vail-kagami: Wet, But Drying, Part 2b/2 (Jack/Ten) [PG]
Title: Wet, but Drying (2b/2)
Author:
vail_kagami
Beta: Now betaed by the lovely nightrider101.
Challenge: Stranded
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Thrown back in time without the TARDIS, the Doctor and Jack have no choice but to kill time with domestic life until they can go back to saving the Universe.
As welcome as the Doctor’s new need for regular sleep was, Jack couldn’t help but worry a little when the Time Lord slept more and more, without ever truly looking very well rested. It got continuously worse, but if asked, the Doctor would tell him that he slept so much because he had little else to do here. Jack didn’t believe him for one second.
His sleep became restless again, even if Jack held him. He would never admit to having nightmares but it was obvious still. And his already small appetite was reduced to nothing.
“You’re sick,” Jack stated the obvious, one day, and the Doctor nodded.
“Yes. Sick of being stuck here. It’s a lack-of-motion-sickness.” To prove he was actually fine he ate the better part of Jack’s meal after that. Later the human heard him throw up in the bathroom.
His worry made Jack irritated and angry. They fought a lot. Jack accused the Doctor of not caring enough for himself, of never taking his friends into consideration, but there was little he could say that the Doctor wouldn’t shoot right back at him.
The only result of their argument was that the Time Lord pushed himself harder in his attempt to cover his weakness, and in return Jack’s mood got even worse.
The human had not the slightest idea what it was that weakened his friend so much. The Doctor didn’t seem to wonder, so Jack suspected that he knew. It had to be something about this planet. Or maybe he just didn’t like being separated from his TARDIS for so long.
Little as the Doctor ate, Jack could at least rule out the food.
The human redoubled his efforts to find a steady job, to take the pressure of paying their rent off his friend, but apparently the vague idea he had of the language only made him seem like an idiot. So he was sitting at home, trying to make sense of the news on tv, when the doorbell rang.
That was a first.
The two of them hadn’t bothered to make any friends in the neighbourhood. When it came to normal life they failed big time.
It still could be a neighbour asking for sugar. There was no reason for Jack to feel weary as he neared the door, nor to wish he’d been armed.
The door wasn’t locked - whoever was outside could have attacked him any time, if they had been thus inclined. Bravely Jack opened the door and was attacked by a wall of hot, humid air struggling inside. In the golden glow of the afternoon sun stood a man Jack recognized as one of the Doctor’s colleagues. Worry and suspicion hit him like a physical blow even before he spotted the two other men standing behind him, carrying the Doctor, who was hanging lifelessly between them.
“What happened? Is he hurt?” Jack blurted out, rushing over to take the Doctor out of those men’s arms. Remembering that they didn’t speak English he repeated the question in their melodic language as best he could.
“What! What!” he sang.
The man who’d rung the doorbell gave him an answer constructed from a number of singular words, chosen for the poor, foreign idiot. “Sun,” Jack made out. “Heat. Fell.”
“Off the structure?” he nearly shrieked, in English, causing the men to share a lost look. They stayed in the doorway as Jack carried the motionless Doctor inside, obviously concerned.
“Home,” one of them sang, followed by something Jack interpreted as “Not real.” It sounded like an apology.
The human understood surprisingly well what they were trying to tell him: They couldn’t have taken his friend to a doctor, because he was working illegally for them. That was okay with Jack - the last thing he needed right now was someone finding out that the Doctor was an alien.
Especially now he couldn’t even run.
The Time Lord was white as a sheet when Jack placed him on the couch to check his pulses: they were too weak, his breathing too shallow, and he was obviously unconscious. Jack’s own heart raced, and jumped a little jump of relief when the Doctor stirred weakly. Jack gestured for the men who’d carried him that everything was all right, and they left without another word.
The Doctor’s eyes fluttered open to look at Jack, dazed and confused.
“Jack,” he breathed. “What happened?”
“You tell me,” Jack growled. “But taking a wild guess, I’d say your stupidity finally caught up with you. Stay here!” There was little chance the Doctor would go anywhere, but Jack felt like giving orders. He hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. After helping his friend to sit up he made him drink a few sips.
“What caused this? The heat? I thought you could handle that.”
“It’s the sun,” the Doctor mumbled. “Wrong spectrum. Can’t handle the radiation for too long.”
With effort, Jack resisted the urge to kick him. He did not resist the urge to yell.
“You knew that and still worked out there in the sun every fucking day?”
“I didn’t know it.” There was no fight in the other’s voice, he sounded as weak as he looked. “I just knew there was something. Could have been the planet, the water. Now I know for sure.” His eyelids slowly dropped.
“And do you learn anything from this?” Jack was aware the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t appropriate right now, but he was still angry and still worried. He sighed exasperatedly when the Doctor failed to answer.
“Come on,” he said resigned and slid his arms underneath his light-weighted friend to pick him up once again. “Let’s get you to bed.”
By the time Jack placed his stupid, careless Time Lord on the covers, the Doctor was barely clinging to consciousness. Jack tried to get him to answer to his questions but only got hardly audible, incoherent whispers in return. Jack sighed again, more worried than angry this time.
“How are you feeling?” he tried. “Are you thirsty? Does anything hurt?” Running a tender hand through the other’s hair he noted the heat radiating from him.
“Head,” the Doctor mumbled, his eyes closed.
“Your head hurts?”
“Hmm. It’s not real yet. Too close to the fire, sticky. No.” The Doctor whimpered softly.
When Jack returned a minute later with a bowl of water and a cloth the Time Lord had either fallen asleep or passed out. He looked so miserable that Jack didn’t find it in himself to be angry anymore. He could blame the Doctor for this situation, but he couldn’t hold a grudge when his friend was obviously suffering.
The Doctor’s agunish had helped Jack to get over a lot of issues he’d had with the man in his long life. Maybe he should thank the Master, after all.
Vaguely he registered how hungry he was. But hunger he could ignore far better than the breath catching in the Doctor’s throat every so often, and so he stayed by his side for hours, wiping the sweat off his face.
At dawn he fell into an uneasy slumber in his chair. Confusing dreams turned to nightmares, and the Doctor wasn’t the only Time Lord featured in them. But it wasn’t the Master who disturbed him most, it were the faceless strangers slipping through his fragmented awareness like ghosts. When he woke up he was lying on the freshly made bed, and the Doctor was gone.
Confused and shaken as he was, cursing was only the second thing Jack did. The fist was staring at the empty space beside him and thinking ‘Huh?’
“Doctor?” Jack called harshly. It took no effort to summon his anger again - if the idiot was well enough to move, he was also well enough to be yelled at.
A distant crash answered him, like shattering china. Biting back another curse Jack shot out of bed and into the kitchen where he found the Doctor on the floor between the shards of a broken glass.
“Fuck!” the curse finally escaped. “Are you okay?”
The Doctor tried to pull himself upright with aid of the counter but failed miserably.
“Just a little dizzy,” he assured Jack with a weak grin. His hand slipped from the counter and Jack lunged forward to catch him before he fell into the shards, cutting his own knee in the process.
Bewildered brown eyes looked up to him. “What did you do that for?”
