Broken Threads 5/7
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. And please note: this is completely AU from most of S2 of Torchwood, and in particular from Exit Wounds.
Chapter 1: Proposition l Chapter 2: Tensions l Chapter 3: Decisions l Chapter 4: Departures
Chapter 5: Truths
He has to check. Is the pilot dead? If he’s alive and they just leave him here to die... well, he has to check. It’s what the Doctor would do. And this is the Doctor who’s just lost thousands of people whose lives he promised to save, who were depending on him to save them. If they could have saved this life as well and just ran away because it was too difficult... well, he has to check.
But, no, his wrist computer’s telling him all signs of life are gone. That’s probably what set off the emergency self-destruct. It’s just as well, really - though he could have taken the craft into the TARDIS and freed the pilot into the safe atmosphere there, he can see cracks on the hull. The ship’s integrity is compromised, meaning the air inside will be contaminated. Better this quick end than a slow, painful death from radiation poisoning.
He’s on his feet, turning to run; the ship’s about to explode any second, after all, and he’s not that interested in finding out what being blown to pieces does to him. And - wait, what did he hear through his earpiece a second or so ago? “Doctor?” No, he wouldn’t be that much of an idiot. Or would he?
Just as he gets to it, the TARDIS door’s wrenched open and the Doctor’s all ready to charge outside. Jack’s hand connects with the Doctor’s chest and he shoves, hard, with all the force of his momentum behind it. “Damn fool!” he yells, throwing himself into the ship and slamming the door behind him, then leaning against it, breathing heavily. “What the hell were you thinking?”
The Doctor picks himself up off the floor in an ungainly movement. “What were you thinking, not getting away as soon as you knew that ship was gonna explode?”
“What, and you going out there and getting contaminated was gonna help how, exactly?”
The Doctor rubs the back of his neck. “I’d still regenerate. You, Jack, you might be immortal, but I’ve no idea how you’d react to dismemberment. Might’ve ended up as a talking head in a jar after all.” He shrugs. “Don’t think your Ianto would be too happy about that.”
“Told you he’s not my Ianto. But thanks.” It’s just as well he’s leaning against the TARDIS door right now. He’s always known he’d willingly die - permanently die - for the Doctor, and of course he did once, before he was immortal. Now, the Doctor’s pretty much said he’d do the same for him.
That’s going to take some digesting. Just as well he has things he needs to do - even more so because right now, if he could, he’d hug the Doctor. Kiss him, probably.
So he summons a casual smile. “Gotta go take a shower and throw these clothes in the incinerator. I might not be contaminated, but they are. Shame,” he adds. “I liked this shirt. Glad I didn’t have my coat on.”
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, the Doctor nods. “Right. Yes.”
He skirts wide of the Doctor in his path around the console room, but he’s conscious the whole time of being watched. At the door leading to the ship’s interior, he pauses. “The pilot was dead, by the way. Probably died about the same time we got there. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
The Doctor nods once more. “Yep. You tried, though. Can’t save everyone.” He looks away, then walks slowly towards the console. “Some days, it feels as if I can’t save anyone.”
Beth, he thinks, and then remembers: for the Doctor, this is still the same day as the Titanic. Damn the contaminated clothes, anyway.
But it’s not as bad as the Doctor’s making out, anyway; they’ve both been forgetting one important thing. “You saved almost half a million people today,” he points out softly, then heads off in the direction of a bathroom.
Oh, he’s missed this amazing, sentient ship that’s so responsive to his needs. His clothes safely disposed of, he soaks in a shower with perfectly-directed pressure jets, water at just the right temperature. How things change; less than twenty-four hours ago he was back in Cardiff, facing an eternity of linear living, condemned to watch an endless succession of people enter his life, become part of it and then die, leaving him alone. A late-night phone call from Martha, mostly to let him know she’s taken a job with UNIT, set him thinking about family, about places to belong, and had him regretting all over again that he said no to the Doctor. And now he’s back here after all, even if it is just for a short time.
When he finally steps out of the shower and reaches out for a towel, the Doctor’s sitting on the floor watching him.
***
“Brought you some clothes.” He waves in the direction of Jack’s rucksack.
“Thanks.” Jack slings the towel around his shoulders and doesn’t, thankfully, comment on what a pathetic excuse it is.
“You’re right. Forgot,” he says as Jack finger-combs his hair into place. “S’pose we did save Cardiff.”
“Yeah.” Jack lets the towel fall to the floor, then drops down beside him, seeming oblivious to his lack of clothing - but that’s Jack all over. Wandered around the TARDIS naked when he felt like it, until he - the him he was then - forbade it.
He can’t help but look - yes, every inch of him is smooth, unblemished, apart from the couple of faded scars he had back in the pre-Satellite Five days, one on his back, one on his thigh.
“I know I’m gorgeous, Doctor, but just so I don’t get the wrong idea... is there a reason why you’re admiring my body? Other than the obvious, of course.”
He starts, and words just spill out. “Last time I saw you... well, like this... He’d had his people whip you and cut you with knives. Your entire body, every inch, was covered in lacerations. I don’t know how you survived - Well. He said he made you beg him to kill you. He did in the end - a knife through the stomach.” Jack winces, though doesn’t comment. His eyes say enough. He remembers.
“He wanted my advice,” the Doctor continues, unable to stop now he’s begun. “An experiment - if he cut you in two, would you still reanimate? And how? He asked me if it should be decapitation or -” He draws a line across his body, above his hips.
