Author's Note: Another update, so soon? What can I say... I'm on fire! Enjoy. Soon... everything changes.
Title: Belonging - Chapter Fourteen
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Characters Jack/Ten (almost) / Ianto (mentions of Doctor/River)
Rating: This Chapter - R for language and mentions of adult situations (Series is rated NC-17 overall)
Spoilers: DW: Parting of the Ways, Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, The Stolen Earth, Journey's End
Disclaimer: The BBC own it all, the little tinkers
Warnings: angst | hurt/comfort
Description:
Set immediately after the events of The Stolen Earth/Journey's End.
The Torchwood team members are struggling to get back to normal after recent shattering events, when the Doctor turns up in the Torchwood Hub in the middle of the night; alone, heartbroken, guilt-ridden, and needing somewhere to belong.
"I saw inside your mind. That's how I feel too!"
Chapter Fourteen
It was evening, and after a horrendously busy day when I'd not had time to talk to Ianto for more than a few seconds at a time, I walked down to the basement to see the Doctor, as promised.
I'd mentioned this promise to Ianto and he'd mumbled that it was probably a good idea, as the Doctor was bound to be feeling upset. Then he'd scuttled off to observe a new energy spike reading on his monitor, and I didn't get the chance to say anything else to him about it.
He'd gone home just before I'd set off to see the Doctor, leaving me nothing more than a hurried instant message on my computer terminal. He was obviously avoiding having to talk further about the issue, and it was bothering me.
There was no resistance when I opened the TARDIS door this time, and the hum changed pitch for a second or two, as though she was giving me a little flirty greeting. In normal circumstances, that might have amused me, or I might have thought I'd imagined it, but now I knew better.
"Hey, you." My usual greeting wasn't as loud and exuberant as it might normally have been. I didn't have the heart for it.
The Doctor was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, his lanky frame leaning over his blue leather-bound journal as he scribbled. He was wearing his 'brainy specs', as he called them, probably to make him feel better rather than because of any myopia.
That was one of the things I'd learned about the Doctor; when he was feeling out of his depth, or worried, or confused, he put on his glasses. It was a comfort thing, I think. It was one of his little idiosyncrasies that made me want to ruffle his hair, give him a hug, or do something X-rated to him over the TARDIS console.
Yeah. There was no point avoiding the subject of my desire for him any longer, not even to myself, nor my feelings of affection. They were all out in the open now, and that should have been a good thing, but somehow I felt more confused and helpless about it than ever.
I walked up the ramp slowly, and eventually the Doctor turned round. He flashed me a small, weak smile, stood up and threw the book on to the seat near the console. The quill disappeared from view.
The Doctor faced me, his hands in his pockets, as I walked up to him. I wasn't sure if I should greet him physically, considering what had happened. After a moment of indecision, I finally put my arm round his neck and pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug. He didn't take his hands out of his pockets, and I could feel his glasses digging into the side of my face, but I felt him lean into me, and somehow it still felt alright. I closed my eyes in pain for a moment.
At last, I let him go, and stood back to appraise how he looked.
He was wearing his suit again. The brown one. It looked freshly cleaned and pressed. The cut on his forehead was not much more than a red mark now.
"That's nearly gone already," I said, gesturing towards his forehead.
He swiped a hand across the site of the injury unconsciously. "Yeah. Told you I heal quickly. Time Lords do. And we don't scar, either. Shame really, I've always wanted a scar. One on my forehead would look quite dashing, don't you think?"
"You're perfect as you are," I said. Then I blushed.
The Doctor stuck his tongue into his cheek and studied me a moment, the way he did sometimes.
I cleared my throat. "I heal quickly too. Well, depends on the injury."
"How do you mean?"
"Something that kills me, a bullet to the head, for instance..."
The Doctor winced.
"…heals up in a matter of minutes," I continued. "But something minor; a cut, or a scratch or something, sometimes takes as long as... well, it used to. As long as any other human, I guess."
The Doctor kicked at the ground. "Hmm. It's as though your... gift..."
"If you can call it that," I interrupted.
"Your gift... doesn't heal consistently. It... treats injuries on a priority basis. Something major rights itself straight away... something insignificant can be left to its own devices. Interesting."
I shrugged. "Owen tried doing tests on me, once. All he could determine is that whenever I'm injured, or die, the cells in my body just... 'go back to the way they were', he said. It's all there, in the Torchwood files, if you're that interested."
The Doctor stared at me. "So, I'm allowed to look at them now?"