“Shut up before I strangle you!” Jack ordered, pulling his friend to his feet and led the protesting man back to bed. He still felt very hot. “You stay here! I’m going to clean up the mess in the kitchen, and if you’re not exactly in this place when I come back I’ll have your dick for breakfast!” Though the Doctor probably didn’t need it anyway.
When he came back the Doctor wasn’t only still on the bed, he’d even lain down and was now blinking helplessly up at the ceiling. He was also having trouble breathing.
“Little idiot,” Jack said softly, settling beside him.
“Don’t call me that,” the Doctor pleaded in a voice that suggested another reason than hurt pride. Jack accepted it without comment.
“What was that about? No, don’t tell me. Just stay here until I allow you to get out of bed. Does your head still hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” the Doctor admitted quietly, too weak to put up a strong front. The trip to the kitchen seemed to have taken all his strength. “Don’t worry,” he added none the less.
“I’m not. I’m pissed.”
“Okay.” The Time Lord closed his eyes. Only vaguely registering the pain in his cut knee Jack waited in vain to be told why exactly he had no reason to worry.
“Will you be okay?” he eventually asked, and received a nod in return.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine if I’m not in the sun for too long, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I need a new job, though. Something indoors, or with nocturnal working hours.”
“Don’t worry about it for now.” Jack pulled the covers over his Time Lord, feeling useless and guilty for being unable, with all his knowledge and skills, to learn enough of this silly language to get work in this city, for leaving it all to the Doctor.
“It’s so hard to get work without an ID number or a birth certificate…” The Doctor trailed off to suddenly look at Jack through wide eyes. “A certificate to prove you were born,” he mused. “And I thought some things were obvious.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Jack sighed, having faced this kind of trouble before in his life as a stranded time traveller. “Get some sleep, love. You need it.”
-
Just being out of the sun didn’t improve the Doctor’s health immediately. His sleep soon became restless, and Jack’s heart broke when he started crying and moaning in the grip of his nightmares. His fever showed no intention of going down. When he was bathed in sweat and delirious the next morning Jack was sick with worry.
He thought back to their trip to the beach, the trip he had suggested. Out in the sun all day - was that when it had started? Jack couldn’t remember.
The second night the Doctor’s state worsened so much Jack feared for his life. He got no rest for days. Eventually he fell asleep, and when he woke the Doctor was still where he was supposed to be, but he was sleeping peacefully (or at least quietly) and his temperature had gone down a little.
With a sigh of careful relief Jack finally allowed himself to go to the bathroom for relief of an entirely different kind.
In the evening the Time Lord woke up, for the first time in days aware of his surroundings. Weakly he tried to move and discovered that he couldn’t.
“Jack…” he began, his voice faint and hoarse. “Why am I tied to the bed?”
“Practical reasons,” Jack informed him. “You’re going to listen to me. Are you up to that?”
“I’m not sure…” Suspicion was evident in the other’s voice, but some suspicion was in order if one awoke with their hands tried to the bedposts.
“One: You’re going to stay in bed until you are back to health. You’re not going to leave because you think you have to work, because you need something from the kitchen or because you’re bored. If you need anything, tell me and I’ll get it for you. Understood?”
“In a strict sense that I know the words, yes.”
“Two,” Jack continued, ignoring the annoyance in the Doctor’s answer. “You won’t go back to work on the building site. Until I say you’re up for it, you won’t work at all. If we need money, I’ll get it.”
“Are we back to prostitution again?” the Doctor asked wearily.
“I can do more things than sex, thank you very much. You will not work outdoors from now on, especially not at daytime. Three: As soon as you’re feeling unwell you’ll tell me! You got that?”
“Yes, mom,” the Doctor sighed.
“Fine. Are you hungry?”
“Why did you have to tie me up for us to have this conversation?”
“Because you have a tendency to run away the moment you can. Also, it suits you.”
The Doctor grimaced. “Can you free me now, please?”
“I’m thinking about it.” Jack turned and left for the kitchen. Only when he came back with a cup of tea for the Doctor to drink did he untie the ropes trapping the exhausted and slightly pissed Time Lord.
No further words were exchanged while Jack made his friend drink his tea.
“What happens, hypothetically speaking, if I fail to follow your rules?” the Doctor asked tiredly.
“Then I’m never going to talk to you again once we’ve left this planet.” Jack knew this threat was much more effective than any promise of murder, and right now he meant it. The Doctor’s eyes widened.
“But why?” he asked, lost. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you, idiot!” the human suddenly yelled, letting out his fury as he clutched the pillow to both sides of the other’s head and hissed into is face. “I could strangle you for your stubbornness! Do you have any idea how worried I was, you selfish bastard?”
The Doctor looked at him helplessly. “I’m sorry. But what was I supposed to do about it? I didn’t choose this!”
“You could have told me something was wrong for a start! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” the Time Lord murmured.
“Well, you should work on that a little harder!” Jack’s shoulders slumped - the hurt confusion in the Doctor’s face was evaporating his fury. “You’re not protecting your friends like this,” he pointed out. “You only make them feel useless and guilty in the end. If you want to help us, let us help you!”
“Good point,” his friend admitted with a weak smile. “I should record this and play it to you the next time you do something stupid.”
After all he’d been put through the last days, Jack decided, no one could blame him for giving in to his urge and shutting the Doctor up with a kiss.
-
The long period of rest Jack forced on his Doctor eventually brought him almost back to health. But the hot weather kept eating at him, even if he didn’t go outside. And the long period of unemployment ate on their financial reserves. With only one of them regularly eating they didn’t need all that much, but Jack still worried about their financial situation a lot. Being kicked out because they couldn’t pay the rent wouldn’t do the Doctor any good, he supposed.
It was the Doctor’s old colleagues from the building site who gave him work in the end, if only for a few hours each day - simple tasks that didn’t need much communication to be understood. The Doctor made Jack memorize a little song of gratitude and from the reactions he received for it, Jack thought that the Time Lord was probably laughing himself sick when he delivered it.
If the Doctor hadn’t been sick to begin with, though, it wouldn’t even have been necessary. When he came home Jack often found his friend tossing in the grip of feverish nightmares. If he was well enough he played housewife - once Jack came home to him cleaning the flat in slippers and with a scarf wrapped around his hair, and he’d adopted the habit of wearing a frilly apron when standing in the kitchen to cook a meal that was always delivered to Jack with a sweet smile. The human suspected his behaviour of being some weird kind of protest, but at least the Doctor never broke his rules. Jack felt more than a little touched that the Time Lord valued his friendship this much.
He never told him that.
While never downright breaking the rules, the Doctor still bent as far as possible without having them snap like dry twigs. At other times he kept to them so precisely it was infuriating, like when he sat on the bed and listed to Jack all the things he needed, from a new toothbrush to a working dematerialization circuit for a Type 40 TARDIS to send back to his third regeneration. He seemed bent on driving crazy his human friend, who didn’t always manage to take it with good humour. The little garden the Doctor had lovingly created on their balcony was another reason for trouble. The Time Lord going down with a splitting headache and a fever after caring for his plants for hours led to a yelling match once he was better. Mostly it was Jack doing the yelling.