“What happened? I assume, since I’m in one piece...” Jack raises an eyebrow in what looks like casual enquiry but can’t possibly be.
“I stopped him.” His voice is harsh, discouraging - he hopes - further questions.
But, of course, this is Jack. “How? You were a prisoner too. You were old, frail.”
Of course Jack would assume physical restraint. That was never the way to play against the Master. “I offered him something he wanted.”
“And what was that?”
His voice clipped, he says, “It’s not important.”
“It is to me!”
“Tough.” Jack doesn’t need to know. But he remembers - oh, how he remembers. The painful rejuvenation, then two days in the Master’s bed. He said he wasn’t doing it willingly. He said he was repulsed. But the worst part, the absolute worst, of the entire affair wasn't that he let the Master use his body; it was that part of him actually enjoyed it.
Jack’s breathing heavily and clenching his fists. “So he took something from you instead. Hurt you. He made you watch him hurt me. And you still - you forgave him. You begged him not to die. That’s the one thing I can’t understand, Doctor. How could you do that?”
Time to end this conversation. Time to get up and walk out. This isn’t Jack’s business. And he’s halfway to getting to his feet when he stops, remembers. It is Jack’s business, because Jack was there; he was the whipping-boy, the one who took the punishment every single time he refused to reveal the plan. The one who knew there was a plan, might even have had an idea of what it was, yet withstood repeated torture and death rather than reveal it himself.
Besides, he’s resolved to prove to Jack that he regrets abandoning him. Now that Jack knows he was well aware of what was being done to him on the Valiant, his conclusion’s obvious: he thinks he didn’t matter.
It goes against the grain, but he has to try to explain. “It’s not as simple as that, Jack. Imagine something as essential to you as...” He hesitates for a moment, thinking. “Your right arm. Or your eyes. You never even think about them. They’re just there. Part of you. You might not even look after them as well as you should, because you take it for granted that they’ll always be there. And then they’re not.”
He shifts, turning so that he’s facing Jack, and lays his palms completely over Jack’s eyes. “They’re gone. Might even be your own fault, might be in a good cause, but that doesn’t make it any easier. They’re just gone, and you’re struggling to cope in a world without them. You’ve got people around you, other people as blind as you are, but they’ve never known what it’s like to have eyes, so they don’t understand. They can’t ever understand, no matter how much they care about you or you care about them. And then, suddenly, you get a bit back.”
He allows a very slight gap to open up between his palm and Jack’s left eye. “Just enough to remind you what it’s like to have it all. It’s not perfect, far from it, but the thought of managing without it again is terrifying. That’s what it’s like.”
Removing both hands, he gets to his feet and leaves the bathroom before Jack can see that he’s shaking.
***
He dresses quickly, then leans against the wall, still breathing heavily. It makes sense, of course it does. He knew about the telepathic connection, but never really thought about what its absence meant, or how it would feel to have it back.
Bastard could have explained. But, no, they’re just humans, him and Martha and Martha’s family. How could they possibly have understood, with their tiny little brains?
“It’s your own fault we don’t trust you. If you weren’t so bloody secretive all the time...”
He starts, opening his eyes abruptly. The voice in his head was Gwen’s. Owen had been even more caustic, and as for Ianto... “It’s not that I mind that you left. You’re not from here. It wasn’t a surprise. But you can’t even tell me where you were.”
Right. Rose would say something about pots and kettles.
He finds the Doctor in the console room, standing obelisk-like in front of the central controls. The lack of movement is startling in this incarnation.
“Doctor.” Instantly, the Doctor raises his head and half-turns. “You were right. I didn’t understand. I do now.”
A nod indicates that the information is received. “It’s been a long day, Jack. Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll go to Boeshane tomorrow. You’ll find your room exactly where it was before.”
With that, he’s dismissed, and that’s no different from the past; the leather-jacketed incarnation of the Doctor was exactly the same when he wanted to be left alone. But, yes, sleep sounds like a good idea. If nothing else, it’ll give him time to prepare mentally, both for seeing Grey again and for whatever he’s going to find out.
His dreams, though, remind him why he rarely sleeps.
In the hold, he’s chained to a crossbar above his head, his feet barely touching the ground. That same song’s being pumped through the sound-system, and it’s torture on its own by now.
I can’t decide
if you should live or die...
Of course, as the bastard reminds him every time, in his case there’s no choice to be made. The Master can have his cake and eat it.
“And what’s fun for today, Handsome Jack?” the bastard demands as he bounds into the room. “I know! Let’s play Famous Quotes from Literature!”
“What, like Shakespeare? King Lear. ‘Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood’.”
“Oh, I was thinking more Alice in Wonderland. ‘Off with his head!’”
The Doctor’s in front of him then, old and wizened, stooped under the weight of the sword he’s waving, swinging above his shoulders. The sword that’s heading straight for Jack’s neck.
A loud thump, then, as something falls to the floor, and he’s watching his own head roll across the room until it’s kicked by a booted foot. “Goal!” Someone laughs. “You never told me there were so many entertaining sports in the twenty-first century, Jack!” It’s Hart, sharing the Master’s sadistic enjoyment.
“Oh, he’s no fun, is he?” A polished shoe kicks viciously at another head, and the Master’s maniacal laugh echoes around the room...
