known what to say, how to explain – or even what to explain. And the longer he’s left it, the harder it’s got.
Now that Jack’s found him today, too, he can’t go back and find Jack just after it happened. There’s no way of knowing, without asking Jack, how long after the event it is for him, but it’s not immediately after it – there’s grief in Jack’s eyes, all right, but it’s not the wild, raw grief of very recent loss. But any hope he might have had that maybe he did go back to see Jack – just hasn’t done it yet in his timeline – died at the cold, accusing look in his friend’s eyes after he revived.
He never came. And Jack hasn’t forgiven him for that.
Better just to let the Captain go... and yet. No.
He hurries after Jack and grabs the Captain’s arm before the bloke reaches the door. “Not leaving, are you? Can’t do that. Not before we’ve had a chance to catch up. Long time no see, and all that?”
The look Jack gives him is pure contempt. “You want to catch up? I don’t think so. If you really cared about catching up, you’d have been around before now. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Jack wrenches away. “You bastard.”
He’s about to react angrily – probably as much because he knows Jack’s right as that he’s really angered by the insult – but Wilf coughs loudly, awkwardly. “I’ll just make my own way home, all right?”
He can’t let Wilf do that. Not after what the bloke’s been through in the past few hours. They’re miles from Wilf’s house, and does Wilf even have money or whatever he needs for transport? No. He’ll have to take him in the TARDIS – he definitely owes Donna’s granddad that much.
Stretching out his hand towards Jack again, he gives the Captain a pleading look, asking Jack to give him time to take care of this – or come with him while he does. It’s not that he couldn’t find Jack again later if the Captain did leave, but he’s well aware that if Jack does leave now then it’s going to be so very much harder later to sort all this out. To apologise and gain Jack’s forgiveness.
Jack exhales sharply, and his shoulders straighten. “Take your friend home, Doctor. I’ll wait for you.”
It’s reluctant, but it’s good enough. He nods just once to Jack, acknowledgement and thanks, then turns to Wilf. “Let’s get you back before Sylvia really does send out the search-party.”
***
Jack stares at the Doctor’s retreating back and wonders why he’s allowed the Time Lord to talk him into doing what he wants yet again.
Though at least this way he’ll get the confrontation over with. He can tell the Doctor, once and for all, what he really thinks of him and then make sure that he never sees the guy again.
Why did he ever come back to Earth? If he’d stayed away, this would never have happened. It’s not like the Doctor was looking for him, after all.
His hand strays to his teleport; so tempting just to leave, despite his promise to the Doctor. But, no, he’s not going to be the one who runs. He won’t give the Doctor the chance to throw that accusation at him next time they meet, as they inevitably will.
Restless, knowing he’s got a wait ahead of him, he starts to prowl around the huge room. What the hell happened here? Shattered glass on the floor; he glances upwards and sees the smashed rose-window skylight. Something crashed through there – or maybe someone. Dots of scarlet on a couple of shards catch his eye, and his mind flashes back to the cuts on the Doctor’s face, and his shredded suit. He crouches to take a closer look. Yes, blood – and brown threads clinging to some of the glass.
Whatever happened, the Master’s gone. That’s all that matters.
He stands and surveys the rest of the room – then stops dead. That arch came from Torchwood. He had Ianto store it as deep in the vaults as possible because, while he had no idea where it was from or what it did, he knew enough to know it was too dangerous to let it fall into the wrong hands.
He has a strong suspicion now that he knows what it can do.
Everyone, everywhere, turned into the Master. Behaving like the Master. Everyone but him. But why not him? And then, suddenly, while he was still running around in circles trying to find the real bastard among all the copies, everyone turned back again. And there, at the top of the arch, is what he guesses is the reason they turned back: a shattered, burned-out hole where something’s obviously been destroyed.
“The Immortality Gate, that’s what Naismith called it.” The Doctor’s voice, coming from immediately behind him, makes him jump. Damn the bastard, creeping up on him in those soft trainers he insists on.
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” he retorts.
“No. Though that’s not what it was used for.” The Doctor moves to stand beside him; he’s got his long coat on now, and the tails of their coats are close enough to brush.
“Figured. Some kind of replicator?”
“Yep. And worse.” The Doctor sounds weary, as if he’s just survived the battle of his life. Yet this is the guy who’s the only Time Lord survivor of the Time War.
“How come I wasn’t changed?” Has to be something to do with his curse, but what?
“You’ve got the Vortex inside you, Jack. No-one can change that. Not even a Time Lord.” There’s movement by his side, and he realises the Doctor’s got the sonic in his hand. “It needs to be destroyed. Even if no-one else knows what it’s really capable of, it’s far too dangerous to be left intact.”
