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“Run!” The Doctor’s voice barely hides his panic. Jack grabs Rose’s hand and runs; the Doctor’s footsteps are right behind them. He helps Rose to scramble up the incline and they run towards the opening. They barely make it out of the cave before the explosion. With rocks and debris flying all around them, Jack desperately tackles Rose to the ground, covering her with his body.
“Doctor! Doctor — where are you?” he’s yelling over the noise of the explosion. The dust filling his lungs makes him cough. There’s a sharp pain to the back of his head, and the world goes black and silent.
*****
Jack wakes up with a splitting headache. For a moment, he’s disoriented, but then memory comes back. He really wishes it hadn’t. He opens his eyes. He’s still lying on top of Rose, who’s still unconscious. Automatically, he feels for a pulse and checks her breathing. Both strong and steady. Good. He scans for any serious wounds with his wristcomp. Cuts and bruises, some rather large, but nothing dangerous, as far as he can see, and good vital signs. He sighs with relief.
He turns the scanner on himself. There seems to be no serious damage — plenty of shallow cuts, extensive bruising, and the bump on the back of his head is still trickling blood, but nothing he can’t cope with. He turns back to Rose.
“Rose? Rose, wake up, sweetheart.” He gently squeezes her shoulder. She doesn’t react. He rolls her in a stable position on her side for now. Won’t hurt her to get a bit more rest. He needs to find the Doctor.
He looks around, desperately searching for any trace of a black leather jacket. “Doctor? Doc-” He starts coughing, coughs up dust and phlegm, but, to his relief, no blood. He swipes some saliva around in his mouth, swallows it, then tries again. “Doctor?”
There’s a banging sound, somewhat behind and to the left of him. Like rock banging on rock. He pushes himself to his feet — slowly, painfully — and follows the sound. Behind some boulders, he spots a familiar form. The Doctor is lying flat on his stomach, covered in dust and ashes. He’s banging a small rock on the ground with his left, his head turning from side to side in a clearly painful movement.
Sheer relief gives Jack the strength to run the last few paces and fall down on his knees next to his lover. “Doctor!” He plants a kiss on the Time Lord’s cheek. “Doctor, are you hurt?”
When all he gets in reply is a strangled sound halfway between sob and snort, he corrects himself. “Sorry, stupid question. Where are you hurt?”
Another strangled sound. The Doctor’s trying to push himself upright with his left hand, but failing.
“Steady. Just stay still for a moment, let me scan you.” But the Doctor keeps up his frantic motions. Jack runs the scan anyway, and curses under his breath. He carefully grabs the Doctor’s shoulders — his lover groans in pain — and ever-so-gently rolls him onto his back. He gasps. “Oh, shit.”
The Doctor’s face is battered almost beyond recognition — bruised, swollen, and covered in cuts. His neck and what Jack can see of his chest through the holes in his jumper also seem badly cut. The scan showed a jumble of “damage” readings, but seeing it like this is nauseating.
The Doctor makes another strangled sound, moving his left arm desperately. Jack takes his hand, and the Doctor squeezes it, an urgent keening sound coming from his bloody and swollen lips.
“It’s all right. Don’t try to talk. Your larynx is pretty seriously bruised. Can you hear me? Do you understand what I‘m saying?”
To his immeasurable relief, the Doctor nods. But he keeps making the strangled noise, which Jack is beginning to think sounds like a question.
“Rose? Is that what you’re asking?”
Another hasty nod.
“She’s okay. Unconscious still, but fine. Good vitals, no serious wounds.” Jack tears off a corner of his shirt and starts gently wiping the Doctor’s face. “I’m mostly fine, too. Cuts and bruises, nothing too bad. I’m more worried about you.”
The Doctor shakes his head, gesturing to his face.
“Yeah, I’m trying to get the blood and grime off of your — oh, fucking hell.” Jack has finally managed to uncover the Doctor’s eyes — and they are staring at him blankly, unseeing. He swallows. “Can you see anything? Light and dark?”
A short shake of the head. The Doctor sets his jaw tightly.
Jack runs the scan again, focusing it on the Doctor’s eyes this time. But the readings are confusing — he’s not a medic, what medical knowledge he has only really applies to humans, and the scanner is useless on Time Lord brains, which apparently have very different energy patterns than human ones. At least he’s relatively sure there’s no physical damage to the eyes themselves.
“All right. It’s okay. It’s probably just the aftershock. You must have been hit on the head pretty hard.” Or it could be something much worse. But he can’t think about that. Not like there’s anything he can do right now, except get them all to safety. “Soon as we can get you to the TARDIS, I’ll check you over. I’m sure the TARDIS can fix it.” She has to. She just has to. There are no medical facilities to speak of on this planet, and the Doctor’s the only one who can fly the TARDIS. If they can’t heal this body, the only option would be — no. He can’t even think about that. He won’t lose the Doctor. He needs him. Needs this Doctor.
Of course, that leaves the problem of how to get everyone back to the TARDIS in the first place. They left it near the village where they first landed. When the villagers told them of the dragon in the mountains, they hadn’t been able to resist. They’d hiked up here, making camp once — an easy one-and-a-half-day hike for three healthy adults, bit of a laugh and an adventure, even. But getting back down in their current state — and having lost most of their kit — is a completely different matter. And the Doctor told the villagers very clearly not to come looking for them. He was worried the “dragon” might turn out to be something much worse. Which it did. A pair of Frexnorenians, sitting on a clutch of over a hundred eggs. If they hadn’t taken them out when they did, this whole planet would have been overrun within a few years.
Jack is still wiping the Doctor’s face gently, talking to him reassuringly. He’s realized by now that the Doctor’s right arm must be broken — he’s not moving it at all and it’s lying at a strange angle. The scanner showed extensive damage, but the Doctor’s lower body temperature must have thrown off the bone scan. He’ll really need to get the Doctor to help him calibrate it for Time Lord physiology when all this is over. “We’ll find a splint for your arm, then we just have to get back down the mountain, yeah? It will be all right.”
Another energetic shake of the head, and the Doctor is making more desperate sounds. He’s clearly trying to tell him something.
“All right. Wait.” Jack carefully picks up the Doctor’s left hand and places it on his temple. “Right. Go on, then. What is it?” He doing his best to sound soothing, sure. He really doesn’t want the Doctor to come into his mind right now and see the true extent of his panic, but he can’t think of any other way to communicate.
Slowly, hesitantly, he feels another presence approaching his mind. The moment it makes contact, Jack recoils with a strangled scream. The Doctor’s pain and fear on top of his own are too much.
The Doctor snatches his hand back with a hiss. His face is a mask of worry and regret. He shyly reaches for Jack’s hand and squeezes it gently in apology.
Goddammit, pull yourself together, Harkness, Jack scolds himself. He takes the Doctor’s hand and puts it back on his temple.
The Time Lord shakes his head determinedly.
“No, it’s all right. Wasn’t prepared before. I am now.” He waits, but nothing happens. “Really, go ahead.” When there’s still nothing beyond a small tremble in the fingers he’s pressing to his temple, he makes a conscious effort to sharpen his tone. “We haven’t got all day, Doctor. We need to get going. Use as much daylight as we can.”
The Doctor sighs, and his presence slides into Jack’s mind even more gently and slowly than the first time. He’s holding back, Jack can tell. Probably shielding Jack from as much of his pain and emotions as he can, just allowing enough contact to communicate. And something’s off, as well. They don’t use telepathy very often, Jack still not being all the comfortable with it, but he knows that the Doctor’s presence feels different somehow. Somewhat — fuzzy. Out of focus. He’s not sure how to describe it. Could it be a side effect of the shielding?
The Doctor’s voice sounds weak and tinny in his head. Jack — you have to leave me here.
Well, that’s an easy one. “Not a chance. Forget it.” He replies verbally to put as little strain as possible on the link.
Have to get yourself to safety. And Rose.
Jack’s beginning to suspect that the strange quality of the Doctor’s presence is a symptom of something — panic, pain, or simply the blow to the head — clouding his judgment. Why else would he make such an irrational suggestion? His wounds aren’t even life-threatening. Not unless the blindness means- Again, he stops that train of thought.
“I’m not leaving you. And she won’t, either. We’re going back to the TARDIS together.” He rests a hand on the Time Lord’s chest.
But-
“No ‘but’s.” He gently rubs his hand in small circles. “It will be okay. I will make sure we all get out of this in one piece. Just trust me.”
Rose… hurt. Get her back.
They really have no time for discussions. Jack decides to fight dirty. “And then what? I get her to the TARDIS and we live out our lives there? You’re the only one who can fly her, Doctor.”
