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“Shh,” the Doctor said, clamping his hand down over Jack’s mouth.
They were hiding behind the TARDIS and Jack’s heavy breathing was going to give them away. Jack tried to slap the Doctor’s hand away from his face, but the Doctor wouldn’t move it, grabbing his wrist to pull him around to the other side of the TARDIS and quickly shove him inside, locking the door and running to the console to send them into the time vortex.
Jack collapsed backward into the railing, holding on for dear life and gasping for breath. He was panicked, his surroundings changing between the interior of the TARDIS and the pitch black, stifling place that was his grave for 2,000 years. He couldn’t breathe, fated to suffocate over and over, choking on dirt forever.
The Doctor turned back to Jack right after the TARDIS started moving, immediately rushing over to him when he saw Jack gripping the railing, gasping for breath.
“Jack?” he asked softly.
Jack flinched, but he didn’t pull away, so the Doctor carefully pulled his fingers off the railing and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, walking him to what would best be described as the TARDIS’ living room. He pushed him down onto the couch and crouched in front of him, grabbing his hands.
“Jack, can you tell me where you are right now?” the Doctor asked softly, squeezing his hands.
“I- It’s dark cold, I can’t breathe… I don’t wanna die anymore, please,” he rambled.
“Jack, you’re in the TARDIS. You’re safe. Do you think you can open your eyes for me?”
"No, can't, don't- don't want to- can't get dirt in my eyes, it hurts…"
"I don't know where you think you are, Jack, but I promise there's no dirt here," the Doctor reassured. "May I touch your face?"
Jack nodded jerkily and the Doctor let go of his hands to reach up and cradle his face.
"See? No dirt. I'm right here." He gently ran his thumbs along his cheeks, right under his eyes. "Do you think you can open your eyes for me now?"
Jack slowly opened his eyes, hugging himself as he did so.
"Doctor?" he asked cautiously.
"Right here. Are you okay?”
“I...” he hesitated.
The Doctor moved onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Jack, who immediately turned into his embrace, pressing his face against the other man’s shoulder.
“What happened, Jack?” he asked quietly.
“I- When I was at Torchwood, my brother- he-” Jack took a deep breath, “He buried me. I- I’d suffocate on dirt and then I’d wake up and there was dirt everywhere, it was in my lungs, I can still taste it.”
“Oh, Jack.”
The Doctor tightened his grip and shifted a hand to the nape of his neck, resting his chin on his head.
“How long?” he asked quietly.
“Two- two thousand years,” he said, his voice breaking. “Torchwood, they found me in 1901. I made them stick me in cryo for a hundred and seven years, woke up in time to stop him from killing Tosh.”
“I’m sorry I made you remember this,” the Doctor said, feeling guilty for setting off the flashback and panic attack.
“Not your fault, you didn’t know,” Jack said, his voice muffled. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’m still sorry though.”
“How about this, you remember that I’m claustrophobic and can’t deal with having my mouth covered and we call it even?”
“Deal.”