A week later the Doctor found a job in a hotel that had him working through the night. He was happy to be useful again and at the same time bored to tears on most nights. It was still better than nothing. Jack had a hard time feeling sorry for him when he wasn’t faring so much better himself. They both needed to get away from this world, and not just because of its sun.
Sometimes Jack found himself wishing they’d been stranded in an era of conflict (Jack knew there would be conflict on this world at some point - the Doctor had been here before), because then they would have been able to fight some enemies, save the civilization and generally just do what they were good at. He realised how selfish that thought was and pushed it away into a corner of his mind to hang its head in shame.
The summer was long, but eventually it came to an end. The days got shorter, the temperature became bearable, and with the weakening of the sun the Doctor got stronger. He didn’t get back to his old health though, was still often tired, often in pain and lacking any appetite at all, and Jack was more grateful than ever that they had been send only two years back in time, for he was sure that if they’d have to stay for much longer this world would eventually kill the Doctor.
Already he dreaded the next summer.
-
Jack lost his part-time job when it started to snow. The Doctor returned to the restaurant he had worked in right after they’d arrived, after he’d been fired for uncovering the criminal activities of the hotel-owner’s son. Winter raised the cost of their place, as they had to turn up the heating - not just for Jack’s sake. It seemed the Doctor couldn’t handle the low temperatures that well anymore. Apart from the worry that came over him every time he was reminded of the Doctor’s current fragility, Jack didn’t mind that at all. He liked having the Time Lord snuggle against him at night, to share his warmth.
Once Jack got ill. He had it coming for weeks, and allowed his health to deteriorate for the joy of having his beloved friend care for him for a change. When he started to feel truly miserable he covered it as best he could, waited until the Doctor had left for work and killed himself in the bathroom, to come back to life fresh and healthy. Knowing what the Doctor thought of unnecessary dying he kept it a secret and claimed to just have felt much better after a nap. It probably wasn’t the most convincing lie he’d ever told.
The Doctor didn’t talk to him for a week.
Never having recovered fully from the illness the last summer had given him, the Time Lord started to weaken much sooner this time. He took care never to be out in the sun for too long, but it helped little. Shortly after the temperatures rose to more unbearable degrees, he had to give up his job in favour of lying on the couch all day with a wet cloth on his forehead. He joked about it, if he could.
Jack hated this world.
“I’m going to look for a subterranean flat for us to live in,” Jack promised one evening, when they were watching tv. His grasp of the language had improved - he now could understand sentences with up to three words. “Maybe it won’t be quite as bad there.” Their apartment seemed to offer little protection.
“You’re trying to burrow me in earth?” The Doctor smirked. “Aren’t you overdoing it a little?”
“Have to keep you away from the eyes of the public, pretty thing like you,” answered Jack, and added, “I’m sorry - You won’t find anyone you could shag for money where I’m taking you.”
“Really? Too bad. My customers will be devastated!”
Jack hit him with a pillow. The Doctor hit back. Ten minutes later they were both ruffled and in unruly clothes on the floor, collapsed in a heap in front of the couch.
Jack pulled the Doctor closer until he was lying on his lap, to playfully run a hand though his messy hair. The Time Lord looked at him as best he could from this angle.
“I’m fine,” he said, puzzled.
“I know,” answered Jack with a smile. “But you feel very nice there.”
-
Unfortunately the city had no subterranean flats on offer. Jack got an air-conditioner, though, for free (if he didn’t count sleeping with the rather attractive salesman and his wife as payment), granting his friend at least a little relief. It didn’t last long. He spent more than one night holding the other’s clammy hand while listening to his incoherent ramblings.
Having no idea on which date they had arrived on this planet, Jack could only hope their younger selves would show up soon - they needed to get away from here. For if the day came too late, if the Time Lord should die here, Jack couldn’t convince himself anymore that he wouldn’t cause a terrible paradox by killing the bastard that had sent them here before he could do so.
He didn’t like leaving the Doctor alone when he wasn’t well, but sometimes he had to. Sometimes the Time Lord would send him away claiming to be merely tired, only to come home to a man who was barely breathing. It made Jack angry, but after his suicide-to-escape-a-cold he really had no right to complain anymore.
One night, he came home from another one-day job to find the Doctor in bed where he’d left him, scratching his bloody fingernails over the mark on his left forearm over and over again.
“It’s completely useless now, as no one who lives knows its meaning,” the Time Lord murmured, blinking up at the distressed human. He giggled hollowly. “If you can’t remove the mark, remove those who can read it.” His laugh turned into a harsh sob. When Jack took care of his self-inflicted injuries, the Doctor didn’t protest. The immortal was glad when the mark on his friend’s arm was covered by a bandage.
“We’re going away soon,” he promised. “Can’t be much longer now. Just hold on a few more days.”
“Two weeks,” the Doctor sighed.
“What?”
“Sixteen days.”
“We’ll leave in sixteen days?” Jack made sure that the Doctor’s words were connected to the topic he’d been talking about.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” The Time Lord sounded insecure, not annoyed. He closed his eyes.
“How can you know? Did you check the date when we arrived?”
“No. Know. Ripples in time, because we’ll exist twice in the same spot.” A weak sigh. “The universe is full of Jack-shaped ripples.”
“I bet,” Jack said softly, suppressing any overenthusiastic expression of his relief. “You can take two more weeks, can’t you?”
But the Doctor didn’t hear him. His face suddenly twisted into a grimace of pain, and one moment later he was sobbing into Jack’s lap. Not understanding what had caused it, all the human could do was hold him and stoke his hair until he fell asleep.
“It’s alright,” he murmured over and over, even when the Doctor couldn’t hear him anymore. “Hell, I really wish I could take you to a doctor. If only you didn’t insist on being an alien everywhere we go!” Then he bit his lip and was glad the Time Lord was asleep and unaware of his words. He really didn’t need to remind his friend that he had no home.
Jack did have a home. It was right here and now - he realised with only a hint of shame that he hadn’t thought about Torchwood and Cardiff for an entire year. When he was on Earth, saving people from Weevils, he never stopped worrying about the Doctor.
At the Doctor’s side he felt like he belonged. Jack had realised that a long time ago - before the game station, and once again running down a hill at the end of the universe. This was his home, but right now it felt like his home had been built on sand.
“Sixteen days,” he whispered to himself. “It’s about time we get back to our lives.”
-
The rent wouldn’t have to be paid for another eighteen days, and they had enough money left to pay for food, so Jack didn’t bother looking for work anymore. Instead he cared for the Doctor when he was unwell and argued with him when he was feeling better. In between they had fun - though despite all his efforts Jack couldn’t talk the other into cleaning the kitchen dressed only in the frilly apron.
Their original clothes - the greatcoats, the Doctor’s suit, Jack’s suspenders - they had kept in the closet all that time, and the day their younger selves arrived on this world they were the only things the two of them took with them.
Since it was late summer and still very hot, they were dressed in their local outfits when they left the flat for the last time: Jack in wide short and a colourful t-shirt and the Doctor in similar shorts and a long-sleeved but thin shirt that hung off his frame like a tent. He’d insisted on wearing his converse this day, claiming them to be better for running, should the need occur. It looked rather silly, but when they left it was still dark and no one noticed. No one but Jack, of course. But Jack didn’t care for such minor flaws.
