donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2007-09-29 09:23 am
donutsweeper) wrote2007-09-29 09:23 am
Entry tags:
Facing Truths
Title/Series Info: Facing Truths/ The second in 'The Old Man' universe
Pairing/Rating/Warning: Jack/Doctor, rated R, spoilers for "Utopia"
Word Count: 4862
Summary: The Doctor tries to help Jack through blissfire withdrawal, but might wind up doing more harm than good.
Author's Notes: Another beautiful beta job byunfeathered :)
Part One: Where, after years apart, the Doctor finds Jack broken in both body and in spirit.
Part Two:
Pairing/Rating/Warning: Jack/Doctor, rated R, spoilers for "Utopia"
Word Count: 4862
Summary: The Doctor tries to help Jack through blissfire withdrawal, but might wind up doing more harm than good.
Author's Notes: Another beautiful beta job by
unfeathered :)Part One: Where, after years apart, the Doctor finds Jack broken in both body and in spirit.
Part Two:
Jack had insisted they stop at Magiot's 'establishment' before leaving town, to tell him in person that his, or more precisely, Old Man's days for working there were over. The Doctor hadn't thought it was a good idea, but Jack was not to be swayed on the matter. They walked together to the rear entrance, and upon finding the proprietor, a beefy unkempt man, Jack looked him straight in the eye and said succinctly, “I quit.”
The response was not one either the Doctor or Jack had expected. Magiot simply laughed, a humorless and cruel laugh. “You'll be back. I'll leave your name on the rota.” Then he turned and walked away, his laughter echoing through the hall, mocking them.
Jack crumbled, just fell apart. Hours of quiet conversation, all that encouragement and support and a mere ten words had shattered his carefully rebuilt confidence completely. “He's right.” The empty, defeated tone was back in his voice. “I always failed b...b..before.”
“This time is different.”
The broken and empty eyes stayed staring at the floor. “Why?”
“I wasn't here before,” the Doctor replied, but the only acknowledgment was a disheartened shrug.
Jack started to limp dejectedly back to the tavern when the Doctor caught his arm. Not believing for a moment the other man was actually heading in the wrong direction by accident he gently chided. “Wrong way Captain, the TARDIS is over there,” and gestured to the hills outside of town. “Come on.”
The walk to the TARDIS was not an easy one. Jack's limp grew more and more pronounced, and, more worryingly, he had withdrawn into himself almost completely. The Doctor kept a light banter going the entire way, wisely making no mention of the hisses of pain from his companion. He didn't even pause in his description of the women of Rylos Seven when, after Jack's knees almost gave out, he surreptitiously guided Jack's left arm over his shoulders and slid his right arm around Jack's bony waist, practically taking on his full weight.
The TARDIS was only a meter or two away when Jack came to an abrupt halt. “I c..c..can't do this Doctor.”
“Course you can, only a little bit further.”
“Th..that's not what I m..m..meant.”
The Doctor sighed. “I know, Jack. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you have to realize I am not going anywhere. I ran away from you once. I won’t do that to you again.”
“S.s.s.sure you will. Eventually.”
“Jaaack. Trust me, please.” But what else could he really say? Jack was judging him on his past actions and they left quite a lot to be desired. After all, he was the one who left Jack on the abandoned Game Station surrounded by Dalek dust. He'd realized what Rose had done and run off to avoid the consequences, and never even looked back. There was nothing he could do about that now. First things first, get Jack off the blissfire. Once he was off the drugs and physically back up to snuff he could try to undo some of the psychological damage he'd done.
Jack might not have wanted to approach the TARDIS, but the Doctor gave him no choice in the matter. It was a blatant sign of how weak Jack truly was, because as the Doctor started walking again, Jack was half-carried along as well. Realizing this lack of control was tough on his friend the Doctor jokingly made a grab for the small bundle Jack held clutched against his chest. “Still have your key for her?”
“No.” No explanation. No apologizing. Just a simple negative statement which left so much unsaid. Jack no longer had his TARDIS key. Was it not needed, not wanted, too painful a reminder or merely not important enough to have been kept all this time? And if Jack no longer cared to keep a link to the TARDIS, what did that imply about his feelings to those who traveled in her?
“Oh, well, that's all right . . . I've got mine.” He opened the door, but realized Jack was still reluctant to enter. “She wants you here, Jack. Really she does. She would never have brought me here to find you otherwise.” Either that finally convinced Jack, or he was just far too exhausted to argue, because he hobbled in, letting the Doctor lead him to the medical bay.
“Right, let's get a proper scan.” the Doctor said, as he guided Jack to the examination table. “Off with that shirt.” But Jack didn't move; he didn't say anything, which surprised the Doctor. The Jack Harkness he had known oozed sexuality and flirtation from every pore. That man would strip the second the opportunity, any opportunity, presented itself, if not before. It had been such an annoyance, a hindrance, something that frustrated him to no end. He hadn't thought it was possible that he would be missing that trait in his old friend.
He reached over to undo the buttons himself and was startled to see Jack flinch. It was such a slight movement; he almost didn't even register it. Nell's words came back to him, unbidden, “What they did to him, what was done to him. He was in so much pain.” It was an unpleasant reminder that they never had given him an answer as to how long Jack had worked for Magiot, or other than the drugs, what kind of damage had been done to him there.
“Jack, why don't you put your things down on the counter?” He waited while Jack went through an internal debate, but eventually released his small satchel. It was a little unnerving, after who knows how many hundreds of years of living, all Jack had to show for it was a spare shirt, a small wooden box and a few other mementoes. “Excellent. Now would you please remove your shirt for me? It would make it easier for the TARDIS to scan you properly.”