"Oh, Doctor..." I sighed.
The Doctor frowned. "What happens if a part of you is severed? What if your hand gets lopped off?" He stuck his own hand into the air and waggled his fingers.
"Well, unlike some people, I don't keep spare parts of myself in jars until they come in useful," I said with a small grin.
"That was you! Good thing you found my hand too, or else I wouldn't be here."
"You'd have just regenerated, though. And then you might not be as..." I was going to say hot, or handsome, or sexy, or one of the jokey things I might have said before, but somehow, after all that had happened, it didn't seem appropriate any more. It felt like a kick in the teeth.
The Doctor smiled, as if to give me permission to not have to finish the sentence.
"No, without that hand, none of us would be here, would we? No hand... no DoctorDonna. No rescue. No universes left. No anything."
I nodded solemnly. "Funny how things work out, in the end."
"Yeah."
Funny. Yeah. Fucking hilarious.
I decided to continue. "As it happens, if something of mine gets cut off, it grows back, and the severed part just sort of... disintegrates."
The Doctor stared. I wiggled my left arm. "Accident with a thresher machine, 1934."
The Doctor looked a little green.
"What about if your head gets cut off," the Doctor said suddenly. "And grows to a huge size, and you end up keeping it in a big glass tank?"
I looked at him a little strangely. He was smirking. I wondered if he still had a bit of concussion.
I changed the subject. "Did you get some sleep?" I asked.
The Doctor nodded. "A few hours, yeah. That'll keep me going for a week or so."
He'd slept more than I had, then.
Smalltalk - check. Assessment of the Doctor's physical wellbeing - check.
"So… how are you feeling?" I asked.
The Doctor smiled a fake smile. "Oh… I'm alright. I'm always alright."
I nodded. "Is that the special kind of alright?"
The Doctor didn't reply. He just walked over to the seat, picked up his journal, and started flicking through it, a little moodily.
I folded my arms. It all felt a bit strained.
"Your suit's clean. Is the same one? Or do you have racks and racks of the same suit?"
"No, I only have half a dozen of this and four of the blue one. Well... three, now. Don't think I'll ever get that other one back. You should talk, you and your permanent braces, and your blue shirts."
In happier times, if I was standing nearer to him, he might have given one of my braces a playful twang.
"It's not always the same one, you know. I go through an amazing amount of shirts, believe me. Ianto's forever buying me new ones…"
The Doctor frowned a little at the mention of Ianto's name.
"Did you tell him?" asked the Doctor mildly.
"Yeah."
The Doctor nodded.
"He…uh… seemed… a bit taken aback, I think. He's been a bit quiet ever since, don't know why."
The Doctor didn't comment. I pointed to his journal.
"Did it come with the TARDIS?" I asked.
The Doctor looked surprised. "What? This? Nah. Picked it up in Camden Market. I took Donna… well, a while ago. Took her back to 1963. She wanted to buy some sort of authentic 1960s skirts, or something. Well, she liked shopping. Liked her clothes, did Donna. Brought enough of them with her, and still needed more." He smiled sadly at the memory of her.
"I just wondered… it looks like the outside of the TARDIS, that's all. Y'know. Blue. With squares. Sort of thing."
The Doctor looked at it again. "Yeah, it's good, isn't it? Police boxes were on every street corner, back then. And you know Camden, full of London memorabilia for the tourists. I suppose it was meant to be some sort of novelty. Like when you get little replicas of red telephone boxes."
I nodded absently.
"Thing is," the Doctor continued, "as soon as Donna and I saw it, on the stall, we knew we had to buy it."
"You liked it that much, huh." I sounded a little flat.
"No. We knew we had to buy it. To keep our timeline on the straight and narrow. We'd seen it before, you see. At some point in my future, I give it to River."
I looked up. "That's why you're writing in it? To give to River?"
He nodded. "I don't know when, or how, or why. But by the time River has it, it's full. I'm not sure whether I keep writing in it, or she takes it over. But when I saw the future version of this book, it was full. Details of my life, things I've done. Or will do. Places I've been. Or will go. Things that River and I will do together. And everything in-between."
I looked at the journal in the Doctor's hands. "Am I… I mean, did you mention me?"
The Doctor nodded. "If all of this is part of my established future timeline, then River will know all about what's happened. All about you. And Ianto. And … well, everything."
I nodded. Maybe that's one of things that will attract her to him in the future, I thought. She sees his vulnerable side, sees how broken he was. Maybe she wants to make him better, keep him safe.