Jack draws his gun and steps forward. “Stay back.” A volley of powerful shots later and the arch lies in pieces on the floor. “That good enough, or do I need to blow it up?”
“You have explosives handy?” the Doctor asks, sounding surprised.
“Raided a UNIT store earlier.” When he still imagined he was going to have to fight the army of Master clones solo.
The Doctor gives him a sharp look. “How many times were you killed?”
He shrugs. “Enough.”
The grenade he liberated’s more powerful than this pile of alien junk needs, but it’s all he’s got. Hand on the pin, he glances briefly at the Doctor. “Suggest you run.”
“Right.” The Doctor turns tail and starts running, coat flapping at his heels.
Jack pulls the pin and throws the grenade, then spins on his heel and takes off for the door. He overtakes the Doctor sooner than he expected, and just as the count in his head gets to two seconds.
He’s just at the door when there’s a dull thump behind him. Shit. A glance back over his shoulder confirms his assumption: the Doctor’s crumpled on the floor, grimacing in pain.
He turns back immediately. The Doctor shakes his head. “No! Get out-”
“Don’t be any more of an idiot than you can help,” he snaps, bending to grab the Doctor. Once he has the guy over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he’s running again.
The massive explosion hits as he’s halfway through the door; the force takes him off his feet and brings him down in the hallway several metres away, smashing him into the wall. The Doctor lands next to him with a groan.
Around them, plaster and bits of concrete are raining down. Damn. It really was a powerful grenade. “Come on.” He tugs the Doctor to his feet and sets off, but realises almost instantly that the guy’s limping badly. Hardly surprising, if he did fall through that skylight – he’s lucky that’s all that’s wrong with him. “Hell,” Jack mutters, and again throws the Doctor over his shoulder.
Two corridors later, and they’re outside, walking into the early evening sunlight while behind them the Naismith mansion burns.
***
Jack sets him on the grass when they’re far enough from the house not to be in any danger, and drops down beside him, flipping open his wrist computer to scan the injured ankle. “Sprained,” he concludes in under two seconds.
“Could’ve told you that.”
“Should’ve repaired it while you were in the TARDIS,” Jack comments, shifting into a cross-legged position, facing him. “And the rest of the damage, while you were at it.”
“Thought it was more important to come back to you.” Jack flinches. Right. This is going to be every bit as difficult as he thought it would. He changes the subject – coward as always. “Thank you, by the way. For saving me – twice.”
Jack shrugs.
“I was supposed to die today,” he continues when it’s clear that Jack isn’t going to say anything. “There was a prophecy. He will knock four times. That was Wilf, in the containment cell. I should have died.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Almost died at least three times in the past half-hour. And every time I was saved by someone I’d least expect to want to see me live. S’pose that’s saying something.”
Immediately, Jack’s face darkens. “I never wanted you dead.”
His eyes widen. That’s more than he deserves.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words just pour out. “It was a fixed point. I couldn’t... I didn’t know what you had to do, not until after. Martha told me. I always knew someone had to make a terrible sacrifice, but I didn’t know it was you.” He scrubs his face, then casts a wary glance at Jack as he runs his fingers through his hair. He’s still sitting, making no attempt to leave. That’s something, at least, even if he’s not reacting, giving no outward sign that he’s listening.
“I...” Again, his hand rakes at his hair. “I’ve always been a coward, Jack. You know that. I was going to find you. After Martha told me, I wanted to find you, and... Well. I’ve been putting it off. Told myself I could go any time. Time machine. Should’ve known you’d catch up with me first.”
Jack’s as still as a statue. “Why did you put it off?”
This time, he holds Jack’s gaze. “Said I’m a coward. I know what you did, Jack. Who you lost. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. All I could say was sorry, and that’s just... just...” He trails off, then adds, the words dragged painfully from him, “If someone’d said that to me after the Time War, I think I’d have killed them. Slowly.”
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice is thick, and he breaks eye-contact to stare at the burning house.
“And then I’d think of things I could do that might help, except they might not help at all, and so I’d put it off again.”
“Things like?” Jack’s still not looking at him, and his tone suggests complete lack of interest – but his white knuckles say otherwise.
“Oh, like...” He falters, then goes for it. “Like giving you a lift anywhere in the universe you want to go. Or taking you back to see them – Steven and Ianto – so you can say goodbye. Or anything else you might’ve wanted to say.” Something tells him that Jack avoids the L-word every bit as much as he does.
“Or...” Too simple, this. Too simple by far, and completely offensive to his friend to suggest that mere touch could make a difference. “Maybe...” He swallows. “Maybe just giving you a hug.”
There’s still a statue sitting next to him. Until the obelisk sobs, and he realises that it’s not such a stupid idea after all.
“Jack,” he murmurs, and reaches out to his friend, pulling him into his arms.