...echoes in Jack’s head as he sits up in bed, shaking and panting, seeing nothing but Grey’s eyes staring unseeing from the second severed head.
He spends the rest of the night meditating, using breathing exercises and psychic tricks he learned a very long time ago and that helped him get through the worst of That Year.
In the morning, he finds coffee - and the Doctor - in the kitchen. The coffee’s got to be a concession for him, since the Doctor, in this incarnation too, prefers tea. He drinks it black, three cups, feeling the caffeine flow through his system and grabbing onto every ounce of the artificial stimulant. It’s needed.
A slim wallet’s slid across the table to him over breakfast. Psychic paper. That reminds him that his own was lost in a fire years ago, and he makes a mental note to persuade the Doctor to get him a replacement before they part company. Unless, of course, he’s not to be trusted with psychic paper any more than with a Vortex manipulator.
“Think of your brother, the way he looked the last time you saw him,” the Doctor instructs, and he concentrates, forcibly pushing away the memory of his nightmare. An image of Grey, all long, wavy brown hair, freckles and a cheeky smile, appears on the paper.
“Brilliant!” The Doctor leaps to his feet. “Come on, then! Time and tide wait for no man - well, they do for me, but that’s different.”
He follows the Doctor to the console room, falling back into the piloting routine with ease. God, he’s missed this. Next stop, Boeshane Peninsula, the day his dad was killed. “Just one thing, Doctor,” he has to say as the materialisation sequence begins and his heart starts to pound again. “It’s a war-zone out there. Be careful. Please.”
Innocently wide-eyed, the Doctor stares at him. “I’m always careful.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve just got used to this you, so I’d rather not have to get used to another face.”
The Doctor’s hand presses over his, the touch reassuring. “I’ll be careful.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
His hand’s taken in a warm squeeze. “You ready for this? We don’t have to -”
“I’ve got to. I have to know.”
“All right.” Abruptly, his hand’s released. The Doctor holds out his TARDIS key, now hanging on a chain, and he loops it around his neck; his friend’s doing the same. Then, together, they walk to the door. As he pauses to take a deep breath before taking that final step over the threshold to what lies outside, the Doctor’s hand comes to rest briefly on his shoulder.
They’re here. The Boeshane Peninsula, the day his childhood ended.
***
Jack’s concern’s touching, but really, it’s not as if he hasn’t been in war-zones before. The last time, of course, he had weapons with him, but that was exceptional and not to be repeated.
It’s an invasion, all right. Enemy ships fly overhead, strafing the area; all around them, sand flies into the air as bullets hit. So far, they don’t seem to be using bombs; there are no explosions and the damage isn’t severe enough. At a guess, he’d say the invaders are playing with the inhabitants, creating maximum terror for as long as possible until they’re ready to move to the next phase.
People - children and adults - are running, scrambling, tripping over themselves and each other, sometimes in as much danger of being trampled as being killed by a bullet. The air’s filled with smoke and screams and panic. And, next to him, Jack’s frozen, staring around him as if lost in memories as much as seeing what’s in front of him.
“Jack.” Catching the Captain by the shoulder, he shakes him. “Jack. Focus. Where are you - the younger you?”
Jack blinks and, instantly, he’s focused. “Right. Yeah, this way.”
They walk, picking their way carefully over the uneven ground, and he doesn’t miss the way Jack’s angling his body so that he’s more likely to be the one hit if they’re in the path of gunfire. Well, it does make some sense, even if he’d prefer not to be treated like - as he told Jack before, and was that really only yesterday? - an endangered species.
“I just thought.” Jack stops dead and half-turns to look at him, eyes wide. “What if Hart took him? The other Time Agent I mentioned, remember.”
“Right.” It’s possible, of course. “Could be. If it is and we stop him, it’s a paradox. You know that, Jack. Grey got lost, so he has to get lost today too. If it’s Hart, we follow him and rescue Grey, but you’ll have to decide what to do with him - remember, neither you nor your mother ever saw him again.”
Jack nods, his expression showing he understands. Good. “I can take care of him. I’ll do whatever I have to - find somewhere he can grow up, go to school, be safe.”
Cardiff in 2009 would work, of course, if Jack’s not worried about taking Grey out of his century, assuming the boy would fit in and not feel out of place. And having family around him would help with that sense of belonging Jack says he needs.
“If you need -” He has to stop abruptly, cutting off his offer to help with anything Jack might want. Another plane’s circling low overhead, strafing the area and striking within feet of them. “Get down!”
Jack’s already pushing at him, shoving him to the ground; he’s reaching to pull Jack down with him under the very slight protection afforded by an overhanging rock, but the Captain’s running to a couple of women. “No!” he shouts. “You can’t, Jack! You weren’t here -”
Jack turns, determination on his face. “How’d you know I wasn’t?” He crouches over the women, covering them with his body as bullets rain down around them, ricocheting off rocks and coming perilously close to hitting Jack and the Doctor - and hitting exactly where the women were standing before Jack pushed them down and away.
Yes, maybe Jack was always there to save those women, or maybe he wasn’t. If the next thing appearing in the sky is a Reaper, he’ll know, and he’ll know who to blame.
Then the plane’s moved on and Jack’s hurrying back; he gives him a glare. “What?” Jack retorts. “What do you want me to do? Let them die? That what you’d do?”
