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Jack woke up to the most awful, stabbing, stomach-curling, awful feeling in the world.
It was centered mostly around his abdomen, sticking there like a poisoned knife, spreading the ache throughout in shockwaves. He was sweating, but somehow also cold, and hungry, but also nauseous. He kicked the blankets off, shoved them to the end of the bed with his foot, curled up on his side, and groaned.
“Fuck, what the hell…”
He recognized the feeling between his legs.
“Oh, no.”
Alone, Jack struggled to sit up, and glanced at his pants, stained with red. “Oh, fucking, come on!” He yelled, and collapsed back onto his pillows. The sweat stuck his hair to his brow, making him groan.
He drifted in and out of light-headedness for a while, occasionally grabbing a spare sheet and tossing it back over himself, then shoving it away again as temperature came and went. This was it, he thought. This must be hell.
He didn’t blame the Doctor for taking so long. There was no way for him to know. However, it had to have been at least a torturous hour before he came in, flicking the light on.
“Jack, you told me to wake you if you weren’t up by- oh!” The Doctor stopped in the doorway, mouth dropped open.
Jack let out a weak, raspy laugh. “I look that bad, huh?”
The Doctor, of course, rushed to his side, and pressed a hand against his forehead. “You look awful,” he agreed. “You’re pale, and far too warm. Are you sick?”
“Kind of.”
“With what?”
“Check my pants, Doc.”
The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “Very funny, Jack.”
Jack sighed, leaning into the Doctor’s cool, familiar hand. “Not like that. The sheets.”
The Doctor paused, then looked up and over, eyes widening immediately. “You… you’re on your blood?”
Jack laughed. “You phrase shit so weirdly.”
“I thought you started the new treatment.”
“I did. The physician said the cycle should stop after two months, I thought it was done two weeks ago. Guess I still have one more in me. Shit. Well, hopefully the irregularity means it’s the last one, anyway. Right?”
The Doctor frowned, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll get you some pain medicine,” he said firmly. “Some tea. A warm water bottle, as well, for the cramps. Are you craving anything? Do you want an ice pack?”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying, Doc? You had something you wanted to go do today.”
An immediate shake of the head. “Not while you’re like this, I don’t. I’m staying home today. We both are.”
“But… if this is important-“
“I’m a Time Lord, Jack. It can wait.”
Jack laughed, breathlessly, then a bit louder before wincing over the pain in his midsection. “Oh, fuck, that hurts. I love you, Doc.”
The Doctor smiled, softly. “I love you, too, Jack.”
“An ice pack would be amazing. And I want some Oreos.”
“You’ve got it. And some milk to dip them in?”
“I’m feeling more hot chocolate.”
“Princess.”
“I’m a chocolate-lover at heart, Doctor.”
The Doctor flashed one more smile, before vanishing out of the room.
He came back very shortly with a tray. An entire bottle of Advil, a glass already damp with perspiration, a warm water bottle wrapped in paper towel, a mug of hot chocolate, and an entire sleeve of Oreo cookies. The Doctor kept the ice pack slung over his wrist, so that the moment he set the tray down, he could lay it over Jack’s burning forehead.
“Guess this means I’m r-really hot, ain’t I, Doc- oh, fuck! Fuck!”
Jack turned on his side and curled in, cringing and writhing. The Doctor crooned and leaned over, stroking his hair.
“This is it,” Jack muttered. “The worst fucking feeling ever, fucking god.”
“Do you want me to hold you?”
Jack turned back towards the Doctor, smiling, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Nah, don’t bother. I keep flaring between hot and cold, I’ll keep asking you to get off and come back. Hand me the medicine?”
The Doctor did so, and tried to help him sit up to wash it down. Of course, the pain punched Jack in the stomach the moment he tried to, making him flinch and spill some water on his own shirt. The coldness was honestly a bit of a comfort.
“I should bring you to the couch,” the Doctor said decisively. “The coffee table is bigger than your nightstand.”
“Mmm. Yeah, and we’ve gotta change these sheets out. B-But I don’t know if I can walk like this.” If even sitting up has caused such pain, Jack shuddered to think of the kind he would be punished with for trying to stand. It still simmered, like a cruel fire, waiting to flare up at any second.
“That’s alright,” The Doctor said easily. “I’ll carry you.”
