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wintercompanion2011-03-09 07:35 pm
Beachy_Geek: “What Dies Inside Us” (Ten/Jack) [PG]
Title: What Dies Inside Us
Author: Beachy_Geek
Prompt Used: Pain changes people
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ten/Jack
Spoilers/Warnings: character death, violence
Disclaimer: The BBC owns the Whoniverse. I just play with the cool people sometimes.
Summary: Just what the prompt says
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” (Norman Cousins, American essayist and editor)
Some deaths are mercifully quick. A bullet to the head or a twist of the neck and it’s over. Some deaths are slow, an inexorable march through pain and loss and the agony of those who are being left behind. This was such a death. Jack Harkness lay cradled in his lover’s arms on a bed of pine needles and soft green moss in a forest on Sudea Ori. A slow-acting biologic toxin was killing him, and as the searing pain of dying nerves and failing organs spread throughout his body he struggled to remain silent, willing himself not to scream lest the soldiers of the Sudean Regent find them. If they could stay hidden until nightfall they could make their way to the TARDIS and leave this God-forsaken hole. And his Doctor would be safe.
The Doctor murmured quiet comfort to the man in his arms, shifting now and then to ease the cramping in his own legs. They had spent days in the Evidentiary Court, where they had persuaded the Regent to let the Shadow Proclamation oversee a peaceful transition of power from the corrupt Regency Guard to the newly-formed Senate. They had accepted the Regent’s dinner invitation and had joined in a toast to the Free Regency. Shortly afterwards Jack had collapsed, wracked with convulsions. The latest assassination attempt on the Regent had failed when Jack had drunk the poisoned ale intended for their host.
In the ensuing chaos the corrupt General of the Regency Guard had blamed the Doctor for the attempt, and he had fled with Jack in his arms to the cover of the forest. The Guard were staging a half-hearted search for the fugitives, but Jack had been in too much pain to travel any further. Best to wait until he died and resurrected. But the wait had gone on, and Jack had endured hours of agony. It broke the Doctor’s hearts to watch him suffer. He had tried to ease Jack’s pain empathically, but the Captain had already broken their link in anticipation of his death.
The Doctor gently cupped the dying man’s cheek, never breaking eye contact, and quietly chanted ancient Gallifreyan poems of love, and honor, and sacrifice. The reek of blood and feces surrounded them as Jack lost control over his bowels, and the doctor trailed his hand down over Jack’s heart. It was failing now, the single beat irregular, and Jack struggled to draw breath as his lungs filled with fluid. And still Jack did not die.
“End it.” he whispered, barely able to speak. “Please.”
The Time Lord shook his head sadly. “I can’t. Not even for you, Jack. I can’t.” His eyes filled with tears and his voice shook with emotion. “I’m sorry.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry.” The Doctor sobbed openly now, his anguish palpable. Jack own eyes filled with tears. The pain his request had caused his lover hurt him far more than his damaged body. His failing heart broke for the man who held him in his arms. He tried to smile but the damage to his facial nerves twisted his expression into a ghastly mask.
“’S okay, Doc. ’S all right. Love you.” Those were the last words Jack Harkness spoke. He died seventy-eight minutes later, just after sunset.
******
After removing the dead man’s soaked, soiled clothing the Doctor had carried Jack’s nude body back to the TARDIS under cover of night. After setting the controls to idle them in the Vortex he brought Jack to their bedroom and gently placed him in their en suite shower. He turned the water on and after stripping off his own clothes entered the shower himself. Kneeling under the forceful jets, he bathed Jack and washed his hair with practiced ease. This was a ritual that had been repeated many times. He then stood and quickly washed himself. Leaving Jack sitting propped up against the shower wall, his head lolling to one side, the Doctor exited the shower and dried himself. He sat naked on the lidded toilet, a large bath sheet clutched to his chest, and waited. It wasn’t long before Jack gasped back to life. The Doctor stood, and reaching out a hand pulled the Captain to his feet. He dried Jack thoroughly and led him to their bed. Neither one of them had spoken since the forest.
Typically they would make slow, languid love after Jack revived. They would lie in bed together for hours, talking nonsense and laughing with the joy of time spent in each others arms. This time, however, the sex was brutal. Punishing. Each thrust earned a growl and each stroke a hiss of pain and when they came it was the release Jack had sought in the forest. It was the release the Doctor had not been able to give.
Later the Doctor left Jack sleeping and padded down the hall to Jack’s old room. He sat on the bed, staring at the picture on the side table of the two of them on Shasi Prime. They’d made love for the first time on that trip, back when everything was shiny and new between them and they had never looked back. The Doctor gazed at the handsome, laughing face under the glass and vowed that he would never let Jack suffer again. He would do whatever it took to give him release.