Maybe she'll be better at it than I am.
Christ, that hollow feeling was still there, in my stomach. It just wouldn't quit.
"Thing is, with me and River, it's not like… well, I don't know how much time we spend together. Will spend together. If we do. But I get the feeling that… I just dip in and out of her life. That's why she keeps the journal, uses it whenever we meet, to find out whereabouts she is in my timeline."
"Nothing about you is straight-forward, is it?" I smiled sadly at him.
The Doctor shrugged. "That's what you have, when you're bonded. You can get things in all the right or wrong order, but the connection is always there. The anchor. Whenever she needs me, she just calls, and there I am. It's important, in a life like mine, Jack."
He took his glasses off and stuck them back into his inside pocket. He looked wistful.
"Sometimes I wish I could live my life like you. Everything running in the right order, day following night, Thursday following Wednesday. Or having Saturday in the right place. I like Saturdays."
"But then again, sometimes living your life in the wrong order can be kind of… interesting, right?"
I remembered the time when I travelled in the TARDIS and all of my time was mixed up. Somehow, my complicated lifestyle of old seemed easier to cope with than the current one.
The Doctor smiled wryly. "I suppose so."
He handed the journal to me. "Have a look, if you want. There's nothing to hide."
I hesitated, and then looked through it. It felt weird to be reading somebody's private journal.
Hey, who am I kidding. I read Ianto's diary without a second thought, the rogue that I am. It has some interesting illustrations in it. Biologically accurate, too.
I flicked though it, walking to the seat and sitting down as I read. The first entry appeared to be an account of the Doctor's misfortunes on the planet Midnight, how he'd been taken over by some sort of mysterious entity. That had freaked him out good and proper, it seems. A little further, and something about visiting a market on the planet Shan Shen, not much in about that, but I got the impression Donna had been in some sort of trouble. The words 'BAD WOLF!!!' were written in capitals, underlined twice and circled for good measure, at the bottom of a page. Then there was an account of the whole mess involving Davros and the rest of his bastard Daleks.
I skipped over the parts about him leaving Rose behind with the other Doctor, and what he'd had to do to Donna. I didn't want to be reminded of the Doctor's pain.
If I was hoping for some insight into the Doctor's psyche, I was disappointed. It was written in quite a factual style, not heavy on the emotion. By the time I flipped forward and read the part where it said 'Told Wilfred that I was fine, being on my own, but think I was trying to fool myself. Thought it would be prudent to visit the T agency at Cardiff, being unsure of how to deal with my present weakened emotional state. Out of everyone, I think Jack might know what to do...', I closed the book. I didn't want to read anything else, somehow. It all seemed a bit close for comfort.
I handed it back to the Time Lord.
"Is this volume two, or three, or five hundred?" I asked.
"No. This is the only one. Well, first one I've bothered with in a few centuries. Why?" The Doctor sounded surprised.
"It's just that… well, where it starts seems to be quite recent. Just a few months ago."
The Doctor nodded. He looked serious. "I give it to River, remember. I couldn’t start it any earlier. Well, I could have… but I would have had to miss out my first meeting with her, and that wouldn't be right."
I didn't say anything.
The Doctor looked up at me. "Otherwise… well, it's not nice reading about how and when and where you die, is it? And it's not something anybody should know, let alone finding out from somebody's diary."
"So…at this point of the current sequential timeline, you've met River for the first time, but she hasn't met you for her first time, right?"
The Doctor nodded.
"So, from the moment she meets you, and eventually you… get together, you conduct your entire relationship with her, knowing when and how she's going to die?"
"So it would seem." There was a painful pause.
"I don't know if I can do that, Jack," said the Doctor suddenly. "How can I look at her? How can I… be with her, knowing?" His voice shook.
I couldn't stand the forced aloofness any more. I took the Doctor into my arms and held his trembling body close to me. "You can, because you're the bravest man I ever met," I continued, speaking gently into his ear. I stroked the back of his neck. "And she'll be good for you, just you wait and see," I mumbled.
I pulled back from him, so I could see his face. "We need to get you better, get you back to your old self, so you can go out there and be with her. Make your future run the way it should. That's the plan, right?"
The Doctor didn't reply. I knew why. What could he say? That he needed me, that I said I would do anything to help him, and yet all I had done was break my promise?
"I'll think of something. I'll think of something, okay?" I sounded like I was pleading.
The Doctor just stared at me, his widened eyes inches from mine. Brown, and soulful, and scared, and so… so beautiful. I felt myself drowning in them.