“M..mm.m.maybe w.w.w.we could d.d..do this l..later? P..please?” Jack’s stuttering had increased significantly and it was due to more than the influence of the blissfire. Jack appeared to be, well, terrified was the only word for it. Jack. This was Jack Harkness, the man who had thought nothing of facing a Dalek fleet with only a handful of people fighting at his side. The man who had sacrificed himself to a madman to let Martha escape. What was he so scared of? What was he trying to hide?
“You know we can't. We have to see how you're dealing with the withdrawal. And I know there's some cuts and bruising. You'll feel better once we get that cleaned up.” He reached out again. “Let the TARDIS get a good look at you, the more she knows the better a job she'll be able to do treating you.” He took Jack's small sigh as token acceptance and began to undo the shirt buttons.
He'd done some scans that morning with the sonic screwdriver, so he thought he knew what to expect. He was wrong. So wrong. What he saw when he finally removed Jack's shirt nearly broke his hearts. Jack was horribly thin. He could see each and every one of his ribs and all the bones in his spine; there was no fat and practically no muscle. The man was just skin and bones. And then there were the wounds: whip marks, teeth marks, slashes, gashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, burns, welts . . . he couldn't even begin to count or catalogue them all. And what made it even more disturbing, if such a thing was even possible, was how recently it had all been inflicted upon him. Only a few had healed enough to begin to scab over and turn into scars, which meant all that damage had been done within the past week or two.
“Jack, what . . .” Where to even begin . . . And what sorts of other injuries were still being hidden by the trousers? Based on the nature of Jack's work, and what Nell and Gunther had said, most likely the Doctor hadn't even seen the worst of the injuries yet. “I need a complete scan, Jack.” His horror at what he saw was making his voice harsher than intended. “Take everything off and lie down.” Jack complied, a blush of embarrassment creeping over his face; he didn't attempt to argue but just lay down, staring straight up at the ceiling, refusing to even acknowledge the Doctor.
The Doctor didn't even need to look at the scans to see that it was so much worse than he had expected. Worse than he had ever thought possible. How had Jack lived like this, day in and day out for all those years? It was no wonder he'd eventually turned to drugs to be able to make it through the day. What could he say that would not just make matters worse? How could he convince his friend that a coward would never have survived this kind of treatment? That he was still the hero he had always been, and always would be?
Eventually, he found his voice again. “Right. Let's get you cleaned up.” He reached over and grabbed a bowl and washcloth. “Roll over onto your stomach for me please. Don't worry; it won't sting.” He'd made sure the cloth was treated with antibiotics and painkillers, there was no way he was going to cause Jack any more pain if he could avoid it. Gently, ever so gently, he washed his friend, cleaning away the filth and blood. Jack didn't quite relax as the Doctor worked, but eventually he did stop flinching at every touch.
When the injuries that could be treated or bandaged were taken care of the Doctor grabbed some clean clothes from the wardrobe room and helped Jack into them before settling him in a comfortable chair in the corner. “Feeling a bit peckish perhaps? You are quite a bit underweight, a little meat on those bones would do wonders . . .” He trailed off when he noticed Jack shaking his head. “What?”
“No p...point in eating,” Jack said, holding up his hand to show the tremors. “Blissfire withdrawal. It's all.. already starting. B..b.be throwing up s..s..soon.”
“Right, you know what to expect. Gunther told me you've tried to quit using before.”
Jack nodded quickly, staring at his hands. “Lots of t.t.t...times. Wa...wasn't strong enough.”
“You can do this.” The Doctor reached out to stroke Jack's jaw, but pulled his hand away when he saw the flash of fear and self loathing in Jack's eyes.
“Last time I convulsed so mmmuch my heart couldn't take it. Nell f.f.found me. S...s...scared her so b..b..bad when I came b..b.back to life.” He paused, fists balling up in memory. “All healed up . . . b..b.but still addicted.”
“How often . . . Jack, I couldn't help but notice . . . I mean, with those injuries . . . it's just that none of them are that old. I know it's not . . . if you don't want to . . .” The words ran over themselves as they raced off his tongue.
“S..spit it out, Doctor.” Jack glared at him, as if he were daring the Doctor to voice his query.
The Doctor nervously ran his hands through his hair. It was a simple question, but he didn't want to know the answer. He really didn’t want to know. He needed to know, but some truths were just too painful to face. Taking a deep breath he finally asked. “How many times have you died while working for Magiot?”
Jack shook his head. “No idea.”
“How often then?”
“D..d..depends on the clientele.” There was a cold acceptance in the way he recited the facts. “C.c.couple of times a m..m..month... or a couple of times a n..n..night.” He shrugged.
“Oh, Jack . . .” But he trailed off. There was just something wrong, so wrong, about the tone of Jack's voice. Everything was presented as if it were just a matter of fact, like somehow he'd been deserving of the horrors this life had thrust upon him. The man had been injured badly enough to die hundreds, if not thousands, of times yet failed to see it as anything more than his fate. The Doctor was not a man to be at a loss for words, but here was a time he simply had no idea what to say.
They sat in silence as Jack’s trembling worsened until he suddenly grimaced and flew to his feet. He barely reached the basin before he began vomiting. The Doctor rested his hand on Jack’s neck, as a sign of support, as the vomiting became wave after wave of dry heaves. When they finally stopped, Jack sank to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had snapped.
“I c..c..can’t do t..t.this.” He was sweating and shivering.
“Yes, you can.” The Doctor replied, steely determination in his voice. He stood up and rifled through the medical bay cabinets. “We can treat some of the withdrawal symptoms with medication. There’s no need for you to suffer like this. Hmmm. No. No. No . . .” Vials and pills and syringes went flying. “Aha!” He spun around and slapped a patch onto Jack’s neck. “Here, this should help with the nausea. And let’s see . . .” He began rummaging again.
“No.”
“Sorry? No, what?”
“I’m not r..replacing one drug with another.” Jack fingered the patch, trying to pull it off.