Emergency… programs…. One for her — Jackie. Several for you — places you like. Your choice.
Jack gulps. The Doctor has done that for them? And never even mentioned it? That’s definitely something they’ll have to discuss if — when they’re all stronger again.
For now, he remembers his training. He was a Time Agency captain, has led many missions. He can do this. He takes a deep breath and collects himself, slipping into the mindset of a commanding officer talking to subordinates. His tone brooks no argument. He’s used it to get through to panicked men and get them back to thinking rationally — or at least doing as they’re told — many times.
“Doctor. We are not leaving you behind. We will all make it back to the TARDIS.” He feels a glimmer of protest flaring up — and it seems sharper, more focused, than the Doctor’s presence has been so far. He presses on before the Doctor can set his objections to words. “This is not up for discussion, Doctor. Like it or not, right now I’m in charge.”
He almost expects objections, even feels a brief rearing up of the Doctor’s will — but then that gives way to something much calmer, more collected. Right then. The mental presence has taken on the familiar focus again, and the Doctor’s voice in his mind truly sounds like the Time Lord — somewhere between annoyance and amusement, and with a slightly sarcastic edge. What are your orders, sir?
Jack doesn’t react to the sarcasm. He’s finally got the Doctor back to where he needs him to be. Any wavering of his own self-assurance would only put that at risk. “Here’s the way it’s going to be: we’ll sort ourselves out, take care of the wounds as far as we can, just get ourselves mobile. Then we’ll set off down the mountain until we lose daylight — we should have a good few hours left. We make camp, rest a bit, and set out again tomorrow morning at first light. We should be able to make it back to the TARDIS by nightfall tomorrow.”
He feels a flicker of doubt and negation coming through the link. It’s getting weaker.
“All right, maybe the day after. No matter.” He takes a deep breath and changes the subject before the Doctor can object further. “I don’t want you using telepathy any more than you have to. No use exhausting you. So, tell me quickly — eyes, your right arm, your throat, obvious cuts and bruises. Any other injuries I need to know about?”
Ribs cracked — maybe broken. Legs okay. Walk. With a last flicker, the link slips out of Jack’s mind.
“Good.” That pretty much agrees with what he suspected from the scan, but it’s good to have it confirmed. He bends down and kisses the Doctor gently, reassuringly. “We’ll all make it back. No one’s being left behind.”
“Left behind? What’s that about?” Rose is suddenly by his side. She must have woken up and come looking for them. He’s been so focused on the Doctor he didn’t even notice.
“Nothing.” He turns to her, but keeps one hand resting on the Doctor’s left. “The Doctor’s in pretty bad shape. He thought it might be better-”
“We’re not leaving you here!” Rose’s voice is stern.
The Doctor nods acceptance, something on his lips that might be either resignation or pride — hard to tell with his face being so swollen and cut up.
Rose is looking him over fretfully. “What’s wrong with him, Jack?”
Jack quickly runs through a list of the injuries. “Nothing the TARDIS can’t fix,” he adds with absolute conviction in his voice. It’s conviction that he doesn’t feel; the blindness could be relatively harmless, but it could also be a symptom of a host of truly awful things — brain hemorrhage, nerve damage... But he wasn’t a conman for nothing. Rose smiles — Jack can see from the slight tremble of her lips that she’s being brave for their benefit; she squeezes the Doctor’s shoulder reassuringly. “Hear that? You’ll be fine.”
Jack turns to Rose again. “Rose — how are you? I checked you over earlier, but — does anything hurt? Any trouble breathing? Dizziness?
“My ankle. Hurts like hell, and it’s swollen. Other than that, I’m fine.”
Damn. Her ankle, of all things. When they have to hike down a mountain to get to safety. Jack would really prefer a broken wrist to a sprained ankle right now. But he just smiles reassuringly.
“All right. We need bandages. Your ankle, the Doctor’s arm and ribs, some of our cuts…” He sighs. “We have to prioritize. Only so many clothes we can rip up.”
The Doctor groans, and starts awkwardly rummaging in his right jacket pocket with his left hand.
“No, Doctor — lie still — Rose and I will…”
But the Time Lord shakes his head and continues his search. With an obviously painful movement, he pulls out a box and shoves it at Jack.
“A first-aid kit? How the hell did you… Never mind.” He opens it and, for the first time since before they found the nest, a genuine grin spreads over his face. “Fantastic.”
That gets him a small snort of amusement from the Doctor and a giggle from Rose. Things are looking up. The package contains bandages made from Purgatian silk — very thin, but incredibly strong. Easily enough for all of them, even if they have to change them a few times. There’s gauze, plasters and the 70th century version of iodine. The Doctor hands him the sonic screwdriver.
“Right! First aid setting. Which one was it… Rose?”
Rose shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”
The Doctor grunts and holds up his good hand. He holds up four fingers, then one, then two.
“Four-twelve?”
A nod.
“Understood.” Jack’s grin widens. Now they’re getting somewhere.
*****
It takes them about an hour to take care of the worst of it. Jack wraps the Doctor’s ribs and Roses ankle tightly — she’ll be able to walk with the help of a sturdy stick, but it’s going to slow them down. The Doctor can indeed walk, but needs to be led, so it’s not like they were ever going to be particularly fast, anyway. He himself is in relatively good shape — Rose insists on cleaning and bandaging the wound at the back of his head, and dabbing some iodine on the cuts on his face. Teases when he flinches. He complains and flinches more, on purpose. Let her laugh at him, long as she’s laughing.
Finally, they start the slow trek down the mountain. No, they won’t make it by tomorrow night. The evening of the day after, if they’re lucky. Thankfully, there’s a small mountain brook that runs along the path. The water is cool and clean, so dehydration won’t be a problem. There are a few late berries left on some of the scrubby bushes — if he doesn’t eat, it’ll probably be enough for the other two. And he still has his blaster, which is fully loaded and undamaged, so he’s not too worried about the local wildlife — according to the natives, there are no large animals in the mountains anyway, except the “dragon.” Morale is really the biggest problem right now. As long as he can keep that up, he’ll get them home.
Rose is hobbling along deftly, leaning on her stick. The Doctor is holding onto Jack’s arm, tightly enough for Jack to know how distressing this is for the Time Lord. It’s not the pain, Jack is almost certain — it’s the utter dependence on them. Normally, wherever they go, the Doctor is in charge. They are both capable adults, and he listens to them, but when it comes down to it, the Doctor calls the shots. As much as he trusts Jack — and Jack knows that he does — being led like a child, and not even able to communicate unless critically necessary, must be hell for him. Jack is very careful to keep his steps sure and confident, his posture upright. If he’s doubting himself in any way, the Doctor’s not going to know about it.
*****
He’s holding Jack’s arm too tightly. He knows he is. He’s tried to relax his hand several times now, but every time he does, he steps on a pebble or his foot catches on a fallen twig for a moment and he finds himself grabbing Jack even harder. He knows he’s hurt Jack several times by now — if his arm wasn’t bruised before, it certainly is now. And Jack is almost certainly battered from the explosion already — he hasn’t said anything, but the Doctor can feel his movements are lacking their usual easy grace. But Jack hasn’t complained once, hasn’t given as much as a hiss of pain. He’s just by his side, strong and sure, guiding him confidently down the steep path.
Incredibly, Jack and Rose are even keeping up a light banter. They are commenting on funny-looking rock formations (which Jack has a knack for describing in such a way that, even though he can’t see them, he has to grin), exchanging stories of hikes they’ve taken before (when he has his voice back, he’ll have to ask Jack if he really crossed the Gorishian planes naked — twice), and teasing each other and him — gently, ever so gently, neither one of them forgetting for a moment that he can’t defend himself right now.
He hates being this useless. Jack and Rose might have all kinds of injuries they haven’t told him about. He wouldn’t put it past them to play down their wounds to avoid worrying him. He’s the last Time Lord. The Oncoming Storm. He’s supposed to protect his companions, take care of them. It’s his job to make them better, dammit, and instead they have to lead him around like a child. Here he is, completely and utterly useless, and — he tries loosening his grip on Jack’s arm once more, but tightens it again almost immediately when his foot slips on a patch of wet ground — actively making things worse.
If anything happens right now, there’s nothing he can do to help. Worse, they’d try to protect him, possibly get hurt in the process. He’s a liability. Maybe he should have insisted that they go without him. Except there’s no way they would have. Stubborn bloody apes never do as they’re told.
If he didn’t have such good mental control he might have to describe himself as terrified — but he’s not, of course. Just slightly nervous. Perfectly understandable, under the circumstances.
But, as much as he wishes he could take care of their problems rather than adding to them, he has to admit that if he has to be in this state, there are no other two people in the universe he would choose to be helpless and slightly nervous with.