He’d survived the fashion sense of the late twenty-second century, after all.
The Time Lord was remotely fine, meaning he could walk on his own and boss Jack around when he felt like it. They had enough money left for a ride to the forest they had not set foot in for more than a year. Somehow, sitting inside a car, the trip didn’t seem half as long.
By the time they climbed up the hill the sun had risen above the horizon and with her the temperatures raised as well. Between the trees it was cooler, still the exertion soon took its toll on the Doctor. Jack began to worry again - at this rate he would have to take out their friend, the time gun-wielding madman, all on his own.
Unfortunately the Doctor was the only one who had any orientation in this forest. He managed to lead to the tree he had once climbed to look for a way out of the woods and collapsed in its shadow.
“We’ll arrive around midday,” he panted. “I’ll tell you when. Until that guy has sent us back we’ll stay here, out of sight.”
Jack nodded. “Take a break. I’ll wake you in time.”
He expected the other to protest, but the Doctor merely smiled gratefully and lay down, using his bag as a pillow. It told Jack more about his state than he wanted to know.
The Time Lord’s sleep was close to unconsciousness. He had a fever again and was very pale, and Jack simply didn’t have the heart to wake him.
He didn’t need to: the sun had just reached its highest point when he heard the ghostly sound of the TARDIS materializing a few hundred metres away. The sound carried far here.
In his mind he lived through the events following their arrival: Right now the Doctor would step out of the blue box, closely followed by Jack. Nearby was a little hut made of green and brown plastic - hard to spot between the trees. Two years before it hadn’t been there yet.
Now it was surrounded by an assortment of sensors and other technical stuff. The door of the hut had opened just when the two of them were examining the equipment. A brief conversation with the owner had revealed that he was planning to ‘make the world a better place’, and that he believed Jack and the Doctor to be spies sent by his worst rival. Before they could explain anything he’d fired, sending them back in time.
That man wouldn’t be able to move the TARDIS or even get inside, so it would be safe to wait until night before they got there. But one look at the Doctor convinced Jack that now was the time to act. In less than five minutes their younger selves would be gone and he could get back to the TARDIS. There he would knock out the old bastard, and maybe give him an extra kick for the inconvenience. And another for harming the Doctor. After that he’d tie him up and come back to take his friend. It sounded like a good plan.
Except for once thing. Jack bit his lip; he didn’t like the idea of leaving the Doctor alone here, but if he took him along there would be a higher risk of them being hit again, and another few years the other would not survive.
That settled it. Jack softly kissed the Time Lord onto the forehead before he left, feeling the usual rush of protectiveness when he looked down at him one last time. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him this time, he swore to himself. His constant concern for his friend might have been unnecessary and exaggerated most of the time, but now it would keep him alert. Would keep him from making any mistakes that would put the Doctor in jeopardy.
In theory, at least.
-
Half an hour of subjective time Jack stared at the landscape in front of him and just couldn’t believe it.
He was standing on a wide plain that stretched to the horizon. No sign of the trees, or the distant mountains, or the sea. Continental drift hadn’t done its work yet.
He was too shocked to even curse. This was so far beyond bad his brain couldn’t grasp it.
The man with the gun had been nowhere to be seen when he’d neared the TARDIS, so Jack had assumed him to be back in the hut. Instead he’d been standing just behind the phone box, and they’d nearly collided when Jack had stealthily moved around it to get to the door. The guy had been suitably surprised to see him again so soon, but had reacted faster than Jack had expected. Before he could jump for cover he’d been time-jumped a second time. And apparently the scientist had decided to make sure this time and set the gun for prehistoric times.
Somewhere in the back of Jack’s head thoughts began to form. He was stuck here, for millions of years. Possibly billions. All alone.
The first emotion that struggled throught the shock was relief: the Doctor would have died here within a short time. Leaving him behind had been the best idea Jack had ever had.
The next emotion was anger at himself, followed by anger at a universe that hated him with a passion. Desperation he fought, and the anger helped with it. As did the relief. The Doctor would have died, but Jack wouldn’t. He would return to that fateful day a third time, and this time he’d be armed with several million years of pent up frustration and, if he had his way, a rather large gun. He would be there and take out that asshole before anything could happen to his Time Lord.
And in the meantime he would have to kill time by dying in a large number of creative ways: dying of hunger and thirst were classics, and something he could count on in this place. He’d be eaten by animals, fall off cliffs, drown, die in fire, be shot once guns got invented. Maybe there’d be wars to fight in. Once this planet had produced civilization he would probably be hanged at least once, poisoned a few times, maybe even decapitated and have his head stuck on a pike. It would be a new one, as far as he was informed.
Neither of these options amused him very much. And he hadn’t even taken into consideration all the times he would go insane and try to eat himself.
Eventually he decided to dig himself in. It had worked before: When his dear brother had buried him alive for two millennia he hadn’t been quite as alive as Gray had hoped; Jack had died and only come back to life once there were conditions for him to live in. It would be a way to jump though time now, metaphorically speaking: Eventually the elements would dig him out, but he might get from one century to the next like this.
Either that, or some natural event buried him too deeply to ever get up again. In that case he couldn’t help the Doctor when the time came, but it was a risk he had to take. It wouldn’t be any better if he went mad and forgot what he was waiting for.
Having decided that, Jack only needed some good spot for his funeral.
And some kind of shovel.
“What are you looking for?”
Jack froze. For a moment he was unable to breathe, much less turn around and face the Doctor. The Time Lord had been send here as well. He would die in this place, and all Jack could do was watch.
He felt sick.
“Are you alright?” The concern in the Doctor’s voice was directed at him. Apparently he didn’t yet understand what situation he was in. Jack swallowed dryly. Turning around took an effort of will.
“Doctor…” he croaked out, the desperation he had fought so successfully finally washing over him. It made his head swim and so it took him precious seconds to realise that the Doctor was wearing his suit.
A sudden stab of hope died quickly when Jack realised that the other must have changed into the clothes he’d carried in his bag before the scientist had gotten him - for whatever reason. It made not much sense, but then neither did the fact that the suit had the wrong colour.
Things needed a moment to connect in Jack’s brain.
“You’re wearing your blue suit.”
“Well observed.”
“You’ve been wearing the brown one when we arrived.”
“I changed in the TARDIS. Those other clothes weren’t really me.”
“You…” Jack’s brain died a little death and was revived a second later, when he collided with the pale Time Lord in full run and swooped him up into his arms.
“I could kiss you!” he declared once he stopped for breath.
“It appears you’re doing so already.”
Jack pulled back, but not very far. “You got to the TARDIS safely.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Though I was a little confused to wake up and find you gone.”
Ignoring the slight accusation in the other’s voice, Jack asked, “How did you know where to find me?”
“The man who shot you told me.”
Jack could only shake his head - he didn’t really want to know. Not yet.
“I thought I’d be stuck here forever!”
The Doctor pouted. “Didn’t you for one moment consider the possibility that I might make it to the TARDIS and come find you?” His face fell when Jack said nothing. “You didn’t think I’d abandon you here, did you?”
In response the human cupped his face, and this time his kiss wasn’t enthusiastic but tender and sweet. “Never,” he said honestly.
No matter what they had gone though the last two years, the smile the Doctor gave him this moment was worth it.