I breathed in. My chest forced out a frustrated sob that made the exhalation hitch as I breathed back out.
I clutched his head a little too hard in both my hands. My mouth was inches from his, so close we could feel the warmth of each other's breath on our faces.
I closed my eyes, tipped his head forwards and down, so that I could press my trembling lips to his forehead. I breathed in again, inhaled the sweet, clean scent of him, felt the feathery whisper of his spiky hair brushing my face.
I moved my head down, pecked the tip of his nose, rubbed my face against his like a cat, felt the flutter of his eyelashes against my cheek.
I moved my head again until our faces were level. I was so close to him my vision was blurred and I couldn't see him properly. Our lips were so close now. When I breathed in, I was inhaling his spent air. I only had to move forward a fraction, and we'd have been kissing.
But I couldn't, could I? Not now it would have meant something. Not now I had made my choice.
With a frustrated sigh, I pressed my forehead against his.
There was a second of silent stillness, and then… a white spark went off in my mind, like a firework. I gasped, and tried to pull back, but now I realised the Doctor had a tight grip of my upper arms. Tight, but not forceful. Just… warm, and needy.
Our foreheads were still touching, and there was another white spark… and… some feeling of warmth; not heat, but the warmth of understanding, of affection, slowly dripped through my mind like melted honey. I moaned softly at the sensation. I couldn’t help it.
It was like… reaching out for something precious in the dark, and brushing your fingertips against it.
I pulled away then, a little scared. A mental, psychic connection has to be made.
"Did you just…?"
The Doctor shook his head, looking hurt at my apparent distrust.
"No, of course not! I wouldn't…" He shook his head. "It wasn't intentional. Just a... surface connection. A quick glance, that's all it was. That happens sometimes, when I'm not concentrating. Sorry."
The Doctor's lack of concentration was entirely down to me, I guessed. "No, I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have…" I gritted my teeth, stood up and stepped away from him completely. This was all getting a little too much to bear. I had to get a hold of myself, of my self-control.
The Doctor rose too. He took a step forward and gripped my shoulders. "I saw inside your mind. That's how I feel too!" said the Doctor, his eyes blazing. Oh, God. He sounded as frustrated and helpless as I felt.
I shook my head. "I just need to… think. Sort my head out. We'll go back to how it was before… before… our fight. I'll think of something, I promise."
I looked up at him, suddenly worried again. "Don't… leave. Don't run away, not yet. I know that's probably your instinct, but please… if I mean anything to you, you'll stay. Just a little longer. Trust me."
The Doctor nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn't look very hopeful.
Then he glanced towards his journal. "Maybe you should start your own journal," he said calmly. "I find it quite cathartic. Get all your thoughts written down, all the tangled… spaghetti in your head. And then when you read it back, maybe you'll see things you couldn't see before."
"Yeah. That sounds like a good idea."
There was a silence.
"I'm gonna go," I said gently. "Make a start on that journal of mine, I think."
The Doctor nodded. "Will you come back?"
"Of course I will… well, in a couple of days, okay?"
"I've run out of milk. Would you bring me some more?"
I laughed softly. "You bet. Two pints." I winked at him, and headed down the ramp.
As I reached the doors, I turned around just in time to see the Doctor sag against the console of his beloved ship as he fumbled inside his jacket pocket and then put on his brainy specs.
***
So like I said, I went back to my office, and started on my journal. This is it, obviously, what you are reading now; whoever you are, faithful reader.
If that's you reading this, Gwen Cooper-Williams, you're fired. Put down the journal, and come get your Retcon pill.
I've missed out all the Torchwood work-related stuff, well, most of it. I'm trying to concentrate on personal events, things that have been said, and how I've been feeling about… everything. Luckily, I have a good memory for this kind of thing (the result of some... slightly dodgy memory treatments when I was a Time Agent, if you must know), so hopefully the details of events I am writing in this journal are as complete and accurate as I can make them.
It's strange, writing down how I feel about things, like this. It's not something I do a lot of. A lot of the time I hide my emotions from myself, because it's easier to lock them away in a little box until I have the time and strength to take them out and deal with them.
The Doctor was right, though. This is making me feel a little better. I think, if I can get all of this down on paper, I'll be able to read through and maybe work out what I'm going to do to help him.
I might let Ianto read it later, too. Sometimes I find it hard to put things across in words, because I'm not good at articulating my feelings, and so this might be of help to him too. it might encourage him to open up to me.