*****
Damn, her ankle hurts. And her right leg is beginning to cramp, too, from having to carry most of her weight. Rose grits her teeth and keeps moving. Stealing a sidelong glance at the Doctor, she feels guilty for even pitying herself. At least she can see where she’s going.
“-and we were running through the forest, the monkeys right behind us,” Jack continues his story.
“And were you naked that time, too?” Rose teases, making sure to keep her voice upbeat.
Jack chuckles. “Oh, did I not mention what we had been doing when the monkeys surprised us?”
She giggles, and sees a small smile play around the Doctor’s lips. She has no idea which of Jack’s stories are true, which are exaggerated, and which are simply fabrications, but it doesn’t matter right now. They’re funny, and, unless she’s much mistaken, they’re all that’s stopping the Doctor from brooding too much, all that’s allowing him to keep going.
She knows they are for her.
*****
Jack keeps watching his two companions worriedly. Rose is visibly flagging. The Doctor is stoically putting one foot in front of the other, but the tension in his lines is becoming more and more pronounced. Jack glances at the sky. Dusk is just beginning to fall — they probably have about an hour of daylight left. He could keep walking straight through the night if he had to, and the Doctor would probably keep up with him out of sheer stubbornness if nothing else, but Rose is going to need a break soon. He sighs. No point in pushing her to where she’ll be completely stiff tomorrow, or her ankle swollen too badly to carry any weight at all. He wishes he had an ice pack or something — cooling it might help. Maybe a wet cloth at least? The brook water is cool. Of course, that’s not a long-term solution either, but for a little while, just to get the worst of the swelling down, it should be all right. And she needs to elevate the ankle, too. Jack decides to make camp at the next suitable opportunity.
It doesn’t take him long to spot a number of rocks forming a rough semi-circle near the bank of the brook. That’s probably as good as it’s going to get. The rocks will give them at least some shelter, and they can probably find enough dry wood in the underbrush to keep a small fire going. The shrubbery might also yield some berries. “Let’s make camp here,” he suggests.
He can see from the Doctor’s face that he’s about to protest — well, shake his head determinedly at least — but Rose’s loud sigh of relief makes the Time Lord nod instead. Jack carefully helps him to sit on one of the bigger rocks, then sits next to him. He’ll rest a few minutes before he starts worrying about food and firewood.
Rose sinks down across from them, stretching her legs with a grunt. She must be in a lot of pain. The first-aid kit only contains some mild painkillers. She starts rubbing her right leg. Damn, it must be cramping.
“Want a massage, sweetie?” Jack asks, carefully keeping any trace of innuendo out of his voice. This is not the time.
“Oh God, yes, please.” She smiles at him gratefully.
Jack kneels next to her and starts massaging her leg, foot to thigh. “I’m sorry this is so hard, Rose.”
She shrugs. “Not your fault.”
He keeps rubbing and kneading her leg for a good ten minutes, until Rose bats him off and complains that it tickles. Good. The muscles must have started to relax then. He takes a cloth from the first aid kit and soaks it in water, then helps Rose to remove her shoe and sock — not a good idea to get those wet — and wraps it around her left ankle. “Just leave it there for a while. And put your foot up on that other rock — keep it elevated if you can.” She nods, biting her lips hard. He drops a quick kiss on her forehead, silently communicating admiration of her bravery. Then he sits back down next to the Doctor and slips an arm around him. “Are you okay?”
He gets a grim nod in reply. The Doctor’s face is turned away. Jack carefully takes hold of his chin and turns it towards him, pressing a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. He tries to deepen it, but the Doctor pulls back. “What’s wrong? Did I do anything?”
The Doctor shakes his head resolutely, then points at himself with his good hand.
“You did something?” Jack has no idea what the Doctor is on about.
The Doctor’s hand glides up Jack’s arm slowly, coming to rest right above his elbow, where he’s been holding on to him while they were walking. The area is very badly bruised by now — the Doctor has a grip like a vice, and being sightless made him nervous enough to hold on much too tightly. But Jack is well aware that it wasn’t intentional; it hadn’t occurred to him to be angry. The flesh is sore, but he can deal with it. Still, when the Doctor starts rubbing very gentle little circles, Jack has to control himself to avoid a hiss of pain.
The Doctor notices him stiffening and draws his hand back hastily. He makes a helpless gesture.
Jack smiles. “What, that’s what you’re worried about? It’s just a bruise.”
The Doctor’s face darkens and he turns away again.
Jack understands. The Doctor has a deep-rooted fear of hurting the ones he loves. Hardly surprising, after Gallifrey. In fact, the Doctor’s probably blaming himself for them getting injured in the first place, and for not being in any condition to help them now. Causing a physical injury, however minor, by his own hand on top of everything else must make him feel like complete scum. Jack exchanges a glance with Rose, who shrugs helplessly.
Jack decides that this is not the time for deep conversations. “Well,” he says, putting a lot of pout into his voice, “now you’re being epically unfair.”
The Doctor turns back, his brow creased in confusion.
Jack continues, doing his best to sound like a whiney three-year-old. “First you bruise my elbow to a deep purple, which is so not my color” — a snort from Rose, and a slight twitch at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth — “and then you won’t even kiss it better!” He whimpers as unconvincingly as he can. “’s not fair!”
Rose is giggling now, and the Doctor’s grinning. The famous Harkness charm has scored again. The Doctor leans closer and kisses Jack’s upper arm — not anywhere near the bruise, but Jack’ll take it — then he tilts his face up, inviting Jack to claim his spoils.
Jack doesn’t doubt for a moment that the Doctor sees through his diversion, but that doesn’t stop him from covering his lover’s mouth with his. The kiss is long, and tender, and just a little heated, and that thing they say about endorphins being a natural painkiller is absolutely true.
With a broad grin, Jack breaks the kiss. “Better now?”
The Doctor snorts and squeezes his knee gently.
“Yeah, I love you too.” He knows his grin is audible in his voice, even though the Doctor can’t see it. Jack glances at Rose, who’s smiling at the scene warmly. “You both stay here. I’ll see if I can find us some edible berries.” He heads into the shrubbery.
It doesn’t take him long to find several bushes with a scarce covering of strangely-shaped orange berries — they remind him a little of the “jelly babies” he found in an old coat in the wardrobe room once. An old Earth delicacy, apparently.
He scans the berries with his wrist comp. Yep, definitely edible for humans and Time Lords. Excellent. He takes off his shirt and folds it into a makeshift pouch, then gathers as many of the berries as he can find. After a moment’s thought, he takes one and pops it, smearing the juice all around his mouth. Yeah, that should make it look as if he’s eaten.
He goes back to the rocks and puts down the berries. “Here, I found some. They’re really good. Safe, too — scanned them. You two go ahead and eat, I’ll get some firewood.” The Doctor makes a gesture and Rose looks at him sharply.
“Wait — you need to eat, too!”
“Oh, I already did while picking them. Sorry. Was too hungry to wait.” He makes a point of looking slightly guilty. “So I’ll go and get wood now,” he presses on quickly. “The screwdriver has a setting that lights fires, right?” Before the Doctor even has a chance to nod, he continues. “Great. Fantastic. I’ll be right back. Enjoy the berries.” He slips back into the bushes. It occurs to him that the outer casing of the first-aid kit is probably watertight — they can use that to heat some water from the stream tomorrow morning, use some of the leaves from the berry bushes to make a semblance of tea. He hopes the night won’t get too cold.
Collecting dry wood isn’t much of a problem. There are plenty of broken-off twigs and branches. Nothing big, but he’ll just have to go and get more when this runs out. And apart from small birds and something that looks vaguely like green rodents, there are no signs of any wildlife. They should make it through the night okay.
Jack’s stomach growls; biting hunger makes him feel nauseous. He goes to the brook and drinks several handfuls of water, telling himself that it helps. A day or two without food is nothing. He’s gone much longer than that. He returns to the others.
“All right, this wood should last us for a bit, and I can always get more, it’s all over. Also, there’s a somewhat secluded area about thirty feet in that direction” — he points — “so, Rose, if you need to pee or anything — well, it’d be a good spot. Doctor, I’ll show you if you need to…” He suddenly becomes aware that they are both staring at him. Well, Rose is staring. The Doctor has his face turned in his direction, a very intent expression on his face. “Errrr… is something the matter?”
Rose is looking at him accusingly. “How many berries did you eat?”
What? Are they calling him greedy, after all the trouble he-? “Not that many,” he says, hating how defensive he sounds.