August 29, 2008
Part 2a
Author:
vail_kagami
Beta: Now betaed by the lovely nightrider101.
Challenge: Stranded
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Thrown back in time without the TARDIS, the Doctor and Jack have no choice but to kill time with domestic life until they can go back to saving the Universe.
As welcome as the Doctor’s new need for regular sleep was, Jack couldn’t help but worry a little when the Time Lord slept more and more, without ever truly looking very well rested. It got continuously worse, but if asked, the Doctor would tell him that he slept so much because he had little else to do here. Jack didn’t believe him for one second.
His sleep became restless again, even if Jack held him. He would never admit to having nightmares but it was obvious still. And his already small appetite was reduced to nothing.
“You’re sick,” Jack stated the obvious, one day, and the Doctor nodded.
“Yes. Sick of being stuck here. It’s a lack-of-motion-sickness.” To prove he was actually fine he ate the better part of Jack’s meal after that. Later the human heard him throw up in the bathroom.
His worry made Jack irritated and angry. They fought a lot. Jack accused the Doctor of not caring enough for himself, of never taking his friends into consideration, but there was little he could say that the Doctor wouldn’t shoot right back at him.
The only result of their argument was that the Time Lord pushed himself harder in his attempt to cover his weakness, and in return Jack’s mood got even worse.
The human had not the slightest idea what it was that weakened his friend so much. The Doctor didn’t seem to wonder, so Jack suspected that he knew. It had to be something about this planet. Or maybe he just didn’t like being separated from his TARDIS for so long.
Little as the Doctor ate, Jack could at least rule out the food.
The human redoubled his efforts to find a steady job, to take the pressure of paying their rent off his friend, but apparently the vague idea he had of the language only made him seem like an idiot. So he was sitting at home, trying to make sense of the news on tv, when the doorbell rang.
That was a first.
The two of them hadn’t bothered to make any friends in the neighbourhood. When it came to normal life they failed big time.
It still could be a neighbour asking for sugar. There was no reason for Jack to feel weary as he neared the door, nor to wish he’d been armed.
The door wasn’t locked - whoever was outside could have attacked him any time, if they had been thus inclined. Bravely Jack opened the door and was attacked by a wall of hot, humid air struggling inside. In the golden glow of the afternoon sun stood a man Jack recognized as one of the Doctor’s colleagues. Worry and suspicion hit him like a physical blow even before he spotted the two other men standing behind him, carrying the Doctor, who was hanging lifelessly between them.
“What happened? Is he hurt?” Jack blurted out, rushing over to take the Doctor out of those men’s arms. Remembering that they didn’t speak English he repeated the question in their melodic language as best he could.
“What! What!” he sang.
The man who’d rung the doorbell gave him an answer constructed from a number of singular words, chosen for the poor, foreign idiot. “Sun,” Jack made out. “Heat. Fell.”
“Off the structure?” he nearly shrieked, in English, causing the men to share a lost look. They stayed in the doorway as Jack carried the motionless Doctor inside, obviously concerned.
“Home,” one of them sang, followed by something Jack interpreted as “Not real.” It sounded like an apology.
The human understood surprisingly well what they were trying to tell him: They couldn’t have taken his friend to a doctor, because he was working illegally for them. That was okay with Jack - the last thing he needed right now was someone finding out that the Doctor was an alien.
Especially now he couldn’t even run.
The Time Lord was white as a sheet when Jack placed him on the couch to check his pulses: they were too weak, his breathing too shallow, and he was obviously unconscious. Jack’s own heart raced, and jumped a little jump of relief when the Doctor stirred weakly. Jack gestured for the men who’d carried him that everything was all right, and they left without another word.
The Doctor’s eyes fluttered open to look at Jack, dazed and confused.
“Jack,” he breathed. “What happened?”
“You tell me,” Jack growled. “But taking a wild guess, I’d say your stupidity finally caught up with you. Stay here!” There was little chance the Doctor would go anywhere, but Jack felt like giving orders. He hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. After helping his friend to sit up he made him drink a few sips.
“What caused this? The heat? I thought you could handle that.”
“It’s the sun,” the Doctor mumbled. “Wrong spectrum. Can’t handle the radiation for too long.”
With effort, Jack resisted the urge to kick him. He did not resist the urge to yell.
“You knew that and still worked out there in the sun every fucking day?”
“I didn’t know it.” There was no fight in the other’s voice, he sounded as weak as he looked. “I just knew there was something. Could have been the planet, the water. Now I know for sure.” His eyelids slowly dropped.
“And do you learn anything from this?” Jack was aware the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t appropriate right now, but he was still angry and still worried. He sighed exasperatedly when the Doctor failed to answer.
“Come on,” he said resigned and slid his arms underneath his light-weighted friend to pick him up once again. “Let’s get you to bed.”
By the time Jack placed his stupid, careless Time Lord on the covers, the Doctor was barely clinging to consciousness. Jack tried to get him to answer to his questions but only got hardly audible, incoherent whispers in return. Jack sighed again, more worried than angry this time.
“How are you feeling?” he tried. “Are you thirsty? Does anything hurt?” Running a tender hand through the other’s hair he noted the heat radiating from him.
“Head,” the Doctor mumbled, his eyes closed.
“Your head hurts?”
“Hmm. It’s not real yet. Too close to the fire, sticky. No.” The Doctor whimpered softly.
When Jack returned a minute later with a bowl of water and a cloth the Time Lord had either fallen asleep or passed out. He looked so miserable that Jack didn’t find it in himself to be angry anymore. He could blame the Doctor for this situation, but he couldn’t hold a grudge when his friend was obviously suffering.
The Doctor’s agunish had helped Jack to get over a lot of issues he’d had with the man in his long life. Maybe he should thank the Master, after all.
Vaguely he registered how hungry he was. But hunger he could ignore far better than the breath catching in the Doctor’s throat every so often, and so he stayed by his side for hours, wiping the sweat off his face.
At dawn he fell into an uneasy slumber in his chair. Confusing dreams turned to nightmares, and the Doctor wasn’t the only Time Lord featured in them. But it wasn’t the Master who disturbed him most, it were the faceless strangers slipping through his fragmented awareness like ghosts. When he woke up he was lying on the freshly made bed, and the Doctor was gone.
Confused and shaken as he was, cursing was only the second thing Jack did. The fist was staring at the empty space beside him and thinking ‘Huh?’
“Doctor?” Jack called harshly. It took no effort to summon his anger again - if the idiot was well enough to move, he was also well enough to be yelled at.
A distant crash answered him, like shattering china. Biting back another curse Jack shot out of bed and into the kitchen where he found the Doctor on the floor between the shards of a broken glass.
“Fuck!” the curse finally escaped. “Are you okay?”
The Doctor tried to pull himself upright with aid of the counter but failed miserably.
“Just a little dizzy,” he assured Jack with a weak grin. His hand slipped from the counter and Jack lunged forward to catch him before he fell into the shards, cutting his own knee in the process.
Bewildered brown eyes looked up to him. “What did you do that for?”