***
It shouldn’t be what he wants. Yet it is.
The Doctor’s abandoned him, judged him, ignored him, dismissed him. Left him for over a century to wonder what he’d done to have this fate handed to him, and never came when he was needed most.
It was a fixed point. He should have realised that. God, that makes so much sense.
He clings to the slender, yet powerful body holding him, burying his face in the lapels of the Doctor’s trench-coat. Fixed point. Fixed point. Nothing he or anyone else could have done would have changed the outcome. Ianto was always going to die. So was Steven. He was always going to kill Steven.
The tears won’t stop coming now, and it’s the first time he’s cried since it happened. First time he’s been able to.
It’s later, when he’s cried all he can and a quiet stillness settles over him, that he can finally talk.
“I killed my grandson.”
The arms around him tighten, and the Doctor’s chin comes to rest on top of his head. The voice is muffled, but he’s sure he hears the Doctor say, “I killed my granddaughter.”
He pulls back, staring at the Doctor. “The Time War?”
“Yep.” The Doctor’s gaze slides away from him, but then returns, and he gets a look that’s more honest than he’s ever seen from the Doctor before. “All my family. Every one of them.” The Doctor swallows.
“Was it worth it?” His voice emerges as a whisper.
“I thought it was.” The Doctor shakes his head, and their fringes brush. “What about you, Jack? Was it worth it?”
“I’ve asked myself that every day.” He dares to lean forward until his forehead rests against the Doctor’s. His friend doesn’t move. “He thought I was his uncle. You know that?”
“No.” The Doctor’s voice is very soft. “His mother told him that?”
“Yeah.” His hands slide up to the Doctor’s shoulders, and he ventures to let his fingers brush the ends of his friend’s hair. “She didn’t want to explain why I didn’t age.”
The Doctor doesn’t answer, but his hand moves down Jack’s back in what’s obviously a gesture of comfort.
“Ianto... that was a pointless waste. I never should have let him come with me.”
The Doctor’s hand rubs circles on his back. “Never should’ve let Rose stay in the lever room with me.” His voice is rueful, with none of the pain that was there when they talked about her on Malcassiro. Time really does heal, it seems. Course, the Doctor got a second chance to say goodbye to her, didn’t he?
“You’d really take me back, if I wanted?” he asks, leaning back again to look at the Doctor. “I never told Ianto...” He swallows. That last week’s indelibly etched on his mind. Ianto, so anxious to avoid seeming clingy, yet dropping hints about them being a couple and at the same time denying it, obviously wanting his lover to contradict him, to say something, anything, that would confirm that what they had was a relationship, not just sex. And that deathbed confession that he just couldn’t return.
“You want to tell him?” There’s sympathy in the Doctor’s eyes now. “You’re a braver man than me if you can do it – though I always knew that. I couldn’t.”
Couldn’t tell who? But he doesn’t need to ask. Rose.
“Better for her, of course,” the Doctor continues, and he’s staring into the distance now. “He’ll tell her what I can’t. And he can live a human life with her. Grow old with her.”
Like the Doctor never could have. And like he never could have with Ianto – or with Alice and Steven.
He forces back the lump in his throat. “How do you carry on?”
The Doctor’s expression turns wry. “Me? By running away. You’ve seen me do it, Jack. Told you, too – I started running years and years ago, when they made me look into the Untempered Schism. Never stopped.” He swallows, and then his gaze returns to Jack, torment in his eyes. “That’s why you shouldn’t. Because you’ve seen me run. You’ve suffered from it.”
He flinches. “I can’t go back. I can’t.”
“Not now? Or not ever?” There’s no judgement in the Doctor’s voice, just curiosity.
He hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Yet you’re on Earth now. Martha said you left. What was it? Three months ago?”
“Flying visit. Supposed to be, anyway.” It’s tempting to stay so close to the Doctor. He’s never been allowed this kind of intimacy before. An exuberant hug based on shared joy is as much as he’s ever had. But better to move away before the Doctor does. He shifts back, letting his hands fall from the Doctor’s shoulders.
The Doctor’s hands fall also – but, instead of letting go completely, he grips Jack’s hand. So very unexpected. Maybe Jack’s not the only one needing the comfort of touch right now? The Doctor did say he expected to die today.
“Flying visit?” the Doctor prompts.
“Yeah.” He curls his fingers around the Doctor’s hand. “Needed to check on Alice.”
“You talked to her?” The incredulity in the Doctor’s voice is matched on his face.
“Nah.” He looks away. Not a chance. Even if Alice would agree to see him, what could he say to her? “Covert surveillance’s a speciality of mine.”
“Right, right.” The Doctor gives him a crooked smile. “Got a lot in common, you and me.”