Her expression darkens. Jack realizes he’s made a mistake. They weren’t accusing him of taking more than his share. Of course they weren’t. He still automatically assumes that people will expect the worst of him, but those two never have. They’ve seen right through him.
“Ummm… I mean, a fair few, but not…” He can feel himself blushing. Damn, that’s not supposed to happen.
“You didn’t eat any, did you?” Rose sounds accusatory and sorry at the same time.
The Doctor has a deep frown on his face, and his attention is still completely focused on Jack.
Jack tries a shrug. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Rose doesn’t even dignify that with an answer; she just shakes her head. The Doctor raises a hand and stretches it out towards Jack commandingly. Jack hesitates. He can see the Doctor is not happy with him, and of course he could easily side-step or ignore him right now, but what kind of a coward would that make him? Using his lover’s injuries to deny the man the chance to vent his anger? Hardly. With a sigh, he takes the hand.
The Doctor pulls him close, then pats the rock next to himself. Jack sits. To his surprise, the Time Lord doesn’t establish telepathic contact. He must be even more exhausted than he looks. Instead, the Doctor very deliberately places a hand on Jack’s neck. He feels around for a moment, apparently looking for injuries, then he carefully but firmly grabs Jack’s neck between his thumb and forefinger and shakes him — it’s gentle, but a clear reprimand.
“I’m an idiot?” Jack guesses.
The Doctor nods. He takes his hand off Jack’s neck and starts rummaging through his pockets. He produces a banana and several energy bars and holds them up for both of them to see.
“Oh! I didn’t know you had food! Should have thought to ask!” Jack takes one of the energy bars, but the Doctor snatches it back. Jack looks at him in confusion. “Um…?”
With a smirk, the Doctor hands Jack the banana. Jack chuckles. “I’m a stupid ape?”
The Doctor nods and grins.
“Right. Admitted. Can I have an energy bar anyway? You know I hate bananas.”
The grin widens and the Doctor shakes his head. He indicates the banana with a nod.
Jack sighs. “So I have to eat a banana as my punishment for not eating the berries?”
The Doctor nods, and Jack makes a face.
Rose laughs. “Aw, come on Jack, take it like a man.”
Jack sticks his tongue out at her, but obediently starts peeling the banana. It’s not like he really hates them, anyway. They are one of his least favorite fruits — the texture is just weird — but he doesn’t mind them nearly as much as he likes to pretend, and they both know that. Still, he makes sure to grumble and complain a lot while he eats it. The grins and chuckles from his friends are worth it.
When he’s done, the Doctor hands him an energy bar, tosses another one to Rose, and starts opening one for himself.
“Wait,” Rose says. “Shouldn’t we keep those for tomorrow?”
The Doctor pats his pocket.
“Oh, you have more? All right then.” She opens hers.
“Eat it slowly, Rose,” Jack warns. “These are highly concentrated protein, carbs and nutrients. Make sure you chew carefully or they’ll wreak havoc on your digestive system.”
She nods in understanding, and they eat in companionable silence for a while.
It’s starting to get chilly, so Jack uses the sonic screwdriver to start a small fire. “I’ll take the first watch,” he says.
Rose snorts. “Like hell you will.”
He looks at her, surprised.
“Oh, just because you’re planning on being an idiot again doesn’t mean the rest of us are. If we let you take the first watch you’ll just stay up all through the night and let us sleep.”
Dammit. Caught. They really do know him too well. That thought makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He sends Rose a sheepish smile. “Fair cop.”
Rose continues. “I’ll take the first watch.” She turns to the Doctor. “Are you taking one? I know you can’t see, but it’s dark anyway, so I s’ppose it’s more of a ‘listen’ than a ‘watch’…” The Doctor nods.
“Right. So I go first, you go second, and our Captain Martyr over there can get up early for a change.”
Jack chuckles and raises his hands in surrender. “As my Queen commands.” The Doctor flicks his ear for that, making them all laugh. It’s amazing how being together like this is so much fun even under the circumstances.
The Doctor carefully slides down from the rock, stretches out near the fire and pats his upper thigh. Jack smiles and beds his head on it.
Rose pouts. “Should have remembered to bring a pillow, too.”
Jack grins up at her. He pats the Doctor’s other thigh. “When your watch is over, you can have the other half of mine,” he offers generously. The Doctor chuckles and smiles at Rose invitingly.
Jack tries to keep his eyes open for a while, just to make sure that Rose really is okay taking the watch, but he’s warm and comfortable, the Doctor’s carding his fingers through his hair soothingly, and before long, the exhaustion of the day overtakes him.
*****
Three hours, twelve minutes and sixteen seconds have passed when Rose wakes the Doctor. Damn, he’d meant to wake up and relieve her after two, but his exhaustion and the pain from the injuries must have dulled his time sense.
“Sorry,” she whispers, “I’m not sure how long it’s been, but it seemed long enough…”
He nods emphatically.
“Good.” She yawns. “’cause I really don’t think I could stay awake any longer.”
Jack has shifted around in the night. His head is now resting on the Doctor’s chest. Convenient. He carefully pushes himself up with his good arm and scoots backwards a little, trying not to dislodge Jack. Very slowly, he manages to move back until he’s leaning against a rock, Jack’s head bedded on his thigh again. Jack’s beginning to move and seems on the verge of waking up, but the Doctor puts his hand on his cheek and strokes it gently with his thumb, and Jack curls up against him, mumbling softly.
“Awww… you two are adorable,” Rose whispers warmly. Normally, that’d get her an “Oi,” but firstly he can’t speak right now, and secondly, he suspects she’s right. He hopes she can’t see him blushing in the low light from the fire. She takes his hand and presses something rectangular into it. “Water, if you’re thirsty. I used the first aid kit container as a pot.”
He smiles at her gratefully. She shouldn’t have dragged herself to the brook with that ankle. Could have hurt herself worse. Another thing he should be taking care of, another way in which he’s failing them. He sips some of the clean, cool water, then hands it back to her. Remembering Jack’s earlier promise, he pats his free thigh and smiles at her. One thing he can do, at least.
Rose giggles and lies down, resting her cheek on his thigh, facing his knee. “Y’know, you’re really quite good as a Time Lord, but as a pillow you’re incredible,” she teases. He very gently pulls a strand of her hair, earning himself another giggle — which quickly becomes a yawn. “’G’night.” Rose mumbles. He squeezes her shoulder, but can tell from the sound of her breathing that she’s already nodded off. Poor Rose. This must be so exhausting for her. He hates being mute and blind, but at least he can walk unencumbered. And she’s being so brave. He told her once he only takes the best. She’s certainly proof of that.
He settles in to listen to the sounds of the night. He’ll wake Jack up come morning. There’s no need for the lad to take a watch. He’s a Time Lord, he doesn’t need much sleep. And Jack, while the least injured — though probably worse off than he’ll admit — is carrying the biggest burden here. The Doctor knows only too well what it’s like to have the sole responsibility for the well-being of those one loves. It’s his burden, and he should be carrying it, but he knows that while he’s incapacitated, he can trust Jack to shoulder his responsibilities.
This thought surprises him. He can’t remember the last time he was willing to just rely on someone else. Certainly not a human. But the more he thinks about it, the more he finds that despite all the vagaries of the situation, he doesn’t doubt for a moment that Jack will get them out of this all right. He promises himself to make it as easy as possible on him by being supportive and not stubborn. Well, not unless it’s about something really important.
*****
Jack wakes up with the Doctor’s tongue in his mouth. This is his favorite way to wake up — well, one of them, and probably the only one appropriate in front of a 21st century teenager. He’s returning the kiss before he’s even fully awake, and by the time he opens his eyes, there’s already a nice puddle of heat in his stomach combating the early morning chill.
Morning? Damn. They went and let him sleep through. He breaks the kiss and pushes against the Doctor’s shoulder with a growl. “You were supposed to wake me!”
The Doctor shrugs, his smile unapologetic.
Jack shakes his head, then realizes his lover can’t see that. “So it’s all right for you to be a martyr, just not me?” Damn it. Why won’t the Time Lord realize Jack is in charge now? If the other two don’t abide by his orders, he can’t guarantee the success of the mission. “Why can’t you do as you’re told for once in your life?” he snaps.
At this moment, Rose emerges from the bushes, fiddling with her belt with one hand and leaning on her stick with the other. She looks at him in concern. “Something wrong?”
“I was supposed to take a watch, too, remember?” He’s trying very hard not to yell at her. She woke the Doctor, it’s not her fault that he didn’t wake him.
Rose’s eyes widen and she looks back and forth between them. “Well… the Doctor doesn’t need that much sleep,” she offers.