“No, but that’s not the point!” he’s protesting, but Jack’s shaking his head and walking on. Well. No Reapers yet, so it’s probably all right. Still, Jack should know better. He does know better.
On the other hand, this is the Jack he knows; the old Jack, the Jack he believes in and - yes, loves. This is the Jack to whom nothing matters more than doing what he can to save people, regardless of who they are or whether he even knows them. This is the Jack he knew was there behind the apparently-shallow conman, and who was there, most of all, on Satellite Five, and again on the Valiant - the Jack he thought was lost yesterday in Cardiff. Yet he was there again on Saluratii Major, and again just now. And it’s good to have him back.
They’ve just crossed a ridge and are heading down towards the shore when Jack halts abruptly for a second time. “Oh, shit, what if it’s me? What if I’m the one who takes him?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Captain.” He gives Jack’s shoulder a light shove to move him onwards. “Do you really think I’d let you do that?”
Jack shrugs, then scans the area before moving on. The Doctor’s never seen Jack this on edge before, but then it goes with the territory. A memory of Rose standing, terrified, at the edge of Jordan Road in 1987 flashes before his mind.
“This w -” There’s another hail of gunfire, cutting off Jack’s words. “Run!” he shouts instead, setting off down the ridge, closer to the water’s edge.
Something hits his face, stinging painfully. “Ow!” The Doctor reaches up and rubs his cheek. His hand comes away bloody.
“Shit!” He hadn’t realised Jack’s stopped and is looking at him. “I didn’t want you getting hurt. We’ll go back.”
“It’s just a scratch.” Stings like hell, but it really is. He slings an arm around Jack’s shoulder for encouragement. “Come on. We’ve come this far. We’re not giving up now. Well, I’m not - dunno about you.”
Jack grins. “Damn right.”
***
He should be able to see himself and Grey by now. They’re in the right area, and the time’s just about perfect. God. If he’s got it wrong, remembered wrongly, brought the Doctor to the wrong part of the Peninsula... Shit. He’s already got the Doctor hurt. This better not be a wild-goose chase.
Okay, that bit of rock, with the wild grass behind it, looks familiar. And there’s the promontory in the distance with the observatory. It has to be somewhere around here -
“There!” He swings around as the Doctor speaks. The Time Lord’s pointing a little further along the beach. And there they are, the two of them, him and Grey, hand in hand, running and stumbling their way back up towards the town and safety. They’re dodging everyone else trying to evacuate the beach, and ducking and diving to avoid the strafing gunfire.
“Grey.” His brother’s name emerges in a whisper, and a breath shudders out of him. “Gr-”
The Doctor’s hand clamps over his mouth. “No, Jack!”
Closing his eyes, he counts to five and calms. “Sorry,” he says the instant the Doctor releases him. “Couldn’t help it.”
“Humans,” the Doctor grunts, shaking his head. “You lose all common sense. If it’s not Rose saving her dad’s life, it’s you trying to change your brother’s history.”
“I didn’t do it deliberately!” he protests, angry, stalking away from the Doctor and following his younger self.
“Nor did Rose,” the Doctor comments. “That’s the problem.”
His attention’s half on the Doctor and the argument, and he almost misses it. But not quite.
Almost as if in slow motion, Grey’s hand slips away from his younger self’s. He’s turned around, facing back towards the sea. His free hand’s reaching... reaching out for someone or something.
For a few seconds, even as Grey breaks away from his brother and runs back, he can’t see where he’s going, who he’s going to. It could still be himself, perhaps even a future version. It could be Hart. It could be... And then he sees. Grey’s best friend, with his parents. Arik. Arik’s mother’s calling out to Grey, and Grey’s running to them...
“You know them?” The Doctor’s at his shoulder, his voice soft in his ear.
“Yeah. Friends of Grey’s. He’d be safe with them... he should be safe with them.”
“Come on.” The Doctor nudges him. “Let’s find out.”
It’s a nerve-wracking couple of hours as they follow the small family group across the sands and along the shoreline as dusk starts to fall. The airships are still attacking, and now they’re passing dead and dying bodies every few steps. It’s a miracle that Grey hasn’t been hit - or any of them, he and the Doctor included. Why the hell are they coming this way? Can’t they see how dangerous it is? Don’t they realise the obvious route is away from the beach, back towards the town?
Finally, as the little group makes it out to the promontory, he sees why. And of course he’d forgotten. Arik’s dad owns a business out there. A marine expeditions business. He’s got submarine ships. Ships that can take them away from here underwater, safer than in the air or above ground.
Breath whooshes out of him as he relaxes, standing far enough away that he can’t be seen as he watches the family group, and his brother, climb hurriedly into the ship as gunfire falls all around the promontory.
“That’s why you never found him,” the Doctor says. He’s got his screwdriver out and he’s pointing it at the ship. “We’ll trace it from the TARDIS. Find out where they went and what happened to Grey.”
Yeah. They’re a good family, the Drakons. They’d have looked after Grey as if he was their own. And maybe they’re better for Grey than he’d be - after all, what kind of life can he offer an eight-year-old boy? And once he knows where Grey is he can come back and find him as an adult. That might be -
A sudden explosion drowns out the screams and gunfire and sounds of human panic, and the landscape in front of him becomes a ball of flame. The ship the Drakons have just secured themselves into, the ship carrying Grey to safety, has just been blown to pieces.
He’s found his brother again, only to watch Grey die right in front of him.