“Suppose we do.” He returns the smile, his own rueful. The Doctor shifts on the hard ground, then winces. “Damn. Your ankle. Should help you back to the TARDIS so you can sort it. I’m sure you’re ready to leave anyway.”
The Doctor accepts his help to stand, then winds an arm around his waist for support. Jack throws his arm across the Doctor’s shoulders and they start a slow, halting walk back across the field to the stable block.
“Come with me, Jack,” the Doctor says as they come within sight of the TARDIS. “Not because I don’t mind. Not because you’ve got nowhere else to go. But because you want to come. And...” He pauses, stops walking and turns to look at Jack. “Because I want you to come.”
Jack’s breath catches, and he almost stumbles. The Doctor’s offer would be enough of a shock on its own, but the uncertainty in his friend’s voice, coupled with the plea in his eyes, leaves him stunned. For the first time since Ianto and Steven’s deaths, the ice around his heart starts to crack.
“And do what?” he asks, his voice unsteady.
The Doctor tugs at his ear with his free hand. “Oh, what we always do. Explore. Get into trouble. Run a lot. And maybe... maybe try not to be cowards?”
He smiles crookedly. “Sounds good to me. Only... think we can hold off on the bravery bit for a while?” The Doctor’s right. He does have to stop running away some time. Only not just yet.
“Think you’ve earned the right to, yeah.” The Doctor smiles, again rueful. “Me... well, I’ve got a lot more to make up for, don’t you think?” His arm around Jack tightens, and Jack firms his grip on the Doctor. That ankle must be throbbing.
But the Doctor leans in, bringing his face close to Jack. “Here’s another way I’ve always been a coward. Always using an excuse instead of letting my friends know what they mean to me.” His lips press against Jack’s in a sweet kiss. “No genetic transfer, not saving your life. Just...” He shrugs faintly.
Jack finds himself grinning. “Just saying hello?”
“Just saying hello,” the Doctor agrees, and kisses him again.
- end -
Author:
wendymr Challenge: Summer Holidays 2
Prompt Group: 9 - navigate - hurdle - rush - wrangle
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: Spoilers for The End of Time and Children of Earth
Summary: He should have died today.
With many thanks to
dark_aegis and yamx for BRing, and to trobadora and wojelah for organising this fun ficathon again!“Wilfred. It’s my honour.”
He lays his hand on the door-handle, ready to pull it open and step in to his death. But, just as his fingers close around the handle, the door into the room bursts open.
“Where is he? That bastard Saxon’s here. I’m going to kill him!”
“Jack!” He whirls around, hand still at the door. “What-? No. I don’t care what. This isn’t the time.” He turns back, starts to pull at the door to the chamber.
“Doctor.” Jack slams to a halt and stares at him. “Should’ve guessed you’d-”
“No!” Wilf’s sounding panicky now. “Sir, I don’t know who you are, but you have to stop him. Please!”
“Stop him?” Jack strides over to the containment room, his gaze sweeping over the interior and his eyes widening at the alarm and the flashing lights. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He keeps his voice curt. They’ve got seconds left. “Wilf, I’m coming in.”
“No! Stop him, sir! He shouldn’t die, not him-”
“Get out of the way.” Suddenly, Jack’s bulk rams him, and he stumbles to the side. Before he can stop the Captain, Jack’s wrenching the door open and walking inside.
“No, sir, please don’t come in,” Wilf protests.
“Jack, no!” the Doctor shouts, trying to follow him. “You don’t know... That’s Vinvocci radiation!” Of course, Jack will revive – but for a human it’ll be an agonising death.
Jack slams the door, keeping him out. “This the right button?” he asks Wilf, indicating the red button on the console. At Wilf’s shocked nod, he presses it. The warning beep is growing louder, more insistent.
Too late to stop Jack now. Instead, the Doctor wrenches at the other door. It opens, at last, and he reaches inside and grabs Wilf’s arm. “Come on!” he shouts. “Out!”
Wilf stumbles out and into his steadying arms. The alarm intensifies.
Radiation floods the chamber. Jack cries out, agonised. The sound pierces his hearts, but all he can do is stand, still clutching Wilf, and stare, helpless, as Jack collapses to the floor and dies the death he would have died himself. Almost died himself.
Of course, Jack will resuscitate, as always, but that isn’t the point.
Ever since Satellite Five, he’s done nothing but ignore Jack or, when he’s been forced to acknowledge the Captain’s existence, he’s taken him for granted and treated him appallingly. And now Jack’s dying in extreme pain yet again, and all for him, the one person in the universe Jack has every reason to hate.
It’s the last thing he deserves. Why should Jack show him mercy? He never showed it to Jack.