“Shut up before I strangle you!” Jack ordered, pulling his friend to his feet and led the protesting man back to bed. He still felt very hot. “You stay here! I’m going to clean up the mess in the kitchen, and if you’re not exactly in this place when I come back I’ll have your dick for breakfast!” Though the Doctor probably didn’t need it anyway.
When he came back the Doctor wasn’t only still on the bed, he’d even lain down and was now blinking helplessly up at the ceiling. He was also having trouble breathing.
“Little idiot,” Jack said softly, settling beside him.
“Don’t call me that,” the Doctor pleaded in a voice that suggested another reason than hurt pride. Jack accepted it without comment.
“What was that about? No, don’t tell me. Just stay here until I allow you to get out of bed. Does your head still hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” the Doctor admitted quietly, too weak to put up a strong front. The trip to the kitchen seemed to have taken all his strength. “Don’t worry,” he added none the less.
“I’m not. I’m pissed.”
“Okay.” The Time Lord closed his eyes. Only vaguely registering the pain in his cut knee Jack waited in vain to be told why exactly he had no reason to worry.
“Will you be okay?” he eventually asked, and received a nod in return.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine if I’m not in the sun for too long, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I need a new job, though. Something indoors, or with nocturnal working hours.”
“Don’t worry about it for now.” Jack pulled the covers over his Time Lord, feeling useless and guilty for being unable, with all his knowledge and skills, to learn enough of this silly language to get work in this city, for leaving it all to the Doctor.
“It’s so hard to get work without an ID number or a birth certificate…” The Doctor trailed off to suddenly look at Jack through wide eyes. “A certificate to prove you were born,” he mused. “And I thought some things were obvious.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Jack sighed, having faced this kind of trouble before in his life as a stranded time traveller. “Get some sleep, love. You need it.”
-
Just being out of the sun didn’t improve the Doctor’s health immediately. His sleep soon became restless, and Jack’s heart broke when he started crying and moaning in the grip of his nightmares. His fever showed no intention of going down. When he was bathed in sweat and delirious the next morning Jack was sick with worry.
He thought back to their trip to the beach, the trip he had suggested. Out in the sun all day - was that when it had started? Jack couldn’t remember.
The second night the Doctor’s state worsened so much Jack feared for his life. He got no rest for days. Eventually he fell asleep, and when he woke the Doctor was still where he was supposed to be, but he was sleeping peacefully (or at least quietly) and his temperature had gone down a little.
With a sigh of careful relief Jack finally allowed himself to go to the bathroom for relief of an entirely different kind.
In the evening the Time Lord woke up, for the first time in days aware of his surroundings. Weakly he tried to move and discovered that he couldn’t.
“Jack…” he began, his voice faint and hoarse. “Why am I tied to the bed?”
“Practical reasons,” Jack informed him. “You’re going to listen to me. Are you up to that?”
“I’m not sure…” Suspicion was evident in the other’s voice, but some suspicion was in order if one awoke with their hands tried to the bedposts.
“One: You’re going to stay in bed until you are back to health. You’re not going to leave because you think you have to work, because you need something from the kitchen or because you’re bored. If you need anything, tell me and I’ll get it for you. Understood?”
“In a strict sense that I know the words, yes.”
“Two,” Jack continued, ignoring the annoyance in the Doctor’s answer. “You won’t go back to work on the building site. Until I say you’re up for it, you won’t work at all. If we need money, I’ll get it.”
“Are we back to prostitution again?” the Doctor asked wearily.
“I can do more things than sex, thank you very much. You will not work outdoors from now on, especially not at daytime. Three: As soon as you’re feeling unwell you’ll tell me! You got that?”
“Yes, mom,” the Doctor sighed.
“Fine. Are you hungry?”
“Why did you have to tie me up for us to have this conversation?”
“Because you have a tendency to run away the moment you can. Also, it suits you.”
The Doctor grimaced. “Can you free me now, please?”
“I’m thinking about it.” Jack turned and left for the kitchen. Only when he came back with a cup of tea for the Doctor to drink did he untie the ropes trapping the exhausted and slightly pissed Time Lord.
No further words were exchanged while Jack made his friend drink his tea.
“What happens, hypothetically speaking, if I fail to follow your rules?” the Doctor asked tiredly.
“Then I’m never going to talk to you again once we’ve left this planet.” Jack knew this threat was much more effective than any promise of murder, and right now he meant it. The Doctor’s eyes widened.
“But why?” he asked, lost. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you, idiot!” the human suddenly yelled, letting out his fury as he clutched the pillow to both sides of the other’s head and hissed into is face. “I could strangle you for your stubbornness! Do you have any idea how worried I was, you selfish bastard?”
The Doctor looked at him helplessly. “I’m sorry. But what was I supposed to do about it? I didn’t choose this!”
“You could have told me something was wrong for a start! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” the Time Lord murmured.
“Well, you should work on that a little harder!” Jack’s shoulders slumped - the hurt confusion in the Doctor’s face was evaporating his fury. “You’re not protecting your friends like this,” he pointed out. “You only make them feel useless and guilty in the end. If you want to help us, let us help you!”
“Good point,” his friend admitted with a weak smile. “I should record this and play it to you the next time you do something stupid.”
After all he’d been put through the last days, Jack decided, no one could blame him for giving in to his urge and shutting the Doctor up with a kiss.
-
The long period of rest Jack forced on his Doctor eventually brought him almost back to health. But the hot weather kept eating at him, even if he didn’t go outside. And the long period of unemployment ate on their financial reserves. With only one of them regularly eating they didn’t need all that much, but Jack still worried about their financial situation a lot. Being kicked out because they couldn’t pay the rent wouldn’t do the Doctor any good, he supposed.
It was the Doctor’s old colleagues from the building site who gave him work in the end, if only for a few hours each day - simple tasks that didn’t need much communication to be understood. The Doctor made Jack memorize a little song of gratitude and from the reactions he received for it, Jack thought that the Time Lord was probably laughing himself sick when he delivered it.
If the Doctor hadn’t been sick to begin with, though, it wouldn’t even have been necessary. When he came home Jack often found his friend tossing in the grip of feverish nightmares. If he was well enough he played housewife - once Jack came home to him cleaning the flat in slippers and with a scarf wrapped around his hair, and he’d adopted the habit of wearing a frilly apron when standing in the kitchen to cook a meal that was always delivered to Jack with a sweet smile. The human suspected his behaviour of being some weird kind of protest, but at least the Doctor never broke his rules. Jack felt more than a little touched that the Time Lord valued his friendship this much.
He never told him that.
While never downright breaking the rules, the Doctor still bent as far as possible without having them snap like dry twigs. At other times he kept to them so precisely it was infuriating, like when he sat on the bed and listed to Jack all the things he needed, from a new toothbrush to a working dematerialization circuit for a Type 40 TARDIS to send back to his third regeneration. He seemed bent on driving crazy his human friend, who didn’t always manage to take it with good humour. The little garden the Doctor had lovingly created on their balcony was another reason for trouble. The Time Lord going down with a splitting headache and a fever after caring for his plants for hours led to a yelling match once he was better. Mostly it was Jack doing the yelling.
A week later the Doctor found a job in a hotel that had him working through the night. He was happy to be useful again and at the same time bored to tears on most nights. It was still better than nothing. Jack had a hard time feeling sorry for him when he wasn’t faring so much better himself. They both needed to get away from this world, and not just because of its sun.