***
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. And please note: this is completely AU from most of S2 of Torchwood, and in particular from Exit Wounds.
Chapter 1: Proposition l Chapter 2: Tensions l Chapter 3: Decisions l Chapter 4: Departures
Chapter 5: Truths
He has to check. Is the pilot dead? If he’s alive and they just leave him here to die... well, he has to check. It’s what the Doctor would do. And this is the Doctor who’s just lost thousands of people whose lives he promised to save, who were depending on him to save them. If they could have saved this life as well and just ran away because it was too difficult... well, he has to check.
But, no, his wrist computer’s telling him all signs of life are gone. That’s probably what set off the emergency self-destruct. It’s just as well, really - though he could have taken the craft into the TARDIS and freed the pilot into the safe atmosphere there, he can see cracks on the hull. The ship’s integrity is compromised, meaning the air inside will be contaminated. Better this quick end than a slow, painful death from radiation poisoning.
He’s on his feet, turning to run; the ship’s about to explode any second, after all, and he’s not that interested in finding out what being blown to pieces does to him. And - wait, what did he hear through his earpiece a second or so ago? “Doctor?” No, he wouldn’t be that much of an idiot. Or would he?
Just as he gets to it, the TARDIS door’s wrenched open and the Doctor’s all ready to charge outside. Jack’s hand connects with the Doctor’s chest and he shoves, hard, with all the force of his momentum behind it. “Damn fool!” he yells, throwing himself into the ship and slamming the door behind him, then leaning against it, breathing heavily. “What the hell were you thinking?”
The Doctor picks himself up off the floor in an ungainly movement. “What were you thinking, not getting away as soon as you knew that ship was gonna explode?”
“What, and you going out there and getting contaminated was gonna help how, exactly?”
The Doctor rubs the back of his neck. “I’d still regenerate. You, Jack, you might be immortal, but I’ve no idea how you’d react to dismemberment. Might’ve ended up as a talking head in a jar after all.” He shrugs. “Don’t think your Ianto would be too happy about that.”
“Told you he’s not my Ianto. But thanks.” It’s just as well he’s leaning against the TARDIS door right now. He’s always known he’d willingly die - permanently die - for the Doctor, and of course he did once, before he was immortal. Now, the Doctor’s pretty much said he’d do the same for him.
That’s going to take some digesting. Just as well he has things he needs to do - even more so because right now, if he could, he’d hug the Doctor. Kiss him, probably.
So he summons a casual smile. “Gotta go take a shower and throw these clothes in the incinerator. I might not be contaminated, but they are. Shame,” he adds. “I liked this shirt. Glad I didn’t have my coat on.”
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, the Doctor nods. “Right. Yes.”
He skirts wide of the Doctor in his path around the console room, but he’s conscious the whole time of being watched. At the door leading to the ship’s interior, he pauses. “The pilot was dead, by the way. Probably died about the same time we got there. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
The Doctor nods once more. “Yep. You tried, though. Can’t save everyone.” He looks away, then walks slowly towards the console. “Some days, it feels as if I can’t save anyone.”
Beth, he thinks, and then remembers: for the Doctor, this is still the same day as the Titanic. Damn the contaminated clothes, anyway.
But it’s not as bad as the Doctor’s making out, anyway; they’ve both been forgetting one important thing. “You saved almost half a million people today,” he points out softly, then heads off in the direction of a bathroom.
Oh, he’s missed this amazing, sentient ship that’s so responsive to his needs. His clothes safely disposed of, he soaks in a shower with perfectly-directed pressure jets, water at just the right temperature. How things change; less than twenty-four hours ago he was back in Cardiff, facing an eternity of linear living, condemned to watch an endless succession of people enter his life, become part of it and then die, leaving him alone. A late-night phone call from Martha, mostly to let him know she’s taken a job with UNIT, set him thinking about family, about places to belong, and had him regretting all over again that he said no to the Doctor. And now he’s back here after all, even if it is just for a short time.
When he finally steps out of the shower and reaches out for a towel, the Doctor’s sitting on the floor watching him.
***
“Brought you some clothes.” He waves in the direction of Jack’s rucksack.
“Thanks.” Jack slings the towel around his shoulders and doesn’t, thankfully, comment on what a pathetic excuse it is.
“You’re right. Forgot,” he says as Jack finger-combs his hair into place. “S’pose we did save Cardiff.”
“Yeah.” Jack lets the towel fall to the floor, then drops down beside him, seeming oblivious to his lack of clothing - but that’s Jack all over. Wandered around the TARDIS naked when he felt like it, until he - the him he was then - forbade it.
He can’t help but look - yes, every inch of him is smooth, unblemished, apart from the couple of faded scars he had back in the pre-Satellite Five days, one on his back, one on his thigh.
“I know I’m gorgeous, Doctor, but just so I don’t get the wrong idea... is there a reason why you’re admiring my body? Other than the obvious, of course.”
He starts, and words just spill out. “Last time I saw you... well, like this... He’d had his people whip you and cut you with knives. Your entire body, every inch, was covered in lacerations. I don’t know how you survived - Well. He said he made you beg him to kill you. He did in the end - a knife through the stomach.” Jack winces, though doesn’t comment. His eyes say enough. He remembers.
“He wanted my advice,” the Doctor continues, unable to stop now he’s begun. “An experiment - if he cut you in two, would you still reanimate? And how? He asked me if it should be decapitation or -” He draws a line across his body, above his hips.