“Stop that.” The Doctor swatted Jack’s hand away. “Once your body is through the withdrawal, you won’t need it anymore, but until then you are leaving it on. And you are taking whatever else I say you should.” It wasn’t until he saw the slight cringe that he realized how harsh he must have sounded to the other man.
“Jack. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.” He gestured at the mess he’d created in the medical bay and then at Jack, still slumped by the basin. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not finding for you earlier. I’m mad that you were in that place, forced to do what you did, and I didn’t know. I can’t believe I let you slip so far away from me.” He settled down on the floor next to Jack. “Remember that time you laughed when I said you were my responsibility? In the year 100 trillion? I meant it. I’d run from it, from you, for so long. I don’t do responsible very well.” He ignored Jack’s snort in response. “Let me try to make up for it now. Please?”
For a terrible moment the Doctor thought Jack had changed his mind about accepting his help, but then there was the slightest shrug of acquiescence.
“Right then, first things first. Let’s get off this cold floor.” He started to get Jack up but saw how his friend stiffened when they approached one of the beds. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe there was a reason that Jack’s ‘humble abode’ had been some bedding in a storage closet. Nell had told him of the turned down offers for a proper room but he hadn’t thought to question why. And now was not the time to get into it. “Wait, trying to wash these mattresses is a nightmare and even with the meds you’ll still be sweating and bleeding and making a mess. Would you mind if we just piled a bunch of blankets and pillows on the floor?” He felt the tension bleed out of the other man. “Just a sec . . .” Opening cabinet after cabinet the Doctor pulled out blankets and sheets and pillows and threw them onto the floor.
Jack, very gingerly, lay down on top of one of thinner blankets and curled into a ball, his back against the wall. It was all the Doctor could do not to scream. “Grab a pillow! Lie on something softer! You deserve better than this!” But he said nothing, only grabbed two of the medication patches and a few pillows for himself before sitting down next to his friend.
“This one will help with the pain.” He lifted up Jack’s sleeve to find an uninjured spot and pressed it on. “And this one, infection . . .” But there was no other place to put the patch on that arm. Jack eyed the Doctor, as if daring him to comment, before pulling down the collar of his shirt past the teeth marks to an unblemished swatch of skin under his clavicle.
“Better?” The Doctor asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Jack nodded, as he pulled himself tighter into a ball. Tremors still ran through him and the sweating and shivering hadn’t ceased. “Some.”
The Doctor scooted over until he was right next to Jack and, in one deft movement, lifted Jack’s head up and slipped his leg under so Jack was forced to use his thigh as a pillow. Then, reaching over, he grabbed a blanket and spread it over Jack. “No need for you to catch pneumonia now, is there?”
Even with the medication he had provided the Doctor could tell Jack was having a hard time with the withdrawal. He could hear the uneven breathing and the occasional moan, feel the shivers and tremors and see the sweat pouring from his body. He was desperate to help, but unsure where to begin; perhaps getting his mind off of it all was the key, find something, anything, to talk about.
“So . . . Jack . . . Why did you let Nell and Gunther call you ‘Old Man?’ Why didn’t you tell them your real name?”
Jack pushed himself up on his arms to stare at the Doctor. “W..w..why not? It fit. I’m old. I’m a mm..man.”
“But, I don’t understand,” the Doctor began, his frustration getting the better of him. “You have a name, why didn’t you use it?”
Jack scrabbled onto his feet, his face filled with fury. “Like you use yours? R..r.right, ‘Doctor?’ Why don’t you ever u..use your real name? Or mine? Or are you too b..b..blind to realize that C..Cap..Capt’n....” Suddenly, as quickly as it started, the shouting was over. Jack stiffened, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed into a fit of convulsions.
“Oh damn it!” The Doctor shouted, running to Jack’s side. He felt for a pulse, and was glad to find one, but didn’t like the way it was racing erratically, the heartbeats too fast for him to even count. “Hold on, Jack! Just hold on!” He began rummaging through the medicine chest. “I have anti-convulsives . . .” Medicines went flying everywhere. “They’re here . . . somewhere . . . I just need . . .” There was a strange half-choking gargle noise from the floor and Jack went very still. “Jack?” Hesitantly, the Doctor approached his friend, but he didn’t need the TARDIS’s scanners to know that Jack was dead. “No, no, no, no, no!” He gathered Jack in his arms. “You weren’t supposed to have to go through this again. I was supposed to help you.”
Time seemed to stop as they stayed there; Jack, lying in the Doctor’s arms, getting colder and colder while the Doctor rocked back and forth, crying at the injustice of it all. “Jack? Come back, Jack.” The Doctor hesitantly pleaded, over and over. “Please, Jack.” He hugged Jack tighter. In all the time he had known Jack he’d seen him die many times. He’d always come back to life within minutes. He didn’t realize he was mimicking what Nell had said earlier that day. “Come on Jack, come back to me.”
It was only as he was gently spreading a blanket over the two of them that he noticed that Jack had healed. There was no longer any physical evidence of his abuse. “I suppose there’s something to be said for dying after all, eh Jack?” he whispered, with a lightness he didn’t feel as he brushed Jack’s hair off his face and leaned over to kiss his forehead.
This time Jack didn’t come back to life with the gasp the Doctor had expected, it was more of a weary sigh. But whatever it was, it sounded beautiful. “Jack?” he called, softly.
Jack shifted slightly within the Doctor’s arms. “Doc?” His eyes fluttered. “What . . .” he started to ask what happened, but realization rushed in. “Oh. Oh god. I didn’t mean to s..scare you like that.”
“Jack, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”
Jack started to sit up, to pull himself out of the Doctor’s grasp, but the Doctor held him tight. “Doctor?” he asked, obviously confused.
“You’re not getting away from me, not again.”
“But, I . . .”
