Follows this.
It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.
One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.
Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.
It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.
It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.
That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.
While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.
But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.
It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.
One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.
Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.
It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.
It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.
That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.
While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.
But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.
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But sometimes, sometimes on very rare occasions it could be so much worse.
Sometimes the body would bring itself back to life before the system was ready to take it. Sometimes the death would be so severe that it couldn't simply be fixed and let him wake with a deep breath.
Sometimes, like this time, he would wake in agony, screaming agony as he could feel his insides twisting and fixing as they mended and made him whole again.
It took some time, on the floor of the cave, for his mind to take hold of itself enough to be aware of anything past the searing pain. His legs felt like they were on fire as the universe created them out of nothingness, as muscle and sinew grew and covered themselves with burned skin that flaked away to reveal pink and new underneath. It was like being burned alive in reverse. He didn't scream as much as he might have, and he wasn't together enough to realise that that was the Doctor's doing. A calm that sat just beyond the horror of it all.
But he did come around, and before too long his arms were thrashing out. He was terrified that he was alone, terrified of the pain and what might happen next.
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And the Doctor had to protect him. Somehow. Fat lot of good he'd been since they got here. No idea where they were or what was chasing them, up to the point where it ripped Jack in half.
Jack had been lying comatose for a very long time, so when Jack thrashed out, he was more startled than he possibly should have been. He caught Jack's hand and lowered it back to his chest.
"It's all right. I'm here."
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"Doctor!" he said his name, nervy and so so pleased that he was there.
"You didn't leave me," he said, relieved and still scared. "You didn't leave me."
He was sure he'd be alone. Sure of it even before he was killed. The Doctor wanted to get away from him and what more a perfect opportunity could have been offered up.
"You didn't leave me," he said again and brought his other hand over to cover the Doctor's, gripping it with both. "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you."
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The Doctor had a witty retort on the end of his tongue, something about not being able to leave because Jack had saved his life, or not being able to go without telling Jack how he wasn't half furious at him for disobeying his instruction---but Jack's frightened voice took all of the humor from him.
He held tight to Jack's hands and brought the other to cup the side of Jack's face. "I'm here. And so are you. Time's snapped you back."
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"Always does," he said, trying to bite back the pain he still felt. Everything pain as skin reformed over brand new legs.
"Your leg," he said, worried as he remembered the Doctor's injury, trying to forget his own. "Your leg, is it alright?" He brimmed over with emotion, the pain of it all making himself unable to contain it as he immediately got upset, eyes red and wet. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I shouldn't have shot you. I'm sorry, I really am. Everything you've done and I-" he stopped, hissed and let out a cry as nerve endings started reforming and feeling brought itself back.
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"You did what you thought was right," he said. His leg ached, but it was nothing to what Jack was feeling. His leg would be fine, this was...intense.
"Thought you were stopping me from destroying the world. Suppose I might've done the same in your place." He doubted he'd have used a gun, but he might've used force, if he thought it was necessary.
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"No you wouldn't," Jack protested, shaking his head a little and gripping tighter onto the Doctor's hand, "you never would. You're a better person than me, Doctor. A much better person."
He closed his eyes for a moment to try and focus a little. The pain was pushed back, thanks to the Doctor, and though Jack knew it should be there, it was only a ghost of an ache that he felt.
He went on, rambling a little without meaning to, "I try and be a better person, I do. See that's what you do to people, Doctor; you make them want to be better. People see you and the things you do and they want to be worthy." If he were in control of his faculties a little better, he might have stopped himself there. But as it was, he didn't.
"But that's the thing, Doctor. Nobody ever will. I mean, I try and pretend what you do doesn't blow me away, but it does, it still does. You light up the universe just by being in it, Doctor. And the trouble is you don't even know it. You have no idea how important and special you are."
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Jack's words made him smile. "You don't have to say those things, Jack, you know I already love myself. I'm just glad you realize how amazing I am, too."
His words held no real depth, of course. Yes, he was rather fond of his achievements, but he knew better than Jack the things he did to companions. He tore Sarah Jane's love away from her, he denied Jack his family by not being there for the attack from the 456. And yet, somehow, Jack remained, pledging his adoration.
"Relax. I'm not going anywhere."
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Part of Jack was the most scared because he was sure that as soon as he was fixed, the Doctor would go and Jack wouldn't go with him. He'd made it quite clear that there was no place for him any more, not with him.
Being alone was saddening at the best of times. The thought of that now was downright terrifying.
"Yes you are," Jack said, correcting him, "you've got to go back to the TARDIS. Little ship'll be missing you if you don't, and you know she'll only get angry." He couldn't help but still have that new found fondness for the TARDIS. It developed and grew as much as his feelings for the Doctor had in recent weeks.
"We had some good times though, didn't we, Doctor?" he went on. He wanted his goodbye. He really really wanted it. If things were going to end (and despite the Doctor saying he wasn't going anywhere, Jack couldn't quite absorb it), he wanted to have things end with a goodbye that he could at least remember.