He should have died today. Deserved to die today, as his penance for Gallifrey, for failing to stop Rassilon all those years ago, for not trying to figure out what caused the drums in the Master’s head. So much that he could have prevented, and so many who died because he failed.
Jack’s pained gasps cease, and Wilf starts to sob. He feels like sobbing himself.
***
Breath surges back into his body with the usual agonising pain – you’d think he’d be used to it by now, but every time’s just as bad. Well, okay, not as bad as the time his body literally grew back from one limb.
He winces. Bad memories.
What was it this time? Oh, right. Radiation. The Doctor, and some other guy-
And wait a second, isn’t that the other guy he’s hearing now, going on about how it’s not fair and he never asked anyone to die for him? Damnit, can’t he shut up?
“Jack? Jack, you all right?”
A firm hand presses to his shoulder and shakes him, but it’s the voice he’s focused on. The Doctor. He’s still here, then. Course he would be. The Master was here, wasn’t he? At least, that was the rumour he heard, and of course if the Master’s here the Doctor will be too.
He sits up, pushing against the Doctor’s hand, and immediately there’s a gasp from the old man. “It’s all right,” he says, turning to the guy as he springs to his feet. “I don’t stay dead. The Doctor should’ve told you that.” He looks back at the Doctor, who’s also pulling himself to his feet – and what the hell has he been up to? His suit’s torn to shreds, and there are cuts all over his face. But Jack’s not going to let sympathy get in the way here. “Where’s the Master? I swear, this time I will kill the bastard-”
“He’s gone,” the Doctor says, his voice sober. “Permanently. He’s back inside the time-lock. It’s not possible to escape from that. Not again.”
Time-lock? What time-lock? The only time he ever heard of anything like that was the little bit the Doctor told him about the Time War, during their year on the Valiant.
But, even if the Doctor’s told him this much, it’s obvious from the closed look on his face that he’s not saying any more.
“So!” the Doctor exclaims abruptly, and he’s actually bouncing on his heels now. “Here we are, all alive, and not in any danger of dying! Wilf, think it’s time I got you home before Sylvia sends out the search-party... and if there’s any danger of Minnie being in the search-party I’d really prefer not to run into it.”
That sounds like Jack’s cue to leave. Of course, if the Master’s not here then he’s got no reason to stick around anyway. He’s done his job: saved the Doctor’s skin once again, for what it’s worth. And besides, if he stays he’s going to say – or do – something he’ll regret.
This old man, whoever he is, was clearly important enough that the Doctor was prepared to regenerate to save him. Yet Steven and Ianto and everyone else who died six months ago aren’t important. Helping him, saving people he loves, isn’t important.
Yeah. He knows where he stands.
He strides past the Doctor and the old man, heading for the door.
***
“Oi!”
The protest’s escaped his lips before he has a chance to think better of it. There’s a reason, after all, why he’s avoided Jack since the 456. He simply hasn’t known what to say, how to explain – or even what to explain. And the longer he’s left it, the harder it’s got.
Now that Jack’s found him today, too, he can’t go back and find Jack just after it happened. There’s no way of knowing, without asking Jack, how long after the event it is for him, but it’s not immediately after it – there’s grief in Jack’s eyes, all right, but it’s not the wild, raw grief of very recent loss. But any hope he might have had that maybe he did go back to see Jack – just hasn’t done it yet in his timeline – died at the cold, accusing look in his friend’s eyes after he revived.
He never came. And Jack hasn’t forgiven him for that.
Better just to let the Captain go... and yet. No.
He hurries after Jack and grabs the Captain’s arm before the bloke reaches the door. “Not leaving, are you? Can’t do that. Not before we’ve had a chance to catch up. Long time no see, and all that?”
The look Jack gives him is pure contempt. “You want to catch up? I don’t think so. If you really cared about catching up, you’d have been around before now. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Jack wrenches away. “You bastard.”
He’s about to react angrily – probably as much because he knows Jack’s right as that he’s really angered by the insult – but Wilf coughs loudly, awkwardly. “I’ll just make my own way home, all right?”
He can’t let Wilf do that. Not after what the bloke’s been through in the past few hours. They’re miles from Wilf’s house, and does Wilf even have money or whatever he needs for transport? No. He’ll have to take him in the TARDIS – he definitely owes Donna’s granddad that much.
Stretching out his hand towards Jack again, he gives the Captain a pleading look, asking Jack to give him time to take care of this – or come with him while he does. It’s not that he couldn’t find Jack again later if the Captain did leave, but he’s well aware that if Jack does leave now then it’s going to be so very much harder later to sort all this out. To apologise and gain Jack’s forgiveness.
Jack exhales sharply, and his shoulders straighten. “Take your friend home, Doctor. I’ll wait for you.”