Jack knows he’s overreacting due to the stress. The Doctor wanted to make things easier on him. But how is he expected to be in charge if they won’t fucking do as he-
The Doctor puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack looks back at him. He’s stricken by the Time Lord’s expression — guilty, confused, and, scariest of all, deeply insecure.
Jack mentally slaps himself. What is he doing? He can’t expect military discipline from the other two because, for all that the Doctor has fought in a war, neither of them has ever been in the armed forces. The Time Lord meant well. What he did was really no different from what Jack tried to do with the berries. Seeing how the Doctor can go for weeks without sleep under normal circumstances, his was probably the more reasonable sacrifice.
He covers the Doctor’s hand with his and squeezes it gently. “God, I’m sorry. Ignore me.”
The Doctor remains focused on him. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. His hand rests heavily on Jack’s shoulder.
“I… it’s really not important. I was out of line.”
Another squeeze to his shoulder, but otherwise the Doctor’s pose doesn’t change.
Jack sighs. He’s not getting out of this without an explanation. “It’s just… I’m thinking about this too much like an Agency mission, all right? But… fact is, you don’t have to do as I say. And I had no right to snap at you.”
Something shifts on the Doctor’s face. The confusion is gone, replaced by deep understanding and honest regret. The Doctor lowers his head. He slides his hand down Jack’s arm until he finds his hand, and then slowly brings it up to his own neck and holds it there, mimicking his own gesture from last night.
Jack gulps. The gesture is clear. An acknowledgment that he’s in charge, that the Doctor was wrong to go against him. It’s the last thing he ever thought he’d get from the Doctor. Not defeat — voluntary submission. To receive this much trust from the most powerful being he’s ever met is humbling. And terrifying.
He scoots closer and wraps the Doctor into his arms, leaning his forehead against his. The Doctor slides his good arm around Jack’s waist and holds on tight. Jack gestures to Rose and she joins the group hug. “We’ll get through this,” Jack states, absolute confidence in his voice. “Together. All right?”
A determined “yeah,” from Rose and a nod from the Doctor.
“And — I guess I have to be in charge, considering…”
They both nod.
“But don’t let me get away with being stupid, all right?” He tightens his hold on them both. “And don’t let me treat you wrong.”
“Like you even could,” Rose says, and the absolute trust in her eyes humbles Jack even further. God, what did he ever do to deserve such friends? And can he live up to their faith in him?
The Doctor leans in and claims his lips in a kiss that says much more than words. He’s forgiven for snapping at the Doctor. He’s understood. He’s supported.
When Jack returns the kiss, it’s a promise not to disappoint their trust in him.
*****
Rose watches her two best friends with a smile. She didn’t understand why Jack was so angry at first, but now she does. Jack is fulfilling the Doctor’s role — he’s their leader right now. And just as the Doctor expects them to do as he says in a crisis, so does Jack. Not because he doesn’t trust them to make their own decisions, but because he needs to be able to rely on them.
She promises herself that she won’t make it harder on him. She’ll clench her teeth and do as he says, pain and exhaustion notwithstanding. This must be difficult for Jack, and the last thing she wants is to make it harder. She briefly wonders what it feels like to have the responsibility for the lives of others. With a shudder, she realizes she’d rather not find out.
*****
They’re making good time this morning. The rest did Rose’s ankle good, and the Doctor seems more adjusted to his blindness. He’s still holding on to Jack very tightly, but his strides are longer and more confident.
The lower they get, the denser the vegetation becomes. There are more berries now, and even some small oblong fruits not unlike apples. When they rest at noon, they share some of those, and the Doctor passes out some more of the energy bars.
Jack looks at his and frowns. “Swap you?” he says to the Doctor.
The Doctor raises an eyebrow at him quizzically.
“Mine’s banana,” he explains.
Eagerly, the Doctor holds out his hand, and offers Jack his own bar — almond, Jack sees with relief.
Rose is giggling. “You really don’t like bananas, huh?”
“Nope,” Jack says. Then he grins. “Well, not for eating.”
“What else would you do with a…” Her eyes widen. “You aren’t serious!”
“What do you think?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“But — God, didn’t your parents teach you not to play with your food?” Rose’s face is turning pink, but she’s still giggling.
“Bananas aren’t food. That’s the point.”
The Doctor grunts at this disapprovingly — but Jack didn’t miss the very interested look on his face earlier. He chuckles.
“Fine. I won’t show you then.”
For a moment, the Doctor looks clearly disappointed. Then he catches himself, realizes what he’s done, and suddenly becomes very interested in his energy bar.
Jack and Rose exchange a grin. The Doctor’s too cute when he blushes.
“That time I went back to Villenguard to get a second blaster, and found that all that’s there now is a banana grove, I had a very interesting encounter with a Snerelian. See, Rose, what you must know is that Snerelians have three-“
He doesn’t know how the Doctor managed to move with such precision and speed without his sight, but he suddenly finds the Time Lord’s hand clamped firmly over his mouth. The Doctor’s ears are the same shade as the little oblong fruits.
Rose laughs. “Doctor, let him go. We’re all adults here.”
The Doctor shakes his head, but takes his hand off Jack’s mouth. Jack grins.
“I suppose that’s a story for another time, Rose. But would you like to hear a good — and entirely clean - one about the time I got stranded in the Bronze Age?”
Rose grins. “Yep.” She looks at him, considering. “And thank you.”
“What for?”
“Working so hard to keep our spirits up. Don’t think we don’t notice.” She slides closer and gives him a peck on the cheek. The Doctor squeezes his knee gently in agreement.
Now Jack’s the one to blush. “Aw — it’s nothing.”
“No, really, it’s amazing. It’s like nothing can bring you down.”
Suddenly, there’s a gust of wind, and a thunderclap in the distance. Jack flinches. “Oh Rose — I really wish you hadn’t said that.”
*****
The storm hits hard and fast, as storms in the mountains are wont to. They barely have time to crawl into a thicket of bushes surrounded by some trees — not a lot of shelter, but the best they can do under the circumstances.
The Doctor can feel Rose shivering next to him. He hugs her to himself tightly, as much as he can with one arm. He doesn’t have much body heat to give, of course, but he can at least serve as insulation. He feels Jack hugging her from the other side, and slides his hand up until it comes to rest on Jack’s neck. He’s much colder than he should be.
Jack leans into the touch. It’s a very small comfort. The Doctor wishes he could hold him like he’s holding Rose, but they both know she needs it more.
“So — w-want to hear the story n-now?” One could almost buy the cheerfulness in Jack’s voice, if it weren’t for the stutter.
The Doctor slides his hand up to Jack’s cheek. He can feel his teeth chattering. Damn.
“W-well, I w-was on a m-m-mission with-”
The Doctor puts a finger over Jack’s lips and gently shakes his head.
“It’s a cl-clean s-story!” Jack protests.
He shakes his head again, rubbing his thumb tenderly over Jack’s cheek.
Rose leans her head against his shoulder. “D-don’t, Jack. S-save — breath. Heat.”
She’s right. Talking will only waste Jack’s energy and body heat. Not much point trying to keep up morale right now anyway. Huddled in a muddy clump, wet and freezing, nothing Jack says is going to make Rose feel anything but miserable. As for himself — well, he always loves listening to Jack’s stories, though he’d be damned before admitting that — but right now he’d rather Jack preserved his energy as much as possible. No telling how long this will take. No telling what state the humans will be in by the time it’s over. Their bodies are so fragile, so dependent on outside temperature. What if they-
He clamps down on the thought before it can form fully. Determinedly, he speeds up his metabolism. He has more control over it than humans do; he can bring up his body temperature a few degrees, give off a bit more heat to share. If it can help his friends, even a little, it’s worth the stress on his own system.
He listens to the rain and the wind. They show no sign of abating. He pulls his companions closer and settles in for a long wait.
*****
The storm rages on all day. By the time the rain and wind finally die down, dusk is falling.
Jack curses under his breath. Navigating the steep mountain path in the dark, while it’s still slick from the rain, is really not a good idea — especially with Rose’s ankle and the Doctor’s blindness. And his own limbs are stiff with cold and pain. He barely managed to uncurl his legs when he crawled out of the thicket. He’s sure it’s as bad for the others. But there’s no choice.
“All right then, guys, let’s get moving,” Jack says, false cheer in his voice.
Rose looks at him, shocked. “What? In the dark?”
“Can’t rest now, Rose,” he says gently. “Not while we’re cold and wet. It’s going to be a cold night. And everything’s drenched — we can’t even light a fire. If we fall asleep now, there’s a good chance we won’t wake up. Or wake up too weak to get up again.”
She looks from him to the Doctor, who nods.
“I — I don’t think I can…” she confesses.