“No buts. The TARDIS isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.” He stroked Jack’s hair gently. “Now, you’re obviously exhausted. I’d like to give you a sedative, just a mild one, enough to take the edge off and let you get some sleep. Maybe, then, by the time you wake up, enough of the withdrawal symptoms will have passed that you’ll be able to eat something.” He felt Jack tense slightly, and he immediately guessed the reason. “You’re safe here Jack, no one will hurt you. The door’s shut; you’ve seen how strong it is. An army of Daleks couldn’t get in here, let alone any of Magiot's men. You need sleep. I won’t leave the room, I promise.”
“No, I . . .it’s just . . . I . . .can’t.” He weakly tried to pull away again.
“I’ve an idea.” The Doctor reached into a pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver and then gently slid out from behind Jack. “Go get yourself comfortable in all that bedding.” He pointed to the sheets, blankets and pillows that were still piled against the wall. “I’m just going to take care of something.”
Jack didn’t move, just curled up slightly; a tight human ball watching with a wary eye. The look of suspicion slipped into one of confusion when the Doctor shut the medical bay door, and then with a shower of sparks, zapped the lock with the sonic screwdriver. A minute later, when Jack’s trembling hands were wrapped around the screwdriver, the confusion turned into a half-smile.
“No one can get in or out unless you let them, Jack.” The Doctor clamped him on the shoulder. “Now what do you say you let yourself get a little more comfortable?”
“B..b.but why?” Jack asked, as he allowed himself to be led onto the pile of blankets.
“You need sleep.” The Doctor pointed out. “You won’t sleep unless you feel safe. So, I had to make sure you felt safe. And now you do, right? So, will you let me give you that sedative?”
Jack curled up again, his back against the wall, the screwdriver grasped tightly in his shaking hand. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, as if gathering his courage, before giving an abrupt nod. The Doctor didn’t say anything; just grinned that grin of his and placed a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder before administering the shot. And waited. Eventually, the rasping breathing evened out, the taut lines of pain on his face lessened slightly and the tremors slowed.
“Jack?” The Doctor called out quietly, but smiled when the other man showed no reaction at all. “Atta boy.” He stroked Jack’s hair absentmindedly. “How long’s it been since you slept? Really slept like this? I imagine quite some time, between the blissfire and the pain and the . . . job . . . Well, that’s all over with, you hear me? You just sleep. I’m going to clean up this mess It looks like a wild korantha beast got loose in here, doesn’t it?”
Fortunately, and unfortunately, it only took a few hours to get the medical bay squared away. While it was nice to have it all straightened up, it was a problem, because once everything was cleaned up the Doctor was left with nothing to do. He paced. He emptied his pockets, sorted through what he’d found in them and then put it all back. He picked up the satchel containing Jack’s things and opened it. Then immediately closed it. He ran scans on Jack. He ran scans on himself. He reorganized the medical supplies by alphabetical order, then by usage, then by planet of origin, then by size, and then randomly shoved everything back in the cabinets wherever they seemed to fit best.
Jack slept through it all. Which was good, it was what he needed. He was still sweating and shaking slightly but his withdrawal symptoms seemed to be lessening and they weren’t affecting his death grip on the sonic screwdriver. The result of which was that the Doctor was stuck in the medical bay. He paced some more... and stopped directly in front of the small bundle of Jack’s things. His gaze shifted from the pile to the sleeping man and back to the pile. “I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.” He fingered the satchel. “You wouldn’t begrudge me a little look-see, would you?” There was no response from the sleeping man. So, curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the satchel and peered inside. The wooden box appeared to have some sort of intricate carving on it. He couldn’t quite make out what it was... Grabbing the box he was about to pull it out when he felt eyes on him. Turning slowly he found himself unable to meet his friend’s gaze.
“You said I c..c..could trust you.” The voice was flat and emotionless, without a hint of recrimination. Jack pushed himself up into a seated position, but stopped and leaned against the wall when the shaking started again. “Should’a known it was too good to be true.” He tossed the sonic screwdriver to the Doctor, who caught it one-handed. “Go ahead, open the d..d..door.”
“Jack, I... I’m...” He just stood there, one hand holding the screwdriver, the other still in the satchel.
“Like I told you back in the t..tavern. Jack is dead. You can’t diss..appoint a dead man.” He dragged himself to his feet. “The door, D..Doctor. Please.”
“No.”
Jack pushed himself off the wall and staggered to the Doctor, intent on grabbing his things. “Just open the d..d..door. Then you can go and I can go and w..we can forget this ever happened.”
Using exaggeratedly slow movements the Doctor removed his hand from Jack’s bag. “You must realize that I can’t do that. That I won’t do that. If you go out that door right now you’ll head straight back to Magiot's and within an hour you’ll be back on blissfire and back to letting yourself be treated like a piece of meat. I saw what they did to you there, Jack! I can’t let you go back there! And what about Gunther and Nell? Do you think they want that for you? Can’t you see how guilty they feel over what’s happened to you? I’m the idiot here. Don’t punish them, and don’t punish yourself because I couldn’t keep my hand out of the proverbial cookie jar!” He gathered up Jack’s things and handed them over. “I’m arrogant and insensitive. You know that. You always used to call me on that. Stay here until you’re well. Then, if you want to get away from me I won’t stop you. In fact I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Any place. Any time. Just not here, not back to that.” Slowly he reached out and cupped Jack’s chin in his hand. “Please, I can not be the reason you go back to that life. I promise you, I will not pry into your past, I will not look at your stuff, I’ll even leave the TARDIS and stay in the tavern with Nell and Gunther if you want me to . . . I’ll do anything, as long as the result is you getting better. I need you to get better. Please. I can’t lose you, not to this, not this way.”
Jack peered into his friend’s eyes. He saw the hopelessness there and the guilt. But there was something else . . . something he couldn’t quite read. “Why do I mm..matter so much to you? You walked away without a second thought before, what’s different now?”