It’s reluctant, but it’s good enough. He nods just once to Jack, acknowledgement and thanks, then turns to Wilf. “Let’s get you back before Sylvia really does send out the search-party.”
***
Jack stares at the Doctor’s retreating back and wonders why he’s allowed the Time Lord to talk him into doing what he wants yet again.
Though at least this way he’ll get the confrontation over with. He can tell the Doctor, once and for all, what he really thinks of him and then make sure that he never sees the guy again.
Why did he ever come back to Earth? If he’d stayed away, this would never have happened. It’s not like the Doctor was looking for him, after all.
His hand strays to his teleport; so tempting just to leave, despite his promise to the Doctor. But, no, he’s not going to be the one who runs. He won’t give the Doctor the chance to throw that accusation at him next time they meet, as they inevitably will.
Restless, knowing he’s got a wait ahead of him, he starts to prowl around the huge room. What the hell happened here? Shattered glass on the floor; he glances upwards and sees the smashed rose-window skylight. Something crashed through there – or maybe someone. Dots of scarlet on a couple of shards catch his eye, and his mind flashes back to the cuts on the Doctor’s face, and his shredded suit. He crouches to take a closer look. Yes, blood – and brown threads clinging to some of the glass.
Whatever happened, the Master’s gone. That’s all that matters.
He stands and surveys the rest of the room – then stops dead. That arch came from Torchwood. He had Ianto store it as deep in the vaults as possible because, while he had no idea where it was from or what it did, he knew enough to know it was too dangerous to let it fall into the wrong hands.
He has a strong suspicion now that he knows what it can do.
Everyone, everywhere, turned into the Master. Behaving like the Master. Everyone but him. But why not him? And then, suddenly, while he was still running around in circles trying to find the real bastard among all the copies, everyone turned back again. And there, at the top of the arch, is what he guesses is the reason they turned back: a shattered, burned-out hole where something’s obviously been destroyed.
“The Immortality Gate, that’s what Naismith called it.” The Doctor’s voice, coming from immediately behind him, makes him jump. Damn the bastard, creeping up on him in those soft trainers he insists on.
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” he retorts.
“No. Though that’s not what it was used for.” The Doctor moves to stand beside him; he’s got his long coat on now, and the tails of their coats are close enough to brush.
“Figured. Some kind of replicator?”
“Yep. And worse.” The Doctor sounds weary, as if he’s just survived the battle of his life. Yet this is the guy who’s the only Time Lord survivor of the Time War.
“How come I wasn’t changed?” Has to be something to do with his curse, but what?
“You’ve got the Vortex inside you, Jack. No-one can change that. Not even a Time Lord.” There’s movement by his side, and he realises the Doctor’s got the sonic in his hand. “It needs to be destroyed. Even if no-one else knows what it’s really capable of, it’s far too dangerous to be left intact.”
Jack draws his gun and steps forward. “Stay back.” A volley of powerful shots later and the arch lies in pieces on the floor. “That good enough, or do I need to blow it up?”
“You have explosives handy?” the Doctor asks, sounding surprised.
“Raided a UNIT store earlier.” When he still imagined he was going to have to fight the army of Master clones solo.
The Doctor gives him a sharp look. “How many times were you killed?”
He shrugs. “Enough.”
The grenade he liberated’s more powerful than this pile of alien junk needs, but it’s all he’s got. Hand on the pin, he glances briefly at the Doctor. “Suggest you run.”
“Right.” The Doctor turns tail and starts running, coat flapping at his heels.
Jack pulls the pin and throws the grenade, then spins on his heel and takes off for the door. He overtakes the Doctor sooner than he expected, and just as the count in his head gets to two seconds.
He’s just at the door when there’s a dull thump behind him. Shit. A glance back over his shoulder confirms his assumption: the Doctor’s crumpled on the floor, grimacing in pain.
He turns back immediately. The Doctor shakes his head. “No! Get out-”
“Don’t be any more of an idiot than you can help,” he snaps, bending to grab the Doctor. Once he has the guy over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he’s running again.
The massive explosion hits as he’s halfway through the door; the force takes him off his feet and brings him down in the hallway several metres away, smashing him into the wall. The Doctor lands next to him with a groan.
Around them, plaster and bits of concrete are raining down. Damn. It really was a powerful grenade. “Come on.” He tugs the Doctor to his feet and sets off, but realises almost instantly that the guy’s limping badly. Hardly surprising, if he did fall through that skylight – he’s lucky that’s all that’s wrong with him. “Hell,” Jack mutters, and again throws the Doctor over his shoulder.
Two corridors later, and they’re outside, walking into the early evening sunlight while behind them the Naismith mansion burns.
***
Jack sets him on the grass when they’re far enough from the house not to be in any danger, and drops down beside him, flipping open his wrist computer to scan the injured ankle. “Sprained,” he concludes in under two seconds.