He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her forehead. “You can and you will. Come on.” He takes the hand not holding the stick and tugs her forward gently. The Doctor grabs his elbow again, and they start their slow limp down the path.
*****
Rose is wearing the Doctor’s jacket — he pressed it on her shortly after the storm started. It’s still partly dry on the inside, and it keeps out the wind. But it also adds quite a bit of weight to her burden. And Jack is just as cold as she is — probably more, seeing how he went through it all in a T-shirt and a denim vest, and, unlike her, not in the middle of their huddle. She really thinks she should give it to him. Or give it back to the Doctor.
She will, too. Just as soon as she feels a bit warmer. Just a little.
Her limbs are heavy, and she can barely put one foot in front of the other. The one upside is that she’s too cold to really feel the pain in her ankle anymore.
The cold feels almost like a physical presence. It’s holding her in its grasp, making every movement a torturous effort. The shaking adds a tearing pain, and she thinks her teeth are about to rattle out of her body. With every step, it gets worse.
Finally, she can’t keep moving anymore. She just can’t. She doesn’t care about hypothermia anymore, she doesn’t care about the TARDIS. She sinks down to her knees, sits on the cold, wet ground. She doesn’t care about the mud anymore, either. She just needs to rest.
*****
Rose slowly sinks to her knees, then sits in the mud. Has she hurt herself? Jack feels his heart skip a beat. “Rose? Rose, are you okay?” He kneels by her side, looking her over. No obvious injuries, but her eyes are vacant, staring straight ahead.
The Doctor went down on his haunches when Jack knelt, not releasing his hold on his elbow; he’s making an urgent questioning noise.
“I don’t know,” Jack says in reply to the assumed question. “She just sat down.” He focuses his attention back on Rose. “Rose? Rose, sweetheart, you need to get up.”
She shakes her head silently.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jack can feel bile and panic rising in his throat.
No reaction beyond a flicker of annoyance. He scans her with his wristcomp. The Doctor looks up sharply at its beep, but the readout is useless. “Can’t tell anything except that she’s too cold and her ankle’s hurt. It doesn’t show anything new, but — well, the cold alone could throw it off, never mind the exhaustion. The wristcomp is only calibrated as a level one medscan — first aid stuff, not advanced diagnostics.”
The Doctor lets go of Jack, rummages in his pocket, and shoves the screwdriver at Jack, gesturing at Rose.
“What? You’ve got a higher-level medscan in there?”
The Doctor nods. He indicates three — the scanner’s level, Jack supposes. Still nothing compared to the sophisticated equipment in the TARDIS, but a damn sight better than what he has. Why didn’t the Doctor mention this earlier?
Jack grunts. “What setting?” The Doctor indicates four-eleven and Jack adjust the screwdriver to that. Then he slowly runs it over Rose. It beeps, which tells him nothing. “Now what?”
The Doctor takes the screwdriver and slides open a small panel Jack never knew was there. There’s a little display underneath, showing what Jack assumes must be Rose’s test results. In Gallifreyan. Bloody great.
“Yeah, this is not really helpful — pretty swirl, irregular swirl, double swirl with diagonal line — this doesn’t tell me any more than your goddamn post-its.” Frustration makes his tone sharper than is warranted.
The Doctor puts his hand on Jack’s temple and cocks his head. It’s a silent request for permission.
Jack takes a few deep breaths, trying to relax and bury the feelings he doesn’t want the Time Lord to see — the panic, the frustration, the anger at himself and the whole situation, and, yes, even at Rose and the Doctor. As unfair as it is. He’d much rather avoid telepathic contact right now, but maybe the Doctor can explain to him how to interpret the read-out. Maybe it’s a pretty straightforward either-or thing, or there’s some specific kind of swirl he needs to look for. “Go ahead,” he says quietly.
The Doctor makes contact. Jack can see him physically flinch at the rush of jumbled emotions he must be receiving from him. Jack bites the inside of his cheek, trying to get his feelings under control. He thinks it’s working when a soothing warmth starts to spread within him, like balm spread over a wound. But then he realizes that’s not his.
“Don’t!” he grunts. The warmth disappears.
Sorry. Just wanted to help, the Doctor’s voice says in his mind.
“Yeah, don’t. You need to preserve your energy same as I do.” He’s trying not to sound angry. He hates mental interference, and the Doctor knows it. But the meddling was an instinctive reaction to his pain. The Doctor probably couldn’t help it any more than he can help holding Rose’s hand and stroking it gently. “So, what now?”
Need to see the display. See what’s wrong with Rose.
“Great plan. Gonna work really well, too, without eyesight and all.” Jack feels guilty at his own sarcasm. It’s not like he needs to remind the Doctor of his blindness. But his nerves are raw, and he hates having his mind messed with. He can’t help lashing out.
Jack feels a flicker of annoyance from the Doctor, and carefully controlled anger. The Doctor may be in worse physical shape than he is, but he has himself under much better control. But then, he’s not the one who has to hold this whole mess together.
Could look through your eyes. A pause. If you’ll let me.
“You can do that?” The more he learns about telepathy, the eerier he finds it.
‘course. No different than looking at a memory. Well… kinda different.
“Different how?” He can feel the Doctor’s not comfortable with the idea, either, which doesn’t exactly soothe his own misgivings.
It’s not just wandering through your mental space. It’s tapping into your optic nerve — actively taking over part of your body. Much more invasive, that. He hesitates. Could almost say violent. Anxiety floods the link. It’ll hurt. And you won’t be able to see while I’m doing it. Concern and apology, but a sense of urgency overriding both.
Jack grits his teeth. They need to know what’s wrong with Rose. She could be ill. In shock. Hypothermic — though it’s a good sign that she’s still shivering; that would stop if the cold had sucked all her energy. “How long?”
Just till I’ve read the display. Reckon I can do that in seventeen seconds or less.
Jack nods. “Do it.” He tries hard to fight down his instinctive terror at the thought. He’s not comfortable with telepathy under the best of circumstances, which these are not. But what he finds even scarier than the impending intrusion is the fact that all through their discussion, Rose has stared straight ahead, either not hearing or not reacting.
All right.
Ready?
Jack grits his teeth. “Yes. Get on with it.” He doesn’t want to have any more time to think about this too closely. There’s a cold wet lump in his throat as it is. He’s painfully aware that while his lips are saying “Yes,” his mind is screaming “No!” And he knows that for the Doctor, going into another’s mind without full consent is a grave taboo. But the situation is forcing both their hands.
The Time Lord squares his shoulders, both physically and mentally. Look at the display. Don’t blink.
Jack complies. He feels a sudden, sharp sting that seems to drill right through his skull. The world goes dark. He holds his breath and counts the seconds; the pain is intense enough to make that difficult. He’s at twelve when his sight returns and the sharp sting turns into a dull throb.
Nothing.
“What?”
Well, nothing new. Exhausted, of course, and her temperature’s lower than it should be, but no severe hypothermia, no injuries except the ankle, no poison, nothing. The Doctor shrugs. ‘S not physical.
“She’s just given up, then?” He feels both pity and anger welling up, and clamps down hard on both.
Yes.
Jack clenches his teeth. He knows what he’s going to have to do, and he doesn’t want the Doctor to talk him out of it. “Get out of my mind.”
The Doctor withdraws both his link and his hand instantly. The last thing Jack feels from him is a sense of loss and loneliness.
Jack takes his hand and holds it tightly. “I’m sorry. This is just… hard.”
The Doctor nods, and strokes the back of Jack’s hand with his thumb.
“No, don’t forgive me yet.” Jack sighs. “You’ll only want to take it back when I’m done with Rose.” This is going to be more than just hard. It’s something he’s always hated to do, and he sure as hell never wanted to do it to Rose. It’s going to kill him inside. But he knows from years of field experience that there’s only one way to get through to someone who’s given up and withdrawn into themselves like Rose has. He turns, takes her by the shoulders, and gives a short, sharp shake. “Rose! Snap out of it!”
Her eyes flicker towards his for a moment, then they go blank again. He repeats the shaking. No reaction. Dear God, he was hoping to avoid this, but… Cringing and biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, he slaps her. The sound is like a blunt knife twisting in his gut.
He can feel the Doctor flinch beside him. He has to press on now before the Doctor stops him. Rose’s eyes are focused on him, wide with shock.
“Rose! Get up and start walking.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Oh, yes, you can.” He squeezes her shoulders, hard. “Get off your ass. Now.” His voice is hard as steel.
“No! Leave me alone! I just want to rest!” She tries to push away his hands.
He’s holding on tight. “You’ll die if you stay here.”
“I don’t care! Just leave me in peace!”