“I spent my whole life running away, but when I saw you in the tavern I realized I couldn’t run anymore. I had to stop and face my past, my mistakes. And my biggest mistake was leaving you behind. Leaving you the way I did. Without ever... You’re my hero, Jack. A better man than I could ever hope to be and I can’t believe I let you go without making you see that. Or maybe I never even realize it for myself, until today.”
Jack smiled shyly, tilting his head away to hide the fact his eyes were welling up with tears.
“I was never happier than when I was with you, Jack.” The Doctor pulled Jack into a tight embrace. “Please, Jack. I need you.” He whispered breathlessly into Jack’s ear. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not ss..s...sure I can.” Jack whispered back. “I guess it depends...”
“Depends on what?”
“Is that a screwdriver in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”
Part Three
The response was not one either the Doctor or Jack had expected. Magiot simply laughed, a humorless and cruel laugh. “You'll be back. I'll leave your name on the rota.” Then he turned and walked away, his laughter echoing through the hall, mocking them.
Jack crumbled, just fell apart. Hours of quiet conversation, all that encouragement and support and a mere ten words had shattered his carefully rebuilt confidence completely. “He's right.” The empty, defeated tone was back in his voice. “I always failed b...b..before.”
“This time is different.”
The broken and empty eyes stayed staring at the floor. “Why?”
“I wasn't here before,” the Doctor replied, but the only acknowledgment was a disheartened shrug.
Jack started to limp dejectedly back to the tavern when the Doctor caught his arm. Not believing for a moment the other man was actually heading in the wrong direction by accident he gently chided. “Wrong way Captain, the TARDIS is over there,” and gestured to the hills outside of town. “Come on.”
The walk to the TARDIS was not an easy one. Jack's limp grew more and more pronounced, and, more worryingly, he had withdrawn into himself almost completely. The Doctor kept a light banter going the entire way, wisely making no mention of the hisses of pain from his companion. He didn't even pause in his description of the women of Rylos Seven when, after Jack's knees almost gave out, he surreptitiously guided Jack's left arm over his shoulders and slid his right arm around Jack's bony waist, practically taking on his full weight.
The TARDIS was only a meter or two away when Jack came to an abrupt halt. “I c..c..can't do this Doctor.”
“Course you can, only a little bit further.”
“Th..that's not what I m..m..meant.”
The Doctor sighed. “I know, Jack. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you have to realize I am not going anywhere. I ran away from you once. I won’t do that to you again.”
“S.s.s.sure you will. Eventually.”
“Jaaack. Trust me, please.” But what else could he really say? Jack was judging him on his past actions and they left quite a lot to be desired. After all, he was the one who left Jack on the abandoned Game Station surrounded by Dalek dust. He'd realized what Rose had done and run off to avoid the consequences, and never even looked back. There was nothing he could do about that now. First things first, get Jack off the blissfire. Once he was off the drugs and physically back up to snuff he could try to undo some of the psychological damage he'd done.
Jack might not have wanted to approach the TARDIS, but the Doctor gave him no choice in the matter. It was a blatant sign of how weak Jack truly was, because as the Doctor started walking again, Jack was half-carried along as well. Realizing this lack of control was tough on his friend the Doctor jokingly made a grab for the small bundle Jack held clutched against his chest. “Still have your key for her?”
“No.” No explanation. No apologizing. Just a simple negative statement which left so much unsaid. Jack no longer had his TARDIS key. Was it not needed, not wanted, too painful a reminder or merely not important enough to have been kept all this time? And if Jack no longer cared to keep a link to the TARDIS, what did that imply about his feelings to those who traveled in her?
“Oh, well, that's all right . . . I've got mine.” He opened the door, but realized Jack was still reluctant to enter. “She wants you here, Jack. Really she does. She would never have brought me here to find you otherwise.” Either that finally convinced Jack, or he was just far too exhausted to argue, because he hobbled in, letting the Doctor lead him to the medical bay.
“Right, let's get a proper scan.” the Doctor said, as he guided Jack to the examination table. “Off with that shirt.” But Jack didn't move; he didn't say anything, which surprised the Doctor. The Jack Harkness he had known oozed sexuality and flirtation from every pore. That man would strip the second the opportunity, any opportunity, presented itself, if not before. It had been such an annoyance, a hindrance, something that frustrated him to no end. He hadn't thought it was possible that he would be missing that trait in his old friend.
He reached over to undo the buttons himself and was startled to see Jack flinch. It was such a slight movement; he almost didn't even register it. Nell's words came back to him, unbidden, “What they did to him, what was done to him. He was in so much pain.” It was an unpleasant reminder that they never had given him an answer as to how long Jack had worked for Magiot, or other than the drugs, what kind of damage had been done to him there.
“Jack, why don't you put your things down on the counter?” He waited while Jack went through an internal debate, but eventually released his small satchel. It was a little unnerving, after who knows how many hundreds of years of living, all Jack had to show for it was a spare shirt, a small wooden box and a few other mementoes. “Excellent. Now would you please remove your shirt for me? It would make it easier for the TARDIS to scan you properly.”
“M..mm.m.maybe w.w.w.we could d.d..do this l..later? P..please?” Jack’s stuttering had increased significantly and it was due to more than the influence of the blissfire. Jack appeared to be, well, terrified was the only word for it. Jack. This was Jack Harkness, the man who had thought nothing of facing a Dalek fleet with only a handful of people fighting at his side. The man who had sacrificed himself to a madman to let Martha escape. What was he so scared of? What was he trying to hide?
“You know we can't. We have to see how you're dealing with the withdrawal. And I know there's some cuts and bruising. You'll feel better once we get that cleaned up.” He reached out again. “Let the TARDIS get a good look at you, the more she knows the better a job she'll be able to do treating you.” He took Jack's small sigh as token acceptance and began to undo the shirt buttons.