“But I don’t have a- I’ll stain your clothes.”
“I think I can deal with some stained sleeves.”
Jack’s eyebrow quirked up. “You do realize where the blood is coming from, right?”
“What kind of question is that?” The Doctor scoffed. “Of course I do. I’ll deal with it. Now stop complaining, and hold onto me.”
Jack would’ve kept arguing, but honestly, he was exhausted, and sweaty, and he always adored the idea of being so close to the one he wanted. So he reached his arms out as the Doctor lifted him, quite calmly, keeping him as close to a laying position as possible, a sort of bridal-style. There was still discomfort; Jack’s face pinched with it, and the Doctor whispered reassurances to him, although Jack’s head hurt so much he couldn’t tell if it was quiet enough to be unintelligible, or genuinely in another language.
Their couch was big, comfortable, within arm’s reach of the table, and the color of warm morning coffee. Jack stretched out across it, absolutely hating the sensation when his thighs rubbed together a bit. “Pad,” he requested immediately. “Towel. Something.”
The Doctor could be fast when he wanted to. “Do you want a change of clothes?” He asked quickly, handing over a small, folded towel and looking away so Jack could place it to soak up the blood. They’d probably have to throw it out afterwards, but neither would mind.
“Just a change of pants, I think,” Jack agreed with a sigh. “My shirt’s fine.”
“Alright, I’ll bring the snacks and water and things out, too.”
Jack gave a pained smile and a nod. The Doctor fluttered away, taking a moment to set everything in its proper place on the tray, and taking a random pair of shorts from the dresser (he’d been given permission, after all). He was back with his love within a moment.
“Here you are. Do you want the warm water bottle?”
Jack reached for it immediately, and the Doctor handed it over. The pained man lifted his shirt up slightly to press the warmth against his lower stomach, and sighed deeply.
“Better?”
“Immediately. Thank you. Come here.”
Jack waved the Doctor forwards with one hand until he could grab his face and kiss him, sweetly and gratefully. They both got lost, for just a moment, in the softness of it all.
And then Jack’s uterus seemed to get jealous, because it gave him such a stab that he had to pull away abruptly before he accidentally bit the Doctor’s lip off. Naturally, he cursed the moment they were separated, making the Doctor sigh.
“I have to wash the sheets,” he whispered, giving Jack’s sweaty temple. “Will you be alright? I’ll just be in the other room.”
Jack took a deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth, like he’d always been told. “Yeah. Yes. Can you just put on a movie before you go?”
“Any requests in particular?”
“Something I don’t have to pay attention to.”
So the Doctor put on an animated movie, and Jack rolled on his side, one arm beneath his head and the other holding the water bottle against his tortured stomach.
Honestly, changing out the sheets was sort of calming. A steady thing to do, something he knew well. Scrubbing the stain with hydrogen peroxide until he decided it was good enough, then putting it alone in the washer with a generous amount of bleach. He checked the mattress and other blankets for any blood, but thankfully, it seemed the sheets had taken the brunt of the damage. He proceeded to replace the sheets and make the bed, fluff up the pillows, everything. When this was over, the Doctor would be sure Jack would return to a neat, comfortable bed. He came back to the living room, assuming his poor love had enough time to change out his pants. Indeed, a pair of stained sweatpants was tossed over the back of the couch, and the Doctor snatched them up on his way by to throw into the wash.
When he came back, and glanced over to check on Jack, he was crying.
The Doctor scrambled to get to his side. “Jack? Jack, darling, what’s wrong?”
The crying was silent, the tears running across his face as he lay on his side, soaking into the couch cushion beneath his head. “N-Nothing,” Jack answered immediately, bringing his arm from beneath the pillow to rub his eyes. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, it’s just… stupid.”
Seeing him so upset, the Doctor couldn’t stand it. “I’m sure it’s not nothing. [Tell me what’s wrong.]”
It took a moment of Jack staring blankly for the Doctor to realize he’d slipped into his old tongue, just for a second. He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong,” he repeated, placing one hand on Jack’s cheek, and the other in his hair, stroking gently.
“Just stupid thoughts,” Jack murmured. “Stupid.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m done with the washing, I can stay here.”
Jack leaned forwards, into the Doctor’s hands, nodding silently. The Doctor sat against the couch, not on it, so he could keep stroking Jack’s hair, and turn to kiss it when he wanted.