“What happened? I assume, since I’m in one piece...” Jack raises an eyebrow in what looks like casual enquiry but can’t possibly be.
“I stopped him.” His voice is harsh, discouraging - he hopes - further questions.
But, of course, this is Jack. “How? You were a prisoner too. You were old, frail.”
Of course Jack would assume physical restraint. That was never the way to play against the Master. “I offered him something he wanted.”
“And what was that?”
His voice clipped, he says, “It’s not important.”
“It is to me!”
“Tough.” Jack doesn’t need to know. But he remembers - oh, how he remembers. The painful rejuvenation, then two days in the Master’s bed. He said he wasn’t doing it willingly. He said he was repulsed. But the worst part, the absolute worst, of the entire affair wasn't that he let the Master use his body; it was that part of him actually enjoyed it.
Jack’s breathing heavily and clenching his fists. “So he took something from you instead. Hurt you. He made you watch him hurt me. And you still - you forgave him. You begged him not to die. That’s the one thing I can’t understand, Doctor. How could you do that?”
Time to end this conversation. Time to get up and walk out. This isn’t Jack’s business. And he’s halfway to getting to his feet when he stops, remembers. It is Jack’s business, because Jack was there; he was the whipping-boy, the one who took the punishment every single time he refused to reveal the plan. The one who knew there was a plan, might even have had an idea of what it was, yet withstood repeated torture and death rather than reveal it himself.
Besides, he’s resolved to prove to Jack that he regrets abandoning him. Now that Jack knows he was well aware of what was being done to him on the Valiant, his conclusion’s obvious: he thinks he didn’t matter.
It goes against the grain, but he has to try to explain. “It’s not as simple as that, Jack. Imagine something as essential to you as...” He hesitates for a moment, thinking. “Your right arm. Or your eyes. You never even think about them. They’re just there. Part of you. You might not even look after them as well as you should, because you take it for granted that they’ll always be there. And then they’re not.”
He shifts, turning so that he’s facing Jack, and lays his palms completely over Jack’s eyes. “They’re gone. Might even be your own fault, might be in a good cause, but that doesn’t make it any easier. They’re just gone, and you’re struggling to cope in a world without them. You’ve got people around you, other people as blind as you are, but they’ve never known what it’s like to have eyes, so they don’t understand. They can’t ever understand, no matter how much they care about you or you care about them. And then, suddenly, you get a bit back.”
He allows a very slight gap to open up between his palm and Jack’s left eye. “Just enough to remind you what it’s like to have it all. It’s not perfect, far from it, but the thought of managing without it again is terrifying. That’s what it’s like.”
Removing both hands, he gets to his feet and leaves the bathroom before Jack can see that he’s shaking.
***
He dresses quickly, then leans against the wall, still breathing heavily. It makes sense, of course it does. He knew about the telepathic connection, but never really thought about what its absence meant, or how it would feel to have it back.
Bastard could have explained. But, no, they’re just humans, him and Martha and Martha’s family. How could they possibly have understood, with their tiny little brains?
“It’s your own fault we don’t trust you. If you weren’t so bloody secretive all the time...”
He starts, opening his eyes abruptly. The voice in his head was Gwen’s. Owen had been even more caustic, and as for Ianto... “It’s not that I mind that you left. You’re not from here. It wasn’t a surprise. But you can’t even tell me where you were.”
Right. Rose would say something about pots and kettles.
He finds the Doctor in the console room, standing obelisk-like in front of the central controls. The lack of movement is startling in this incarnation.
“Doctor.” Instantly, the Doctor raises his head and half-turns. “You were right. I didn’t understand. I do now.”
A nod indicates that the information is received. “It’s been a long day, Jack. Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll go to Boeshane tomorrow. You’ll find your room exactly where it was before.”
With that, he’s dismissed, and that’s no different from the past; the leather-jacketed incarnation of the Doctor was exactly the same when he wanted to be left alone. But, yes, sleep sounds like a good idea. If nothing else, it’ll give him time to prepare mentally, both for seeing Grey again and for whatever he’s going to find out.
His dreams, though, remind him why he rarely sleeps.
In the hold, he’s chained to a crossbar above his head, his feet barely touching the ground. That same song’s being pumped through the sound-system, and it’s torture on its own by now.
I can’t decide
if you should live or die...
Of course, as the bastard reminds him every time, in his case there’s no choice to be made. The Master can have his cake and eat it.
“And what’s fun for today, Handsome Jack?” the bastard demands as he bounds into the room. “I know! Let’s play Famous Quotes from Literature!”
“What, like Shakespeare? King Lear. ‘Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood’.”
“Oh, I was thinking more Alice in Wonderland. ‘Off with his head!’”
The Doctor’s in front of him then, old and wizened, stooped under the weight of the sword he’s waving, swinging above his shoulders. The sword that’s heading straight for Jack’s neck.
A loud thump, then, as something falls to the floor, and he’s watching his own head roll across the room until it’s kicked by a booted foot. “Goal!” Someone laughs. “You never told me there were so many entertaining sports in the twenty-first century, Jack!” It’s Hart, sharing the Master’s sadistic enjoyment.
“Oh, he’s no fun, is he?” A polished shoe kicks viciously at another head, and the Master’s maniacal laugh echoes around the room...