He'd done some scans that morning with the sonic screwdriver, so he thought he knew what to expect. He was wrong. So wrong. What he saw when he finally removed Jack's shirt nearly broke his hearts. Jack was horribly thin. He could see each and every one of his ribs and all the bones in his spine; there was no fat and practically no muscle. The man was just skin and bones. And then there were the wounds: whip marks, teeth marks, slashes, gashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, burns, welts . . . he couldn't even begin to count or catalogue them all. And what made it even more disturbing, if such a thing was even possible, was how recently it had all been inflicted upon him. Only a few had healed enough to begin to scab over and turn into scars, which meant all that damage had been done within the past week or two.
“Jack, what . . .” Where to even begin . . . And what sorts of other injuries were still being hidden by the trousers? Based on the nature of Jack's work, and what Nell and Gunther had said, most likely the Doctor hadn't even seen the worst of the injuries yet. “I need a complete scan, Jack.” His horror at what he saw was making his voice harsher than intended. “Take everything off and lie down.” Jack complied, a blush of embarrassment creeping over his face; he didn't attempt to argue but just lay down, staring straight up at the ceiling, refusing to even acknowledge the Doctor.
The Doctor didn't even need to look at the scans to see that it was so much worse than he had expected. Worse than he had ever thought possible. How had Jack lived like this, day in and day out for all those years? It was no wonder he'd eventually turned to drugs to be able to make it through the day. What could he say that would not just make matters worse? How could he convince his friend that a coward would never have survived this kind of treatment? That he was still the hero he had always been, and always would be?
Eventually, he found his voice again. “Right. Let's get you cleaned up.” He reached over and grabbed a bowl and washcloth. “Roll over onto your stomach for me please. Don't worry; it won't sting.” He'd made sure the cloth was treated with antibiotics and painkillers, there was no way he was going to cause Jack any more pain if he could avoid it. Gently, ever so gently, he washed his friend, cleaning away the filth and blood. Jack didn't quite relax as the Doctor worked, but eventually he did stop flinching at every touch.
When the injuries that could be treated or bandaged were taken care of the Doctor grabbed some clean clothes from the wardrobe room and helped Jack into them before settling him in a comfortable chair in the corner. “Feeling a bit peckish perhaps? You are quite a bit underweight, a little meat on those bones would do wonders . . .” He trailed off when he noticed Jack shaking his head. “What?”
“No p...point in eating,” Jack said, holding up his hand to show the tremors. “Blissfire withdrawal. It's all.. already starting. B..b.be throwing up s..s..soon.”
“Right, you know what to expect. Gunther told me you've tried to quit using before.”
Jack nodded quickly, staring at his hands. “Lots of t.t.t...times. Wa...wasn't strong enough.”
“You can do this.” The Doctor reached out to stroke Jack's jaw, but pulled his hand away when he saw the flash of fear and self loathing in Jack's eyes.
“Last time I convulsed so mmmuch my heart couldn't take it. Nell f.f.found me. S...s...scared her so b..b..bad when I came b..b.back to life.” He paused, fists balling up in memory. “All healed up . . . b..b.but still addicted.”
“How often . . . Jack, I couldn't help but notice . . . I mean, with those injuries . . . it's just that none of them are that old. I know it's not . . . if you don't want to . . .” The words ran over themselves as they raced off his tongue.
“S..spit it out, Doctor.” Jack glared at him, as if he were daring the Doctor to voice his query.
The Doctor nervously ran his hands through his hair. It was a simple question, but he didn't want to know the answer. He really didn’t want to know. He needed to know, but some truths were just too painful to face. Taking a deep breath he finally asked. “How many times have you died while working for Magiot?”
Jack shook his head. “No idea.”
“How often then?”
“D..d..depends on the clientele.” There was a cold acceptance in the way he recited the facts. “C.c.couple of times a m..m..month... or a couple of times a n..n..night.” He shrugged.
“Oh, Jack . . .” But he trailed off. There was just something wrong, so wrong, about the tone of Jack's voice. Everything was presented as if it were just a matter of fact, like somehow he'd been deserving of the horrors this life had thrust upon him. The man had been injured badly enough to die hundreds, if not thousands, of times yet failed to see it as anything more than his fate. The Doctor was not a man to be at a loss for words, but here was a time he simply had no idea what to say.
They sat in silence as Jack’s trembling worsened until he suddenly grimaced and flew to his feet. He barely reached the basin before he began vomiting. The Doctor rested his hand on Jack’s neck, as a sign of support, as the vomiting became wave after wave of dry heaves. When they finally stopped, Jack sank to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had snapped.
“I c..c..can’t do t..t.this.” He was sweating and shivering.
“Yes, you can.” The Doctor replied, steely determination in his voice. He stood up and rifled through the medical bay cabinets. “We can treat some of the withdrawal symptoms with medication. There’s no need for you to suffer like this. Hmmm. No. No. No . . .” Vials and pills and syringes went flying. “Aha!” He spun around and slapped a patch onto Jack’s neck. “Here, this should help with the nausea. And let’s see . . .” He began rummaging again.
“No.”
“Sorry? No, what?”
“I’m not r..replacing one drug with another.” Jack fingered the patch, trying to pull it off.
“Stop that.” The Doctor swatted Jack’s hand away. “Once your body is through the withdrawal, you won’t need it anymore, but until then you are leaving it on. And you are taking whatever else I say you should.” It wasn’t until he saw the slight cringe that he realized how harsh he must have sounded to the other man.
“Jack. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.” He gestured at the mess he’d created in the medical bay and then at Jack, still slumped by the basin. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not finding for you earlier. I’m mad that you were in that place, forced to do what you did, and I didn’t know. I can’t believe I let you slip so far away from me.” He settled down on the floor next to Jack. “Remember that time you laughed when I said you were my responsibility? In the year 100 trillion? I meant it. I’d run from it, from you, for so long. I don’t do responsible very well.” He ignored Jack’s snort in response. “Let me try to make up for it now. Please?”