Sometimes Jack found himself wishing they’d been stranded in an era of conflict (Jack knew there would be conflict on this world at some point - the Doctor had been here before), because then they would have been able to fight some enemies, save the civilization and generally just do what they were good at. He realised how selfish that thought was and pushed it away into a corner of his mind to hang its head in shame.
The summer was long, but eventually it came to an end. The days got shorter, the temperature became bearable, and with the weakening of the sun the Doctor got stronger. He didn’t get back to his old health though, was still often tired, often in pain and lacking any appetite at all, and Jack was more grateful than ever that they had been send only two years back in time, for he was sure that if they’d have to stay for much longer this world would eventually kill the Doctor.
Already he dreaded the next summer.
-
Jack lost his part-time job when it started to snow. The Doctor returned to the restaurant he had worked in right after they’d arrived, after he’d been fired for uncovering the criminal activities of the hotel-owner’s son. Winter raised the cost of their place, as they had to turn up the heating - not just for Jack’s sake. It seemed the Doctor couldn’t handle the low temperatures that well anymore. Apart from the worry that came over him every time he was reminded of the Doctor’s current fragility, Jack didn’t mind that at all. He liked having the Time Lord snuggle against him at night, to share his warmth.
Once Jack got ill. He had it coming for weeks, and allowed his health to deteriorate for the joy of having his beloved friend care for him for a change. When he started to feel truly miserable he covered it as best he could, waited until the Doctor had left for work and killed himself in the bathroom, to come back to life fresh and healthy. Knowing what the Doctor thought of unnecessary dying he kept it a secret and claimed to just have felt much better after a nap. It probably wasn’t the most convincing lie he’d ever told.
The Doctor didn’t talk to him for a week.
Never having recovered fully from the illness the last summer had given him, the Time Lord started to weaken much sooner this time. He took care never to be out in the sun for too long, but it helped little. Shortly after the temperatures rose to more unbearable degrees, he had to give up his job in favour of lying on the couch all day with a wet cloth on his forehead. He joked about it, if he could.
Jack hated this world.
“I’m going to look for a subterranean flat for us to live in,” Jack promised one evening, when they were watching tv. His grasp of the language had improved - he now could understand sentences with up to three words. “Maybe it won’t be quite as bad there.” Their apartment seemed to offer little protection.
“You’re trying to burrow me in earth?” The Doctor smirked. “Aren’t you overdoing it a little?”
“Have to keep you away from the eyes of the public, pretty thing like you,” answered Jack, and added, “I’m sorry - You won’t find anyone you could shag for money where I’m taking you.”
“Really? Too bad. My customers will be devastated!”
Jack hit him with a pillow. The Doctor hit back. Ten minutes later they were both ruffled and in unruly clothes on the floor, collapsed in a heap in front of the couch.
Jack pulled the Doctor closer until he was lying on his lap, to playfully run a hand though his messy hair. The Time Lord looked at him as best he could from this angle.
“I’m fine,” he said, puzzled.
“I know,” answered Jack with a smile. “But you feel very nice there.”
-
Unfortunately the city had no subterranean flats on offer. Jack got an air-conditioner, though, for free (if he didn’t count sleeping with the rather attractive salesman and his wife as payment), granting his friend at least a little relief. It didn’t last long. He spent more than one night holding the other’s clammy hand while listening to his incoherent ramblings.
Having no idea on which date they had arrived on this planet, Jack could only hope their younger selves would show up soon - they needed to get away from here. For if the day came too late, if the Time Lord should die here, Jack couldn’t convince himself anymore that he wouldn’t cause a terrible paradox by killing the bastard that had sent them here before he could do so.
He didn’t like leaving the Doctor alone when he wasn’t well, but sometimes he had to. Sometimes the Time Lord would send him away claiming to be merely tired, only to come home to a man who was barely breathing. It made Jack angry, but after his suicide-to-escape-a-cold he really had no right to complain anymore.
One night, he came home from another one-day job to find the Doctor in bed where he’d left him, scratching his bloody fingernails over the mark on his left forearm over and over again.
“It’s completely useless now, as no one who lives knows its meaning,” the Time Lord murmured, blinking up at the distressed human. He giggled hollowly. “If you can’t remove the mark, remove those who can read it.” His laugh turned into a harsh sob. When Jack took care of his self-inflicted injuries, the Doctor didn’t protest. The immortal was glad when the mark on his friend’s arm was covered by a bandage.
“We’re going away soon,” he promised. “Can’t be much longer now. Just hold on a few more days.”
“Two weeks,” the Doctor sighed.
“What?”
“Sixteen days.”
“We’ll leave in sixteen days?” Jack made sure that the Doctor’s words were connected to the topic he’d been talking about.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” The Time Lord sounded insecure, not annoyed. He closed his eyes.
“How can you know? Did you check the date when we arrived?”
“No. Know. Ripples in time, because we’ll exist twice in the same spot.” A weak sigh. “The universe is full of Jack-shaped ripples.”
“I bet,” Jack said softly, suppressing any overenthusiastic expression of his relief. “You can take two more weeks, can’t you?”
But the Doctor didn’t hear him. His face suddenly twisted into a grimace of pain, and one moment later he was sobbing into Jack’s lap. Not understanding what had caused it, all the human could do was hold him and stoke his hair until he fell asleep.
“It’s alright,” he murmured over and over, even when the Doctor couldn’t hear him anymore. “Hell, I really wish I could take you to a doctor. If only you didn’t insist on being an alien everywhere we go!” Then he bit his lip and was glad the Time Lord was asleep and unaware of his words. He really didn’t need to remind his friend that he had no home.
Jack did have a home. It was right here and now - he realised with only a hint of shame that he hadn’t thought about Torchwood and Cardiff for an entire year. When he was on Earth, saving people from Weevils, he never stopped worrying about the Doctor.
At the Doctor’s side he felt like he belonged. Jack had realised that a long time ago - before the game station, and once again running down a hill at the end of the universe. This was his home, but right now it felt like his home had been built on sand.
“Sixteen days,” he whispered to himself. “It’s about time we get back to our lives.”
-
The rent wouldn’t have to be paid for another eighteen days, and they had enough money left to pay for food, so Jack didn’t bother looking for work anymore. Instead he cared for the Doctor when he was unwell and argued with him when he was feeling better. In between they had fun - though despite all his efforts Jack couldn’t talk the other into cleaning the kitchen dressed only in the frilly apron.
Their original clothes - the greatcoats, the Doctor’s suit, Jack’s suspenders - they had kept in the closet all that time, and the day their younger selves arrived on this world they were the only things the two of them took with them.
Since it was late summer and still very hot, they were dressed in their local outfits when they left the flat for the last time: Jack in wide short and a colourful t-shirt and the Doctor in similar shorts and a long-sleeved but thin shirt that hung off his frame like a tent. He’d insisted on wearing his converse this day, claiming them to be better for running, should the need occur. It looked rather silly, but when they left it was still dark and no one noticed. No one but Jack, of course. But Jack didn’t care for such minor flaws.
He’d survived the fashion sense of the late twenty-second century, after all.