“No.” Shit, he’s going to have to play this even harder then he’d feared. Rose is not a soldier — he shouldn’t treat her like this. But also, Rose is not a soldier — she has no training in pulling herself out of this state. He has to do it for her. “I will not leave you in peace, unless you get up and start walking.”
“But I c-“
He doesn’t let her finish. “I’ll keep yelling at you and hitting you and kicking you. I swear you won’t have a moment’s peace unless you move.” He’s lying, of course. If she really can’t go on, he’ll curl up around her and try to make her comfortable, hoping against hope that they’ll make it to morning. But she can’t know that. Because the truth is, if they don’t move on soon, they won’t. The night is getting colder with each passing hour. So she has to believe him. And for that, he has to believe himself.
“I swear to you, Rose, if you don’t get up and start walking right now, I’ll make you hurt a lot more than you already are.” He feels the Doctor by his side, absolutely rigid. He half expects the Time Lord to interfere, pull him away from Rose, hit him like he hit her, but the Doctor doesn’t move a muscle. Jack can’t afford to look at him to gauge his expression.
Rose is staring at him. Her eyes are no longer dazed — now they’re burning with rage. “I hate you, Jack Harkness,” she spits. But she starts to struggle upright. Thank God.
He stands and helps her up. She shakes him off and pushes him away, hard. Wordlessly, she turns around and starts limping down the path. He puts the Doctor’s hand back on his own elbow and follows her.
He feels the Doctor’s hand sliding up towards his neck. Jack lowers his head, waiting. He hurt Rose. Right in front of the Doctor. He never would have got away with that if the Doctor were healthy. Never mind that he did it for her own good. Never mind that he already hates himself for it. The Doctor can’t tear a strip off him right now, so he figures he’s going to get hurt in turn — and there’s not going to be anything gentle about it this time. Or maybe the Doctor will simply snap his neck. Jack snorts. He feels like he deserves it, though he knows rationally he had no choice. But it’s not like any of them are being particularly rational right now.
*****
The Doctor slides his hand up to Jack’s neck, then carefully begins rubbing small circles on the sensitive spots near Jack’s spine. It’s not much, but it’s all the support he can give him right now.
Jack shouldn’t have had to do this. It’s his job. He’s the hard one, the one who’s cruel if necessary. He should have been the one to bully Rose into moving. But he couldn’t, because he’s mute and blind and useless.
And if he’s honest, he’s not sure he could have even if he weren’t. Giving in to Rose has ever been his weak spot. Being hard on her is more painful than almost anything else. More painful than thinking of Gallifrey, even.
But Jack was able to do it. All right, his threats weren’t very convincing, but Rose seems to have believed them, which is all that matters. It must have been terrible for the lad, but he’s saved her life. All of their lives, because neither one of them would have left Rose if she hadn’t resumed moving, and staying in place or trying to carry her with their own wounds and the exhaustion would just have meant that none of them would have made it back to the TARDIS.
The Doctor starts massaging the base of Jack’s skull — in better circumstances, this practically makes Jack purr. It’s difficult to keep his footing while doing this — it doesn’t steady him nearly as much as holding on to Jack’s elbow — but he feels he owes it to the lad to give what little support he can.
*****
Jack is fighting hard to keep his composure. The Doctor is rubbing his neck, and it’s almost more than Jack can take. Pain, he could have dealt with. Anger, he expected. He’d steeled himself for punishment — and got tender love and support. It is more than he can take. He’s good with pain — had to learn that early on — but nothing in his life has prepared him for this. Gently, he pulls the Doctor’s hand off his neck, kisses his palm, and puts it back on his elbow. He glances at his lover, who sends him a small smile. He understands.
Rose is still limping ahead of them, her breath ragged. She must be in so much pain. But she’s moving, and that’s all he can allow himself to worry about now. If — when they make it back to the TARDIS, he’ll beg her forgiveness. Might even get it. Rose is a reasonable woman, under normal circumstances. And it looks like the Doctor might speak up for him. Rose will be angry at first, of course, tear a strip off him, but that’s only fair. Once she’s had a chance to vent her anger, she’ll come around. Probably.
*****
As morning breaks and the first rays of the sun start warming them and drying their clothes, Jack considers suggesting a break. God knows they all need one. And Rose’s bandages really need to be checked and the ankle elevated and rested for a bit — the pain must be terrible. But every attempt at conversation he’s made during the night has been rebuffed by Rose with either silence or angry words. He really doesn’t relish the thought of sitting with her in that mood, much less trying to treat her ankle. Also, he’s not at all sure that he could get her to walk on once they stop. By now, he suspects her anger at him is all that’s keeping her moving — stubbornness can have its advantages.
But she’s exhausted. They all are. Pressing on till they fall down is no solution either. He sights down the mountain. They are not that far up anymore. And isn’t that forest the very one the landed in? He strains to see the village, but it’s hard to tell with the morning fog, and the little huts might not be visible among the trees anyway. But that little clearing… and is that a corner of the lake?
If he’s right — and he’s almost sure he is — they are within three hours of the TARDIS, at their present speed. He’s surprised how hard the relief slams into him. For a moment, the Doctor’s hand tightens on his arm to steady him, instead of the other way around. Seeing the concern on the Time Lord’s face, he says “I think I can almost see it now. Just a few hours longer.”
The Doctor nods. Rose doesn’t respond, but her shoulders straighten, and she walks a bit faster. She’s thrown every curse imaginable at him during the night — and a few that were entirely new to him — but all he feels is admiration for her strength, and regret at having been so hard on her. He still thinks he had no choice, but if only he can get them all home to the TARDIS, he’ll gladly take whatever Rose decides to throw at him.
With a slight pang of panic, he realizes that he’s having trouble keeping up with her now. She’s picked up the pace, drawing on reserves she probably didn’t know she had, and he finds it hard to match her pace. It’s not that the Doctor is slowing him down. It’s that his own limbs are too heavy to cooperate fully and his mind is too numb to coordinate them properly. And why is it so hard to breathe all of a sudden? Wait — it’s not sudden… it’s been like this for a while, he’s just been too preoccupied to notice.
He clenches his teeth and keeps putting one foot in front of the other. He’s had plenty of endurance training — he’ll keep going as long as he has to. He can’t let them down now. Not when they are so close. He’ll get them to the TARDIS, if it’s the last thing he does.
*****
Jack’s skin is finally feeling warm again. A little too warm, actually — or is that just because of the contrast to the clamminess during the night? Or because of the quicker pace?
Has to be. Perfectly reasonable explanation. And that little stumble just now — well, Jack must be exhausted too. Same as all of them. No reason to worry. The lad just needs rest, as they all do.
Is his breath sounding a bit labored? Well, that might be exhaustion too, right?
The Doctor sets his jaw and grimly focuses on matching Jack’s pace. They are so close now, he can almost feel the TARDIS. Almost. Just a slight nibble at the edge of his consciousness. He tightens his hold on Jack, then relaxes it as he remembers the bruises.
Nothing’s going to go wrong when they are this close. He won’t allow it.
*****
They’re almost there. She remembers this clearing. Oh God, yes. Just a few more minutes, and she’ll be in the TARDIS. Tea. Hot food. A shower. Her own bed. No more Jack fucking Harkness playing slave driver. Not to mention the medbay with proper painkillers and bone and tissue regenerators that will fix up her ankle in no time. She can practically smell the TARDIS air — always fresh, and with this weird alien scent to it that she’s never been able to identify, but that by now simply means home.
Another bend in the path, a few more steps around a thicket, and there it is. Beautiful, wonderful, glorious blue box. With a yelp of joy, she starts running — well, hobbling very fast — fumbling for her key. They’ve made it. They’re home.
*****
There it is. Finally. Jack’s head is spinning with relief. “We’re here, Doctor,” he gasps out, watching Rose leaning against the door, taking out her key. “We did-”
The last thing he sees before the world goes dark is the grass rushing towards him.
*****
When he wakes up, he’s lying on something soft. There’s a soothing hum in the background. And — the realization takes him completely by surprise — he’s not in pain, not hungry, and most definitely not cold. There’s really only one explanation for this.
He opens his eyes and sees it confirmed. The TARDIS medbay. As much as he usually hates being here, right now it seems like the most beautiful room he’s ever seen.
He tries to sit up, and feels a strong hand on his chest. “Easy, now.” It’s the Doctor’s voice. A bit scratchy, but strong and sure. “Make sure you don’t rip out the IV.” He gently touches the back of Jack’s left hand, where he can feel a needle going in, now that he thinks about it. “An’ don’t mess with the sensors.” The Doctor looks at him — looks at him! — and grins. “Oh, and by the way — welcome back.”