For a terrible moment the Doctor thought Jack had changed his mind about accepting his help, but then there was the slightest shrug of acquiescence.
“Right then, first things first. Let’s get off this cold floor.” He started to get Jack up but saw how his friend stiffened when they approached one of the beds. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe there was a reason that Jack’s ‘humble abode’ had been some bedding in a storage closet. Nell had told him of the turned down offers for a proper room but he hadn’t thought to question why. And now was not the time to get into it. “Wait, trying to wash these mattresses is a nightmare and even with the meds you’ll still be sweating and bleeding and making a mess. Would you mind if we just piled a bunch of blankets and pillows on the floor?” He felt the tension bleed out of the other man. “Just a sec . . .” Opening cabinet after cabinet the Doctor pulled out blankets and sheets and pillows and threw them onto the floor.
Jack, very gingerly, lay down on top of one of thinner blankets and curled into a ball, his back against the wall. It was all the Doctor could do not to scream. “Grab a pillow! Lie on something softer! You deserve better than this!” But he said nothing, only grabbed two of the medication patches and a few pillows for himself before sitting down next to his friend.
“This one will help with the pain.” He lifted up Jack’s sleeve to find an uninjured spot and pressed it on. “And this one, infection . . .” But there was no other place to put the patch on that arm. Jack eyed the Doctor, as if daring him to comment, before pulling down the collar of his shirt past the teeth marks to an unblemished swatch of skin under his clavicle.
“Better?” The Doctor asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Jack nodded, as he pulled himself tighter into a ball. Tremors still ran through him and the sweating and shivering hadn’t ceased. “Some.”
The Doctor scooted over until he was right next to Jack and, in one deft movement, lifted Jack’s head up and slipped his leg under so Jack was forced to use his thigh as a pillow. Then, reaching over, he grabbed a blanket and spread it over Jack. “No need for you to catch pneumonia now, is there?”
Even with the medication he had provided the Doctor could tell Jack was having a hard time with the withdrawal. He could hear the uneven breathing and the occasional moan, feel the shivers and tremors and see the sweat pouring from his body. He was desperate to help, but unsure where to begin; perhaps getting his mind off of it all was the key, find something, anything, to talk about.
“So . . . Jack . . . Why did you let Nell and Gunther call you ‘Old Man?’ Why didn’t you tell them your real name?”
Jack pushed himself up on his arms to stare at the Doctor. “W..w..why not? It fit. I’m old. I’m a mm..man.”
“But, I don’t understand,” the Doctor began, his frustration getting the better of him. “You have a name, why didn’t you use it?”
Jack scrabbled onto his feet, his face filled with fury. “Like you use yours? R..r.right, ‘Doctor?’ Why don’t you ever u..use your real name? Or mine? Or are you too b..b..blind to realize that C..Cap..Capt’n....” Suddenly, as quickly as it started, the shouting was over. Jack stiffened, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed into a fit of convulsions.
“Oh damn it!” The Doctor shouted, running to Jack’s side. He felt for a pulse, and was glad to find one, but didn’t like the way it was racing erratically, the heartbeats too fast for him to even count. “Hold on, Jack! Just hold on!” He began rummaging through the medicine chest. “I have anti-convulsives . . .” Medicines went flying everywhere. “They’re here . . . somewhere . . . I just need . . .” There was a strange half-choking gargle noise from the floor and Jack went very still. “Jack?” Hesitantly, the Doctor approached his friend, but he didn’t need the TARDIS’s scanners to know that Jack was dead. “No, no, no, no, no!” He gathered Jack in his arms. “You weren’t supposed to have to go through this again. I was supposed to help you.”
Time seemed to stop as they stayed there; Jack, lying in the Doctor’s arms, getting colder and colder while the Doctor rocked back and forth, crying at the injustice of it all. “Jack? Come back, Jack.” The Doctor hesitantly pleaded, over and over. “Please, Jack.” He hugged Jack tighter. In all the time he had known Jack he’d seen him die many times. He’d always come back to life within minutes. He didn’t realize he was mimicking what Nell had said earlier that day. “Come on Jack, come back to me.”
It was only as he was gently spreading a blanket over the two of them that he noticed that Jack had healed. There was no longer any physical evidence of his abuse. “I suppose there’s something to be said for dying after all, eh Jack?” he whispered, with a lightness he didn’t feel as he brushed Jack’s hair off his face and leaned over to kiss his forehead.
This time Jack didn’t come back to life with the gasp the Doctor had expected, it was more of a weary sigh. But whatever it was, it sounded beautiful. “Jack?” he called, softly.
Jack shifted slightly within the Doctor’s arms. “Doc?” His eyes fluttered. “What . . .” he started to ask what happened, but realization rushed in. “Oh. Oh god. I didn’t mean to s..scare you like that.”
“Jack, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”
Jack started to sit up, to pull himself out of the Doctor’s grasp, but the Doctor held him tight. “Doctor?” he asked, obviously confused.
“You’re not getting away from me, not again.”
“But, I . . .”
“No buts. The TARDIS isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.” He stroked Jack’s hair gently. “Now, you’re obviously exhausted. I’d like to give you a sedative, just a mild one, enough to take the edge off and let you get some sleep. Maybe, then, by the time you wake up, enough of the withdrawal symptoms will have passed that you’ll be able to eat something.” He felt Jack tense slightly, and he immediately guessed the reason. “You’re safe here Jack, no one will hurt you. The door’s shut; you’ve seen how strong it is. An army of Daleks couldn’t get in here, let alone any of Magiot's men. You need sleep. I won’t leave the room, I promise.”
“No, I . . .it’s just . . . I . . .can’t.” He weakly tried to pull away again.
“I’ve an idea.” The Doctor reached into a pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver and then gently slid out from behind Jack. “Go get yourself comfortable in all that bedding.” He pointed to the sheets, blankets and pillows that were still piled against the wall. “I’m just going to take care of something.”