“Just… I just hate it,” he mumbled. “I hate… this. I hate what it makes me think of.”
“What’s that?” The Doctor softly wiped some tears from his beloved’s face with his sleeve.
“It’s stupid,” Jack repeated. “But it just… I thought I was over this. It gives me dysphoria all over again.”
“Oh, darling.” The Doctor breathed, embracing his love immediately. "Oh, sweetheart."
“It’s stupid,” he blubbered again. “It’s stupid, I know I’m… it just… it reminds me of how fucking wrong it all feels…”
The Doctor held him, close, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. “Oh, Jack, I know…”
“It just makes me wonder if it’ll ever be good enough.”
It was an awkward position, Jack half-off the couch, the Doctor supporting his upper body weight, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of them minded one bit.
The Doctor took a deep breath. “Jack, you are,” he murmured. “You’re enough, I promise you.”
“B-But it’s not…” Jack took a shuddering breath. “But it just… it hurts. I can’t stop wondering if it’ll always be like this. If I’ll always feel so wrong.”
The Doctor usually knew what to say. Something profound. Something sweet. Something to make him laugh. Anything. Yet at the moment, he couldn’t think of anything smart, anything that fit the moment just right. Everything that came into his head seemed like a glove with one too few fingers.
“I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. “I can’t say that… you will or you won’t. B-But I can say that… you’re right to me. Jack, look at me.”
Through teary eyes, he did.
“You’re the most handsome man in the universe, to me. I love you so much.”
Jack teared up horrendously, and buried his face in the Doctor’s warm shoulder again. “I love you too,” he replied in a sob, muffled against his coat. “I love you so much, thank you, I love you.”
The Doctor murmured words he knew Jack didn’t understand, but with much the same sentiment. “[I love you, beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, epitome of man. You’re wonderful, I love you.]”
“You know I can’t understand you,” Jack whispered beside his ear.
“I know,” the Doctor said with a nod. “I know.”
He finally pulled back, taking a breath and wiping his tears and sniffling. “I’m sorry I’m crying so much. ‘S the hormones, I think.”
The Doctor took his hand and kissed the back of it. “It’s alright, don’t apologize for that. It’s not your fault.”
A playful smile came hesitantly onto Jack’s face. “It’s kind of yours, actually. Did you notice you put Pinocchio on?”
The Doctor looked over his shoulder immediately. “No, I did not. Hmph. What do you think of the Little Mermaid, instead?”
“Oh, let’s.”
And so, they found themselves curled up on the couch together, watching an animated crustacean conduct an underwater band, snacking on Oreos and hot chocolate. While the pain wasn’t completely gone, the medicine was helping, and Jack found himself able to breathe without his abdomen screaming murder for every movement. He leaned heavily against the Doctor’s side, both bundled beneath the blankets, fingers softly intertwined.
“Thank you for staying home with me today,” Jack murmured.
The Doctor looked over, and could see the heaviness in the other man’s eyes. Innocently, he let go of his hand to stroke his hair, instead. “Of course, dear,” he murmured, encouraging Jack to rest his head on his shoulder. “It was no problem.”
“You halted your trip to the Sand Spires for me.”
“I delayed our trip, yes, because a very integral part of it wasn’t feeling well.” He couldn’t help smiling, and leaned over to kiss Jack at the corner of the eye. “You mean more to me than any trip, Jack.”
Jack sighed, deeply, as if relieved of some great pressure. “And you mean more to me than centuries,” he answered, slowly. “I would wait eons for you.”
“You don’t have to,” the Doctor murmured. “I’m right here.”
Jack sighed again, lighter, and fully leaned against him, eyes slipping shut. The Doctor adjusted, making them both more comfortable, and stroked Jack’s hair until his breaths evened, and then for a while after that. He turned off the movie, and for a moment, just stared, just… looked at the man he had beside him. Brave, beautiful, strong, unreasonably witty and handsome.
“I think I lucked out with you, Jack,” he whispered, and kissed his sleeping temple. “I really do.”
Jack hardly shifted, clearly at peace wrapped in such an embrace. The Doctor wouldn’t want it any other way.
“I love you,” he whispered, and tucked his hair back one more time, behind his ear, to press a delicate kiss to his cheek. “[I love you.]”