...echoes in Jack’s head as he sits up in bed, shaking and panting, seeing nothing but Grey’s eyes staring unseeing from the second severed head.
He spends the rest of the night meditating, using breathing exercises and psychic tricks he learned a very long time ago and that helped him get through the worst of That Year.
In the morning, he finds coffee - and the Doctor - in the kitchen. The coffee’s got to be a concession for him, since the Doctor, in this incarnation too, prefers tea. He drinks it black, three cups, feeling the caffeine flow through his system and grabbing onto every ounce of the artificial stimulant. It’s needed.
A slim wallet’s slid across the table to him over breakfast. Psychic paper. That reminds him that his own was lost in a fire years ago, and he makes a mental note to persuade the Doctor to get him a replacement before they part company. Unless, of course, he’s not to be trusted with psychic paper any more than with a Vortex manipulator.
“Think of your brother, the way he looked the last time you saw him,” the Doctor instructs, and he concentrates, forcibly pushing away the memory of his nightmare. An image of Grey, all long, wavy brown hair, freckles and a cheeky smile, appears on the paper.
“Brilliant!” The Doctor leaps to his feet. “Come on, then! Time and tide wait for no man - well, they do for me, but that’s different.”
He follows the Doctor to the console room, falling back into the piloting routine with ease. God, he’s missed this. Next stop, Boeshane Peninsula, the day his dad was killed. “Just one thing, Doctor,” he has to say as the materialisation sequence begins and his heart starts to pound again. “It’s a war-zone out there. Be careful. Please.”
Innocently wide-eyed, the Doctor stares at him. “I’m always careful.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve just got used to this you, so I’d rather not have to get used to another face.”
The Doctor’s hand presses over his, the touch reassuring. “I’ll be careful.”
He nods. “Thanks.”
His hand’s taken in a warm squeeze. “You ready for this? We don’t have to -”
“I’ve got to. I have to know.”
“All right.” Abruptly, his hand’s released. The Doctor holds out his TARDIS key, now hanging on a chain, and he loops it around his neck; his friend’s doing the same. Then, together, they walk to the door. As he pauses to take a deep breath before taking that final step over the threshold to what lies outside, the Doctor’s hand comes to rest briefly on his shoulder.
They’re here. The Boeshane Peninsula, the day his childhood ended.
***
Jack’s concern’s touching, but really, it’s not as if he hasn’t been in war-zones before. The last time, of course, he had weapons with him, but that was exceptional and not to be repeated.
It’s an invasion, all right. Enemy ships fly overhead, strafing the area; all around them, sand flies into the air as bullets hit. So far, they don’t seem to be using bombs; there are no explosions and the damage isn’t severe enough. At a guess, he’d say the invaders are playing with the inhabitants, creating maximum terror for as long as possible until they’re ready to move to the next phase.
People - children and adults - are running, scrambling, tripping over themselves and each other, sometimes in as much danger of being trampled as being killed by a bullet. The air’s filled with smoke and screams and panic. And, next to him, Jack’s frozen, staring around him as if lost in memories as much as seeing what’s in front of him.
“Jack.” Catching the Captain by the shoulder, he shakes him. “Jack. Focus. Where are you - the younger you?”
Jack blinks and, instantly, he’s focused. “Right. Yeah, this way.”
They walk, picking their way carefully over the uneven ground, and he doesn’t miss the way Jack’s angling his body so that he’s more likely to be the one hit if they’re in the path of gunfire. Well, it does make some sense, even if he’d prefer not to be treated like - as he told Jack before, and was that really only yesterday? - an endangered species.
“I just thought.” Jack stops dead and half-turns to look at him, eyes wide. “What if Hart took him? The other Time Agent I mentioned, remember.”
“Right.” It’s possible, of course. “Could be. If it is and we stop him, it’s a paradox. You know that, Jack. Grey got lost, so he has to get lost today too. If it’s Hart, we follow him and rescue Grey, but you’ll have to decide what to do with him - remember, neither you nor your mother ever saw him again.”
Jack nods, his expression showing he understands. Good. “I can take care of him. I’ll do whatever I have to - find somewhere he can grow up, go to school, be safe.”
Cardiff in 2009 would work, of course, if Jack’s not worried about taking Grey out of his century, assuming the boy would fit in and not feel out of place. And having family around him would help with that sense of belonging Jack says he needs.
“If you need -” He has to stop abruptly, cutting off his offer to help with anything Jack might want. Another plane’s circling low overhead, strafing the area and striking within feet of them. “Get down!”
Jack’s already pushing at him, shoving him to the ground; he’s reaching to pull Jack down with him under the very slight protection afforded by an overhanging rock, but the Captain’s running to a couple of women. “No!” he shouts. “You can’t, Jack! You weren’t here -”
Jack turns, determination on his face. “How’d you know I wasn’t?” He crouches over the women, covering them with his body as bullets rain down around them, ricocheting off rocks and coming perilously close to hitting Jack and the Doctor - and hitting exactly where the women were standing before Jack pushed them down and away.
Yes, maybe Jack was always there to save those women, or maybe he wasn’t. If the next thing appearing in the sky is a Reaper, he’ll know, and he’ll know who to blame.
Then the plane’s moved on and Jack’s hurrying back; he gives him a glare. “What?” Jack retorts. “What do you want me to do? Let them die? That what you’d do?”