Jack didn’t move, just curled up slightly; a tight human ball watching with a wary eye. The look of suspicion slipped into one of confusion when the Doctor shut the medical bay door, and then with a shower of sparks, zapped the lock with the sonic screwdriver. A minute later, when Jack’s trembling hands were wrapped around the screwdriver, the confusion turned into a half-smile.
“No one can get in or out unless you let them, Jack.” The Doctor clamped him on the shoulder. “Now what do you say you let yourself get a little more comfortable?”
“B..b.but why?” Jack asked, as he allowed himself to be led onto the pile of blankets.
“You need sleep.” The Doctor pointed out. “You won’t sleep unless you feel safe. So, I had to make sure you felt safe. And now you do, right? So, will you let me give you that sedative?”
Jack curled up again, his back against the wall, the screwdriver grasped tightly in his shaking hand. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, as if gathering his courage, before giving an abrupt nod. The Doctor didn’t say anything; just grinned that grin of his and placed a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder before administering the shot. And waited. Eventually, the rasping breathing evened out, the taut lines of pain on his face lessened slightly and the tremors slowed.
“Jack?” The Doctor called out quietly, but smiled when the other man showed no reaction at all. “Atta boy.” He stroked Jack’s hair absentmindedly. “How long’s it been since you slept? Really slept like this? I imagine quite some time, between the blissfire and the pain and the . . . job . . . Well, that’s all over with, you hear me? You just sleep. I’m going to clean up this mess It looks like a wild korantha beast got loose in here, doesn’t it?”
Fortunately, and unfortunately, it only took a few hours to get the medical bay squared away. While it was nice to have it all straightened up, it was a problem, because once everything was cleaned up the Doctor was left with nothing to do. He paced. He emptied his pockets, sorted through what he’d found in them and then put it all back. He picked up the satchel containing Jack’s things and opened it. Then immediately closed it. He ran scans on Jack. He ran scans on himself. He reorganized the medical supplies by alphabetical order, then by usage, then by planet of origin, then by size, and then randomly shoved everything back in the cabinets wherever they seemed to fit best.
Jack slept through it all. Which was good, it was what he needed. He was still sweating and shaking slightly but his withdrawal symptoms seemed to be lessening and they weren’t affecting his death grip on the sonic screwdriver. The result of which was that the Doctor was stuck in the medical bay. He paced some more... and stopped directly in front of the small bundle of Jack’s things. His gaze shifted from the pile to the sleeping man and back to the pile. “I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.” He fingered the satchel. “You wouldn’t begrudge me a little look-see, would you?” There was no response from the sleeping man. So, curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the satchel and peered inside. The wooden box appeared to have some sort of intricate carving on it. He couldn’t quite make out what it was... Grabbing the box he was about to pull it out when he felt eyes on him. Turning slowly he found himself unable to meet his friend’s gaze.
“You said I c..c..could trust you.” The voice was flat and emotionless, without a hint of recrimination. Jack pushed himself up into a seated position, but stopped and leaned against the wall when the shaking started again. “Should’a known it was too good to be true.” He tossed the sonic screwdriver to the Doctor, who caught it one-handed. “Go ahead, open the d..d..door.”
“Jack, I... I’m...” He just stood there, one hand holding the screwdriver, the other still in the satchel.
“Like I told you back in the t..tavern. Jack is dead. You can’t diss..appoint a dead man.” He dragged himself to his feet. “The door, D..Doctor. Please.”
“No.”
Jack pushed himself off the wall and staggered to the Doctor, intent on grabbing his things. “Just open the d..d..door. Then you can go and I can go and w..we can forget this ever happened.”
Using exaggeratedly slow movements the Doctor removed his hand from Jack’s bag. “You must realize that I can’t do that. That I won’t do that. If you go out that door right now you’ll head straight back to Magiot's and within an hour you’ll be back on blissfire and back to letting yourself be treated like a piece of meat. I saw what they did to you there, Jack! I can’t let you go back there! And what about Gunther and Nell? Do you think they want that for you? Can’t you see how guilty they feel over what’s happened to you? I’m the idiot here. Don’t punish them, and don’t punish yourself because I couldn’t keep my hand out of the proverbial cookie jar!” He gathered up Jack’s things and handed them over. “I’m arrogant and insensitive. You know that. You always used to call me on that. Stay here until you’re well. Then, if you want to get away from me I won’t stop you. In fact I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Any place. Any time. Just not here, not back to that.” Slowly he reached out and cupped Jack’s chin in his hand. “Please, I can not be the reason you go back to that life. I promise you, I will not pry into your past, I will not look at your stuff, I’ll even leave the TARDIS and stay in the tavern with Nell and Gunther if you want me to . . . I’ll do anything, as long as the result is you getting better. I need you to get better. Please. I can’t lose you, not to this, not this way.”
Jack peered into his friend’s eyes. He saw the hopelessness there and the guilt. But there was something else . . . something he couldn’t quite read. “Why do I mm..matter so much to you? You walked away without a second thought before, what’s different now?”
“I spent my whole life running away, but when I saw you in the tavern I realized I couldn’t run anymore. I had to stop and face my past, my mistakes. And my biggest mistake was leaving you behind. Leaving you the way I did. Without ever... You’re my hero, Jack. A better man than I could ever hope to be and I can’t believe I let you go without making you see that. Or maybe I never even realize it for myself, until today.”
Jack smiled shyly, tilting his head away to hide the fact his eyes were welling up with tears.
“I was never happier than when I was with you, Jack.” The Doctor pulled Jack into a tight embrace. “Please, Jack. I need you.” He whispered breathlessly into Jack’s ear. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not ss..s...sure I can.” Jack whispered back. “I guess it depends...”
“Depends on what?”
“Is that a screwdriver in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”
Part Three
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