I don't consider I've cheated on Ianto. I don’t consider I've crossed the line we have established within our relationship. I've tried to be as honest with him as I can, recently. I don’t think there's going to be much in here that will make him angry. And if there is, I'm sure he'll get over it; he's used to my little ways by now. He must be.
I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and I am what I am, as somebody once said. It might have been Popeye.
That's the good thing about not having to sleep much. It means I can spend most nights writing in my Journal, so I've managed to catch up to the present day quite quickly. I write fast, and I don't tire easily, although my hand is aching a little now.
The events I have recorded of when I saw the Doctor for the first time since his… declaration of love, of his wanting to belong to me, was a week ago. I've seen the Doctor three times since then. I brought him the milk I'd promised. Some promises are easy to keep.
Things are a little… strange between us. Not awkward, or distant. Just a bit… sad. Like we don't really know what to say to each other. Like we want to comfort each other, but are scared of what it might lead to if we do.
We're doing the best we can, for now. We've gone back to being how we were before, more or less, reading books together, eating pizza and talking, sitting in the TARDIS garden and the park, lying on the grass and staring up into the bright whiteness of the fake sky. Just… being with each other. I think it's enough, for now. It has to be.
The issue of Ianto not opening up to me is also a worry. We've been busy at Torchwood this week, and we've just kept working as normally as possible. The rest of the team have obviously noticed how quiet and introspective I have been recently, but they don't question it.
I don't know how to broach the subject with Ianto. I think eventually he'll just tell me what he's feeling, when he's ready. I haven’t actually seen that much of him when we haven't been working, so we haven't been able to discuss anything… sensitive.
Ianto, in fact, has been disappearing most nights this week, without much of an excuse. I think he's just been going home, but I can't be sure. I could check up quite easily, I suppose, but I don't want to get all stalker-ish on him. Maybe he's been hanging round in bars. Maybe I've driven him to drink. Wouldn't be the first time I've done that to somebody.
We haven't made love since the night I broke the Doctor's hearts.
I think I'll corner Ianto tomorrow, ask him what the hell is going on in his head. Apart from anything else, I miss him. I love him. I wish things weren't quite so complicated.
***
Update: After I'd finished what I wrote above, I decided to go and see the Doctor. I'm not sure what made me go and pay him a surprise visit. Just... impulse. And Ianto was nowhere to be seen. Again.
As I'd gone to put away my journal, I'd opened the drawer and found a bar of chocolate. Martha had given it to me earlier in the week, a basic attempt to cheer me up probably, and I'd shoved it in my drawer and not thought about it since. I don't really eat the stuff myself, not that often.
And if I leave chocolate out, Myfanwy sniffs it out and makes a mess of my office. Or Ianto steals it. Sometimes when Ianto has chocolate, he melts it on a saucer over a cup of hot coffee, and then he does this really great thing to me with a pastry brush…
Well, maybe I shouldn't go into that now.
Anyway, I saw it, and thought of the Doctor. I hadn't brought him any treats for a while, so I just thought I'd nip downstairs and give it to him. Just a fleeting visit.
As if chocolate would solve anything. Still, it was the thought that counted, I figured.
I went downstairs, entered the TARDIS, ran up the ramp, opened my mouth to give him the 'hey, you', and stopped in my tracks. The chocolate stayed in my hand, forgotten and melting in my suddenly too-tight squeeze.
The Doctor was sitting on the seat by the console. Not an unusual occurrence by any means. But there were three things wrong with this picture.
One, the Doctor wasn't alone.
Two, the Doctor had something in his hand. Another hand, as it happens. And the owner of the hand was... well, it explained a few things, I guess.
Three - the person sitting on the seat, in the TARDIS, next to the Doctor, holding his hand…
…was Ianto Jones.
To be continued
<<
Chapter One <<
Chapter Two <<
Chapter Three <<
Chapter Four <<
Chapter Five <<
Chapter Six <<
Chapter Seven<<
Chapter Eight<<
Chapter Nine<<
Chapter Ten<<
Chapter Eleven<<
Chapter Twelve<<
Chapter Thirteen>>
Chapter Fifteen>>
Chapter Sixteen>>
Chapter Seventeen>>
Chapter Eighteen>>
Chapter Nineteen>>
Chapter Twenty>>
Chapter Twenty One>>
Chapter Twenty Two>>
Chapter Twenty Three>>
Chapter Twenty Four>>
Chapter Twenty Five>>
Chapter Twenty Six>>
Chapter Twenty Seven>>
Chapter Twenty Eight