Jack shakes his head. Tries to clear the confusion. He watches the Doctor check the electrodes on his chest and temple, his hands lingering on Jack’s skin ever so slightly longer than necessary for the task. “How… why… what?” Jack asks eloquently.
The Doctor smiles. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Seeing the TARDIS. And then… I collapsed?”
“Like a sack of potatoes. Good thing we were so close already. Rose went in and got a hoverstretcher, and then she helped me lift you on it and get you here.”
Rose? Rose! “How is… where?” Why is it so difficult to talk?
“Taking a bath. She’s fine. Healed her ankle — it’ll still be sore for a few days, what with all the walking she did on it, but she’s gonna be fine.”
Healing… regenerators… how… “How did you-” He coughs. “Your eyes?”
“Rose helped. She knew enough to find the tissue regenerator — used that on my larynx. Talked her through the rest once I could speak again.”
Jack nods. That makes sense. If the blindness really had been caused by the trauma of the hit on the head — which seems likely, all things considered — healing it would mainly be a matter of punching the right setting into the equipment and pushing the button. “So — you’re okay?”
A lopsided grin. “Getting there. Will take a few days until we’re back at full strength — any of us — but no lasting harm done.”
That reminds Jack of another question he supposes he should be asking. “What’s wrong with me?”
The Doctor ticks off on his fingers. “Insatiable sex drive, inflated ego, tendency to over-share private information, poor taste in fruit…” His grin is wicked.
Jack bursts out laughing, which quickly turns into a bout of coughing; the Doctor rubs his back gently. “Yeah, all right, but apart from the usual?”
The Doctor’s hand remains on his back as he eases Jack in a sitting position and props him up by adjusting the bed. “Pneumonia.”
“Oh.”
The Doctor looks at him gravely. “Plus physical exhaustion, lack of sleep, extensive exposure to cold… and bad bruising.”
Automatically, Jack looks at his arm, but the skin is completely unmarked.
“Took care of that — the bruises from the explosion were not that bad — lucky — but your arm’s going to be sore for a day or so. That one went deep.” He gathers Jack into his arms and presses a kiss on his forehead. “An’ lad — I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”
Jack chuckles. “If I told you how much I really don’t care, would you keep holding me anyway?”
The Doctor’s arms tighten around him — strong, sure, unmovable. He doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear.
Jack doesn’t say anything either. He’s happy here. Far as he’s concerned, they can stay like this forever. Well, at some point he’d like to have some more…. intense body contact. But for now, this is perfect. Beyond perfect. He wraps his arms around the Doctor and just revels in the feeling of being warm, being safe, being home.
“You’ll be fine,” the Doctor says reassuringly. “Got you on the good stuff.” He indicates the IV. “A few days’ bed rest an’ you’ll be good as new.”
Jack pulls back and leers at the Time Lord. “Bed can be fun.”
The Doctor’s tone is chiding, but full of affection. “Bed rest, I said.”
Jack looks at the Doctor through his eyelashes and pushes out his lower lip in his best theatrical pout. With a grin, the Doctor leans down and bites it — just a short, sharp nip, which sends shivers down Jack’s spine. Jack wraps his arms around the Time Lord’s neck and starts snogging him properly. The Doctor responds readily, but slowly and more gently than Jack would prefer.
A noise from the door draws their attention. Jack pulls out of the embrace and sees Rose standing there. His other best friend. Whom he hit and threatened. And who helped to get him to safety anyway, probably hurting herself worse in the process. She’s not looking at him. Time for some groveling. “Rose…”
She comes over, stands by his bedside, still not looking at him. The Doctor steps away, giving them space. With an effort, Jack swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up fully. He braces himself for anger, yelling, possibly a return of the slap he gave her. He’ll take it all, if only she’ll forgive him in the end. “Rose-” he begins again, hesitantly. “Sorry” seems a bit weak under the circumstances.
She looks up at him and he suddenly realizes that she’s crying. But her voice is calm and steady. “I was such a cow. I’m sorry.” There’s a slight catch in her breath.
Well, this is unexpected. And much worse than anger. “What-”
“You gave everything you had trying to make us feel better. And then I go and just give up on you. And when you refuse to let me quit, I treat you like…” She looks away again, but then forces herself to look him in the eye with a visible effort. “I’m really sorry, Jack. Hope you can forgive me.”
He opens his arms and she steps into them, wrapping her own arms around him with a grateful sob. He draws her close and rubs her back gently.
“It’s all right, Rose. You were just exhausted. And I… I should never have hit you. I’m sorry.”
“’Course you should have. What choice did you have?” she protests.
Again, love and understanding where he expected anger. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to this. All his life — ever since Gray — he’s expected people to blame him for the bad stuff. Which they invariably did. And he responded either with a flippant front, or, if they were people he cared about, by rolling on his back and baring his throat. Metaphorically, not literally. Most of the time.
He knows how to take anger and recriminations; he has practice apologizing, accepting punishment, making amends. Being given the benefit of the doubt, trust, understanding — not so much. He feels his own eyes starting to tear up. Not knowing what to say to Rose, he looks at the Doctor helplessly.
The Time Lord is smiling. He comes closer and wraps his arms around both of them, dropping a kiss on Rose’s hair and another on Jack’s lips. “Let’s just say we all did the best we could. An’ no one needs to be sorry, ‘cause we made it.”
Jack looks at him searchingly. “Does that include you?”
The Doctor hesitates, then he sighs and nods. “I wish I could have helped you more, lad. I wish you hadn’t had to… But yeah. Did what I could. Won’t blame myself if you don’t blame yourselves.” He grins, and Jack knows what his next word is going to be before the Doctor even opens his mouth. “Deal?”
Jack laughs, then has to fight down a cough. “Deal. All that matters is that we made it. Together.”
“But mostly because of you, Jack,” Rose says, giving him a peck on the cheek.
He wants to protest, but the Doctor glares at him before he even has a chance. “Don’t you deny it. Was you who held this whole thing together. Held us together. We all did the best we could, but we wouldn’t have made it back without you.”
“I was just the least injured is all. I didn’t do anything sp-“
“You did, too. ‘S not just that you guided the Doctor an’ helped me — you always knew what to say to keep us going. Even when I… you got us here.” She pokes him in the chest, her face set in what he and the Doctor privately refer to as “Jackie face.” The expression you don’t argue with. “You were in charge, an’ you were amazing. So thank you.”
The Doctor nods. “Yeah. What she said. You know how to be a leader, Jack. Which is hard, an’ doesn’t get any easier with me around.” They share a grin at the admission. “Thank you.”
He can feel his face burning. There’s something terribly fascinating about his blanket all of a sudden. He makes one more attempt to protest. “Really, it was n-”
He finds his lips stoppered by the Doctor’s in a kiss that is at once gratitude, love, and a stern warning not to argue anymore. Well, arguing is no fun anyway when he can have this instead. He still thinks he only did what any of them would have done. But he won’t object to this kind of gratitude. He focuses on kissing back. Rose is leaning against his side, unbothered by the snogging, seeking simple closeness. She yawns deeply, sags, and holds onto the Doctor for support.
The Doctor breaks the kiss and smiles at her. “Time for bed, I reckon. Need to rest.” He makes a gesture that includes all three of them. “Should all sleep in the medbay tonight,” He presses on before they can object. “Want to keep you both on monitors, just in case.”
Rose frowns. “But I want my own bed!”
“So do I. With you in it.” Jack pouts.
The Doctor shakes his head. “I’ll have the TARDIS make the medbay beds wider.”
“But-” Rose begins, but the Doctor interrupts.
“If you insist on your own beds, I won’t get any sleep ‘cause I’ll keep checking on you. Will cope if I have to, but…” He shrugs tiredly.
Jack and Rose exchange a glance. They know they’re beaten. The Doctor’s just as exhausted as they are. No way are they going to keep him up.
“Fine,” Jack grumbles. He does understand where the Doctor is coming from, if he’s honest. The Time Lord spent the last three days terribly worried about them and not able to do much to help. Now that he has them back here, he needs to make sure — really sure — that they are all right. Spending a night in the medbay is not such a high price to pay for reassuring his lover.
Rose nods. “All right.” Jack can see in her eyes that she gets it as well. “Just for tonight, though. Want my own bed tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Jack agrees.
“We’ll see what the scanners say.” The Doctor’s voice leaves no room for negotiations. He’s definitely back in charge. He looks at their frowning faces. “Ah, come on, it’ll be fun!” He grins widely. “Kinda like a camp-out.”
He looks the very picture of confused innocence when they each grab a pillow and whack him over the head.
The End