Jack awoke, reached out for the man who should be next to him and found himself alone. He had seen the look in the Doctor’s eyes when he had begged for a merciful death. He knew the Time Lord was overwhelmed with guilt and grief. And he also knew that any comfort he might offer would be of little consolation. When the Doctor finally returned to their bed, eyes red-rimmed and face drawn, Jack pulled him close and kissed him tenderly. He whispered Boekind endearments until the Doctor fell asleep draped across Jack’s chest. And he vowed that no matter how bad things got, no matter how much agony he was in, he would never again ask the Doctor to end his life.
********
They were caught in the crossfire between UNIT forces and arms dealers and Jack had been shot in the gut. The Doctor pulled him behind a stack of packing crates and quickly assessed his condition. No exit wound, belly distending—likely a badly nicked liver. He was bleeding internally and writhing in pain, swearing under his breath. The bullets still flew and there was no way out. The Doctor gripped Jack’s hand, jaw set and eyes sad, and leaned over him.
“You’re dying. Oh, my beautiful Jack, you’re dying and it won’t be quick and it won’t be easy. Do you want me to end it, Jack? Do you want me to do it?”
Jack thought of his vow to never ask, but he wasn’t the one asking now, was he? Being gutshot’s a bitch and then you die, and please Gods let it be soon. But he knew it wouldn’t be. He gave his Doctor a small nod and a small smile and he might have screamed the Doctor’s name. The Doctor breathed and exhaled, breathed again and reached out a shaking hand to cover Jack’s mouth, pinch his nose, and squeeze. And squeeze. Jack looked into the Doctor’s eyes and saw the truth there. Pain changes people, but he hadn’t changed enough, not yet. It would break him to do this, and yet he would let himself be broken for Jack.
“Not today” Jack thought, “Not this way.” He fought the hand and shook his head and managed to moan a loud “No!” before the pain came again and took his breath away. The Doctor sat back on his haunches and exhaled. And breathed again. Jack saw the relief in his eyes and managed a smile. Not today, no. But soon. He died fifty-seven minutes later.
********
They had won the war but lost the battle. Vijara was free and their alien overlords were driven from the galaxy. But the bastards had left behind thousands of concussion mines and one of them had caught Jack by surprise. The Doctor heard the click and turned in time to see Jack thrown into the air. The blast had only broken bones, but the concussive force would radiate inside of him until he was crushed from within. The Doctor knelt beside his lover and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a preloaded syringe with an automatic discharge. He raised one eyebrow quizzically and Jack thought he saw the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Jack smiled back. He turned his head, baring his neck, and without hesitation the Doctor slammed the syringe against flesh.
Jack died almost immediately. His last breath was a grateful sigh.
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Yes. Jack isn't the man who can't die, Jack is the man who dies, horribly, over and over and over and over and over again.
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Poor Jack, having to suffer during those horribly painful deaths, and him begging the Doctor to just end it for him, knowing that he wouldn't do it. And poor Ten having to watch his Jack die each and every time, his hearts breaking more and more with each death.
I loved the way the Doctor took such wonderful care of his Jack the first time, carrying him back to the TARDIS and tending so meticulously to him. The pain of it all finally hitting him, as he broke down in tears.
I thought it was brilliant how you made them both take those different vows, you really captured their personalities so perfectly with that. The Doctor doing all he can to help his Jack not suffer, and Jack wanting noting more than to protect his Doctor and not have him feel guilty about having to end his life. The last death of Jack's was the worst, as Ten ended his life quicker than the other times, but still so sad for Ten to have to do that for his Jack. *hugs for Ten & Jack*
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Beautiful fulfillment for the prompt. Thanks for writing!
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Jack, ever selfless and giving, didn't surprise me. What surprised me (though I believe you nailed it) is the time it takes the Time Lord to realize viscerally that a maxim, an ideal – no matter how good and noble – should not always be a universal constant, or perhaps that his universal constant is just as relative as another's. I think where he realizes this he becomes less a Time Lord, who have always had a rather first-born-child relationship with the cosmos, and more the Doctor.
[Jack] knew the Time Lord was overwhelmed with guilt and grief. And he also knew that any comfort he might offer would be of little consolation. I can't tell you how much I love that I stopped to think about the guilt – guilt at doing something he is against, guilt at not being able to do it after all, guilt over Jack seeing that his principles are stronger than his desire to honour Jack's request… and so on and so on. Grief is similarly complicated Guilt and grief -- two marvelous words that you throw at us seductively.
Pain changes people, but he [the Doctor] hadn’t changed enough, not yet. It would break him to do this, and yet he would let himself be broken for Jack. “Not today” Jack thought, “Not this way.”
The story is so much more complex because the Doctor's decision isn't final… Jack will come back, so it's not *really* murder. But because Jack will come back, the Doctor will see his choice whenever he sees Jack: time and again, his guilt and grief and shame.
The Doctor has to realize that being broken is often being freed. I see Ten in this brilliantly. I love the way you show, at the end, that he has thought it through, made peace with the guilt etc. That little action of pulling out the syringe says treatises. Jack's action also does; it says he sees the Doctor's soul has accepted the choice, action, responsibility, and is at peace with the consequences.
How do you see Eleven and Nine in this?
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