“No, but that’s not the point!” he’s protesting, but Jack’s shaking his head and walking on. Well. No Reapers yet, so it’s probably all right. Still, Jack should know better. He does know better.
On the other hand, this is the Jack he knows; the old Jack, the Jack he believes in and - yes, loves. This is the Jack to whom nothing matters more than doing what he can to save people, regardless of who they are or whether he even knows them. This is the Jack he knew was there behind the apparently-shallow conman, and who was there, most of all, on Satellite Five, and again on the Valiant - the Jack he thought was lost yesterday in Cardiff. Yet he was there again on Saluratii Major, and again just now. And it’s good to have him back.
They’ve just crossed a ridge and are heading down towards the shore when Jack halts abruptly for a second time. “Oh, shit, what if it’s me? What if I’m the one who takes him?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Captain.” He gives Jack’s shoulder a light shove to move him onwards. “Do you really think I’d let you do that?”
Jack shrugs, then scans the area before moving on. The Doctor’s never seen Jack this on edge before, but then it goes with the territory. A memory of Rose standing, terrified, at the edge of Jordan Road in 1987 flashes before his mind.
“This w -” There’s another hail of gunfire, cutting off Jack’s words. “Run!” he shouts instead, setting off down the ridge, closer to the water’s edge.
Something hits his face, stinging painfully. “Ow!” The Doctor reaches up and rubs his cheek. His hand comes away bloody.
“Shit!” He hadn’t realised Jack’s stopped and is looking at him. “I didn’t want you getting hurt. We’ll go back.”
“It’s just a scratch.” Stings like hell, but it really is. He slings an arm around Jack’s shoulder for encouragement. “Come on. We’ve come this far. We’re not giving up now. Well, I’m not - dunno about you.”
Jack grins. “Damn right.”
***
He should be able to see himself and Grey by now. They’re in the right area, and the time’s just about perfect. God. If he’s got it wrong, remembered wrongly, brought the Doctor to the wrong part of the Peninsula... Shit. He’s already got the Doctor hurt. This better not be a wild-goose chase.
Okay, that bit of rock, with the wild grass behind it, looks familiar. And there’s the promontory in the distance with the observatory. It has to be somewhere around here -
“There!” He swings around as the Doctor speaks. The Time Lord’s pointing a little further along the beach. And there they are, the two of them, him and Grey, hand in hand, running and stumbling their way back up towards the town and safety. They’re dodging everyone else trying to evacuate the beach, and ducking and diving to avoid the strafing gunfire.
“Grey.” His brother’s name emerges in a whisper, and a breath shudders out of him. “Gr-”
The Doctor’s hand clamps over his mouth. “No, Jack!”
Closing his eyes, he counts to five and calms. “Sorry,” he says the instant the Doctor releases him. “Couldn’t help it.”
“Humans,” the Doctor grunts, shaking his head. “You lose all common sense. If it’s not Rose saving her dad’s life, it’s you trying to change your brother’s history.”
“I didn’t do it deliberately!” he protests, angry, stalking away from the Doctor and following his younger self.
“Nor did Rose,” the Doctor comments. “That’s the problem.”
His attention’s half on the Doctor and the argument, and he almost misses it. But not quite.
Almost as if in slow motion, Grey’s hand slips away from his younger self’s. He’s turned around, facing back towards the sea. His free hand’s reaching... reaching out for someone or something.
For a few seconds, even as Grey breaks away from his brother and runs back, he can’t see where he’s going, who he’s going to. It could still be himself, perhaps even a future version. It could be Hart. It could be... And then he sees. Grey’s best friend, with his parents. Arik. Arik’s mother’s calling out to Grey, and Grey’s running to them...
“You know them?” The Doctor’s at his shoulder, his voice soft in his ear.
“Yeah. Friends of Grey’s. He’d be safe with them... he should be safe with them.”
“Come on.” The Doctor nudges him. “Let’s find out.”
It’s a nerve-wracking couple of hours as they follow the small family group across the sands and along the shoreline as dusk starts to fall. The airships are still attacking, and now they’re passing dead and dying bodies every few steps. It’s a miracle that Grey hasn’t been hit - or any of them, he and the Doctor included. Why the hell are they coming this way? Can’t they see how dangerous it is? Don’t they realise the obvious route is away from the beach, back towards the town?
Finally, as the little group makes it out to the promontory, he sees why. And of course he’d forgotten. Arik’s dad owns a business out there. A marine expeditions business. He’s got submarine ships. Ships that can take them away from here underwater, safer than in the air or above ground.
Breath whooshes out of him as he relaxes, standing far enough away that he can’t be seen as he watches the family group, and his brother, climb hurriedly into the ship as gunfire falls all around the promontory.
“That’s why you never found him,” the Doctor says. He’s got his screwdriver out and he’s pointing it at the ship. “We’ll trace it from the TARDIS. Find out where they went and what happened to Grey.”
Yeah. They’re a good family, the Drakons. They’d have looked after Grey as if he was their own. And maybe they’re better for Grey than he’d be - after all, what kind of life can he offer an eight-year-old boy? And once he knows where Grey is he can come back and find him as an adult. That might be -
A sudden explosion drowns out the screams and gunfire and sounds of human panic, and the landscape in front of him becomes a ball of flame. The ship the Drakons have just secured themselves into, the ship carrying Grey to safety, has just been blown to pieces.
He’s found his brother again, only to watch Grey die right in front of him.
***
tbc