“Could’ve told you that.”
“Should’ve repaired it while you were in the TARDIS,” Jack comments, shifting into a cross-legged position, facing him. “And the rest of the damage, while you were at it.”
“Thought it was more important to come back to you.” Jack flinches. Right. This is going to be every bit as difficult as he thought it would. He changes the subject – coward as always. “Thank you, by the way. For saving me – twice.”
Jack shrugs.
“I was supposed to die today,” he continues when it’s clear that Jack isn’t going to say anything. “There was a prophecy. He will knock four times. That was Wilf, in the containment cell. I should have died.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Almost died at least three times in the past half-hour. And every time I was saved by someone I’d least expect to want to see me live. S’pose that’s saying something.”
Immediately, Jack’s face darkens. “I never wanted you dead.”
His eyes widen. That’s more than he deserves.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words just pour out. “It was a fixed point. I couldn’t... I didn’t know what you had to do, not until after. Martha told me. I always knew someone had to make a terrible sacrifice, but I didn’t know it was you.” He scrubs his face, then casts a wary glance at Jack as he runs his fingers through his hair. He’s still sitting, making no attempt to leave. That’s something, at least, even if he’s not reacting, giving no outward sign that he’s listening.
“I...” Again, his hand rakes at his hair. “I’ve always been a coward, Jack. You know that. I was going to find you. After Martha told me, I wanted to find you, and... Well. I’ve been putting it off. Told myself I could go any time. Time machine. Should’ve known you’d catch up with me first.”
Jack’s as still as a statue. “Why did you put it off?”
This time, he holds Jack’s gaze. “Said I’m a coward. I know what you did, Jack. Who you lost. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. All I could say was sorry, and that’s just... just...” He trails off, then adds, the words dragged painfully from him, “If someone’d said that to me after the Time War, I think I’d have killed them. Slowly.”
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice is thick, and he breaks eye-contact to stare at the burning house.
“And then I’d think of things I could do that might help, except they might not help at all, and so I’d put it off again.”
“Things like?” Jack’s still not looking at him, and his tone suggests complete lack of interest – but his white knuckles say otherwise.
“Oh, like...” He falters, then goes for it. “Like giving you a lift anywhere in the universe you want to go. Or taking you back to see them – Steven and Ianto – so you can say goodbye. Or anything else you might’ve wanted to say.” Something tells him that Jack avoids the L-word every bit as much as he does.
“Or...” Too simple, this. Too simple by far, and completely offensive to his friend to suggest that mere touch could make a difference. “Maybe...” He swallows. “Maybe just giving you a hug.”
There’s still a statue sitting next to him. Until the obelisk sobs, and he realises that it’s not such a stupid idea after all.
“Jack,” he murmurs, and reaches out to his friend, pulling him into his arms.
***
It shouldn’t be what he wants. Yet it is.
The Doctor’s abandoned him, judged him, ignored him, dismissed him. Left him for over a century to wonder what he’d done to have this fate handed to him, and never came when he was needed most.
It was a fixed point. He should have realised that. God, that makes so much sense.
He clings to the slender, yet powerful body holding him, burying his face in the lapels of the Doctor’s trench-coat. Fixed point. Fixed point. Nothing he or anyone else could have done would have changed the outcome. Ianto was always going to die. So was Steven. He was always going to kill Steven.
The tears won’t stop coming now, and it’s the first time he’s cried since it happened. First time he’s been able to.
It’s later, when he’s cried all he can and a quiet stillness settles over him, that he can finally talk.
“I killed my grandson.”
The arms around him tighten, and the Doctor’s chin comes to rest on top of his head. The voice is muffled, but he’s sure he hears the Doctor say, “I killed my granddaughter.”
He pulls back, staring at the Doctor. “The Time War?”
“Yep.” The Doctor’s gaze slides away from him, but then returns, and he gets a look that’s more honest than he’s ever seen from the Doctor before. “All my family. Every one of them.” The Doctor swallows.
“Was it worth it?” His voice emerges as a whisper.
“I thought it was.” The Doctor shakes his head, and their fringes brush. “What about you, Jack? Was it worth it?”
“I’ve asked myself that every day.” He dares to lean forward until his forehead rests against the Doctor’s. His friend doesn’t move. “He thought I was his uncle. You know that?”
“No.” The Doctor’s voice is very soft. “His mother told him that?”
“Yeah.” His hands slide up to the Doctor’s shoulders, and he ventures to let his fingers brush the ends of his friend’s hair. “She didn’t want to explain why I didn’t age.”
The Doctor doesn’t answer, but his hand moves down Jack’s back in what’s obviously a gesture of comfort.
“Ianto... that was a pointless waste. I never should have let him come with me.”