The Time Lord was remotely fine, meaning he could walk on his own and boss Jack around when he felt like it. They had enough money left for a ride to the forest they had not set foot in for more than a year. Somehow, sitting inside a car, the trip didn’t seem half as long.
By the time they climbed up the hill the sun had risen above the horizon and with her the temperatures raised as well. Between the trees it was cooler, still the exertion soon took its toll on the Doctor. Jack began to worry again - at this rate he would have to take out their friend, the time gun-wielding madman, all on his own.
Unfortunately the Doctor was the only one who had any orientation in this forest. He managed to lead to the tree he had once climbed to look for a way out of the woods and collapsed in its shadow.
“We’ll arrive around midday,” he panted. “I’ll tell you when. Until that guy has sent us back we’ll stay here, out of sight.”
Jack nodded. “Take a break. I’ll wake you in time.”
He expected the other to protest, but the Doctor merely smiled gratefully and lay down, using his bag as a pillow. It told Jack more about his state than he wanted to know.
The Time Lord’s sleep was close to unconsciousness. He had a fever again and was very pale, and Jack simply didn’t have the heart to wake him.
He didn’t need to: the sun had just reached its highest point when he heard the ghostly sound of the TARDIS materializing a few hundred metres away. The sound carried far here.
In his mind he lived through the events following their arrival: Right now the Doctor would step out of the blue box, closely followed by Jack. Nearby was a little hut made of green and brown plastic - hard to spot between the trees. Two years before it hadn’t been there yet.
Now it was surrounded by an assortment of sensors and other technical stuff. The door of the hut had opened just when the two of them were examining the equipment. A brief conversation with the owner had revealed that he was planning to ‘make the world a better place’, and that he believed Jack and the Doctor to be spies sent by his worst rival. Before they could explain anything he’d fired, sending them back in time.
That man wouldn’t be able to move the TARDIS or even get inside, so it would be safe to wait until night before they got there. But one look at the Doctor convinced Jack that now was the time to act. In less than five minutes their younger selves would be gone and he could get back to the TARDIS. There he would knock out the old bastard, and maybe give him an extra kick for the inconvenience. And another for harming the Doctor. After that he’d tie him up and come back to take his friend. It sounded like a good plan.
Except for once thing. Jack bit his lip; he didn’t like the idea of leaving the Doctor alone here, but if he took him along there would be a higher risk of them being hit again, and another few years the other would not survive.
That settled it. Jack softly kissed the Time Lord onto the forehead before he left, feeling the usual rush of protectiveness when he looked down at him one last time. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him this time, he swore to himself. His constant concern for his friend might have been unnecessary and exaggerated most of the time, but now it would keep him alert. Would keep him from making any mistakes that would put the Doctor in jeopardy.
In theory, at least.
-
Half an hour of subjective time Jack stared at the landscape in front of him and just couldn’t believe it.
He was standing on a wide plain that stretched to the horizon. No sign of the trees, or the distant mountains, or the sea. Continental drift hadn’t done its work yet.
He was too shocked to even curse. This was so far beyond bad his brain couldn’t grasp it.
The man with the gun had been nowhere to be seen when he’d neared the TARDIS, so Jack had assumed him to be back in the hut. Instead he’d been standing just behind the phone box, and they’d nearly collided when Jack had stealthily moved around it to get to the door. The guy had been suitably surprised to see him again so soon, but had reacted faster than Jack had expected. Before he could jump for cover he’d been time-jumped a second time. And apparently the scientist had decided to make sure this time and set the gun for prehistoric times.
Somewhere in the back of Jack’s head thoughts began to form. He was stuck here, for millions of years. Possibly billions. All alone.
The first emotion that struggled throught the shock was relief: the Doctor would have died here within a short time. Leaving him behind had been the best idea Jack had ever had.
The next emotion was anger at himself, followed by anger at a universe that hated him with a passion. Desperation he fought, and the anger helped with it. As did the relief. The Doctor would have died, but Jack wouldn’t. He would return to that fateful day a third time, and this time he’d be armed with several million years of pent up frustration and, if he had his way, a rather large gun. He would be there and take out that asshole before anything could happen to his Time Lord.
And in the meantime he would have to kill time by dying in a large number of creative ways: dying of hunger and thirst were classics, and something he could count on in this place. He’d be eaten by animals, fall off cliffs, drown, die in fire, be shot once guns got invented. Maybe there’d be wars to fight in. Once this planet had produced civilization he would probably be hanged at least once, poisoned a few times, maybe even decapitated and have his head stuck on a pike. It would be a new one, as far as he was informed.
Neither of these options amused him very much. And he hadn’t even taken into consideration all the times he would go insane and try to eat himself.
Eventually he decided to dig himself in. It had worked before: When his dear brother had buried him alive for two millennia he hadn’t been quite as alive as Gray had hoped; Jack had died and only come back to life once there were conditions for him to live in. It would be a way to jump though time now, metaphorically speaking: Eventually the elements would dig him out, but he might get from one century to the next like this.
Either that, or some natural event buried him too deeply to ever get up again. In that case he couldn’t help the Doctor when the time came, but it was a risk he had to take. It wouldn’t be any better if he went mad and forgot what he was waiting for.
Having decided that, Jack only needed some good spot for his funeral.
And some kind of shovel.
“What are you looking for?”
Jack froze. For a moment he was unable to breathe, much less turn around and face the Doctor. The Time Lord had been send here as well. He would die in this place, and all Jack could do was watch.
He felt sick.
“Are you alright?” The concern in the Doctor’s voice was directed at him. Apparently he didn’t yet understand what situation he was in. Jack swallowed dryly. Turning around took an effort of will.
“Doctor…” he croaked out, the desperation he had fought so successfully finally washing over him. It made his head swim and so it took him precious seconds to realise that the Doctor was wearing his suit.
A sudden stab of hope died quickly when Jack realised that the other must have changed into the clothes he’d carried in his bag before the scientist had gotten him - for whatever reason. It made not much sense, but then neither did the fact that the suit had the wrong colour.
Things needed a moment to connect in Jack’s brain.
“You’re wearing your blue suit.”
“Well observed.”
“You’ve been wearing the brown one when we arrived.”
“I changed in the TARDIS. Those other clothes weren’t really me.”
“You…” Jack’s brain died a little death and was revived a second later, when he collided with the pale Time Lord in full run and swooped him up into his arms.
“I could kiss you!” he declared once he stopped for breath.
“It appears you’re doing so already.”
Jack pulled back, but not very far. “You got to the TARDIS safely.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Though I was a little confused to wake up and find you gone.”
Ignoring the slight accusation in the other’s voice, Jack asked, “How did you know where to find me?”
“The man who shot you told me.”
Jack could only shake his head - he didn’t really want to know. Not yet.
“I thought I’d be stuck here forever!”
The Doctor pouted. “Didn’t you for one moment consider the possibility that I might make it to the TARDIS and come find you?” His face fell when Jack said nothing. “You didn’t think I’d abandon you here, did you?”
In response the human cupped his face, and this time his kiss wasn’t enthusiastic but tender and sweet. “Never,” he said honestly.
No matter what they had gone though the last two years, the smile the Doctor gave him this moment was worth it.
August 29, 2008
Part 2a