The Doctor’s hand rubs circles on his back. “Never should’ve let Rose stay in the lever room with me.” His voice is rueful, with none of the pain that was there when they talked about her on Malcassiro. Time really does heal, it seems. Course, the Doctor got a second chance to say goodbye to her, didn’t he?
“You’d really take me back, if I wanted?” he asks, leaning back again to look at the Doctor. “I never told Ianto...” He swallows. That last week’s indelibly etched on his mind. Ianto, so anxious to avoid seeming clingy, yet dropping hints about them being a couple and at the same time denying it, obviously wanting his lover to contradict him, to say something, anything, that would confirm that what they had was a relationship, not just sex. And that deathbed confession that he just couldn’t return.
“You want to tell him?” There’s sympathy in the Doctor’s eyes now. “You’re a braver man than me if you can do it – though I always knew that. I couldn’t.”
Couldn’t tell who? But he doesn’t need to ask. Rose.
“Better for her, of course,” the Doctor continues, and he’s staring into the distance now. “He’ll tell her what I can’t. And he can live a human life with her. Grow old with her.”
Like the Doctor never could have. And like he never could have with Ianto – or with Alice and Steven.
He forces back the lump in his throat. “How do you carry on?”
The Doctor’s expression turns wry. “Me? By running away. You’ve seen me do it, Jack. Told you, too – I started running years and years ago, when they made me look into the Untempered Schism. Never stopped.” He swallows, and then his gaze returns to Jack, torment in his eyes. “That’s why you shouldn’t. Because you’ve seen me run. You’ve suffered from it.”
He flinches. “I can’t go back. I can’t.”
“Not now? Or not ever?” There’s no judgement in the Doctor’s voice, just curiosity.
He hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Yet you’re on Earth now. Martha said you left. What was it? Three months ago?”
“Flying visit. Supposed to be, anyway.” It’s tempting to stay so close to the Doctor. He’s never been allowed this kind of intimacy before. An exuberant hug based on shared joy is as much as he’s ever had. But better to move away before the Doctor does. He shifts back, letting his hands fall from the Doctor’s shoulders.
The Doctor’s hands fall also – but, instead of letting go completely, he grips Jack’s hand. So very unexpected. Maybe Jack’s not the only one needing the comfort of touch right now? The Doctor did say he expected to die today.
“Flying visit?” the Doctor prompts.
“Yeah.” He curls his fingers around the Doctor’s hand. “Needed to check on Alice.”
“You talked to her?” The incredulity in the Doctor’s voice is matched on his face.
“Nah.” He looks away. Not a chance. Even if Alice would agree to see him, what could he say to her? “Covert surveillance’s a speciality of mine.”
“Right, right.” The Doctor gives him a crooked smile. “Got a lot in common, you and me.”
“Suppose we do.” He returns the smile, his own rueful. The Doctor shifts on the hard ground, then winces. “Damn. Your ankle. Should help you back to the TARDIS so you can sort it. I’m sure you’re ready to leave anyway.”
The Doctor accepts his help to stand, then winds an arm around his waist for support. Jack throws his arm across the Doctor’s shoulders and they start a slow, halting walk back across the field to the stable block.
“Come with me, Jack,” the Doctor says as they come within sight of the TARDIS. “Not because I don’t mind. Not because you’ve got nowhere else to go. But because you want to come. And...” He pauses, stops walking and turns to look at Jack. “Because I want you to come.”
Jack’s breath catches, and he almost stumbles. The Doctor’s offer would be enough of a shock on its own, but the uncertainty in his friend’s voice, coupled with the plea in his eyes, leaves him stunned. For the first time since Ianto and Steven’s deaths, the ice around his heart starts to crack.
“And do what?” he asks, his voice unsteady.
The Doctor tugs at his ear with his free hand. “Oh, what we always do. Explore. Get into trouble. Run a lot. And maybe... maybe try not to be cowards?”
He smiles crookedly. “Sounds good to me. Only... think we can hold off on the bravery bit for a while?” The Doctor’s right. He does have to stop running away some time. Only not just yet.
“Think you’ve earned the right to, yeah.” The Doctor smiles, again rueful. “Me... well, I’ve got a lot more to make up for, don’t you think?” His arm around Jack tightens, and Jack firms his grip on the Doctor. That ankle must be throbbing.
But the Doctor leans in, bringing his face close to Jack. “Here’s another way I’ve always been a coward. Always using an excuse instead of letting my friends know what they mean to me.” His lips press against Jack’s in a sweet kiss. “No genetic transfer, not saving your life. Just...” He shrugs faintly.
Jack finds himself grinning. “Just saying hello?”
“Just saying hello,” the Doctor agrees, and kisses him again.
- end -