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The Doctor pulled Jack into a hug, then, wrapping his arms around his shoulders firmly, while trying not to shift his upper torso too much. He held him close.
Holding him like this, he hoped, could cover up the incredible relief he knew his face was betraying. When Jack didn't come back, he could feel the timelines snapping back, but he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure it would work this time, too. Maybe, in this world, Jack wasn't able to reform. Maybe he needed the TARDIS, maybe---well, just maybe.
Having him alive and insisting the Doctor leave, well, that was a hell of a lot better than having him the way he was before.
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"I'm sorry," he said again, muffled against the collar of the Doctor's suit. "I got us into all this. I got you hurt, I put you in all this danger and for what? I'm dangerous, Doctor, and I hurt everyone I love."
He could say it like that, because as much as they both knew he was using the word love in the same sentence as referring to the Doctor, he a) wasn't looking at him as he said it, and b) was talking generally enough for it to be glossed over.
"You should be in the TARDIS now, or exploring the wild hills on Kirdap Major, not here with me, not having to go through all of this. I've done nothing the last few weeks but make it difficult for you."
Each word was spoken as he still held tight onto the Doctor. Held tight and clung to what time they had.
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For all that the Doctor was chastising Jack, he was thinking the exact same thing. Jack should've been off somewhere, not regrowing his lower body because of the Doctor. If the Doctor had just stayed in the flat back in Cardiff, maybe pretended to be asleep or something so they wouldn't have to talk about the with with conversation, maybe if he'd just thought before he'd acted...
And a small buzz in the back of his mind said that maybe if he agreed to what Jack wanted instead of pulling away out of fear...but that was a voice not to be listened to.
"I don't know how long night lasts here," he said. "You should rest while you can. I'll stay up, keep an eye out."
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Shifting back from the tight hug, Jack looked up at the Doctor's face and gripped tight onto his arm. Inside he was still hurting, but he was never a man that let that get in the way, if he had anything do to with it.
"No, I need to stay awake." He wasn't quite sure why he needed to stay awake, other than being quite certain he did. He wouldn't sleep while there was danger out there, and if he could do anything at all he wouldn't put the Doctor directly in that line of danger.
"How long was I out?" he asked, "it must have been hours, we need to get moving. I'm sorry you had to see... well, you know." Jack knew his 'wrongness' was a thing of discomfort for the Doctor. Anyone having to watch someone reconstruct wouldn't find it a pleasant experience, he was sure, but for someone who was so time sensitive as the Doctor, Jack was sure it would be so much worse.
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As if to emphasize his point, a five-foot-long centipede-like creature scurried past the entrance of the cave. It stopped to brush its antennae against the edge of the entrance, but then sped past, apparently having lost interest.
"If it isn't light in another few hours, we'll head out again."
He gently pulled himself from Jack's hands, and slipped off his suit jacket. He wadded it up and lifted Jack's head, to put it under as a pillow.
"You've still got some rebuilding to do, I imagine," he said.
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"A bit," he admitted quietly, "I'm not sure I've got much in the way of toes yet." He sighed and glanced down at the Doctor's coat over him, smiling a little softly.
"It should hurt more than this though," he mused to himself, frowning slightly confused. "What did you do?"
And then, quite separate to his question, he added sadly, "I'll have no shoes now. I hate walking without shoes."
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He leaned back against the cave wall again, pulling one knee up to lean his arms against, letting his injured leg stay prone. It was cold, but so long as he concentrated, he couldn't really feel it. There were more important things right now than cold, like helping Jack heal.
"First your shirt, now your trousers. I think you're just looking for a new wardrobe," he teased.
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Turning his head he looked over at the Doctor to watch him through half closed lids. He laughed gently, though it hurt inside and he winced a little from it. But it was pleasant in it's own strange little way.
"Either that or it's just my elaborate version of a striptease," he added, smiling over at him.
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A few hours ago, certainly not. Jack had been wandering around his flat in little more than a bath towel wrapped around his waist, and the Doctor had hardly noticed. Well, he'd noticed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable sort of notice.
"We'll figure out something for your feet once it's light out. I don't want to risk you getting poisoned by something out there."
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He smiled over at him, a little more genuine than the light heartedness of his words. "Why did you stay?" he asked softly. "You could have gone, it's not like you owe me anything."
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And the Doctor was, not too subtly, not telling Jack what his were.
"Besides, I figured you'd want somewhere to stitch yourself together where you wouldn't be constantly some creature's snack."
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He ducked his head down to his chest and couldn't hide his private little smile. Maybe the Doctor didn't hate him completely. That felt nice to think.
"I was just trying to be dramatic," he said with a small smirk, as though that was the real answer to why he let the creature take him. "I've got a reputation to uphold after all."
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He wasn't sure what the hell Jack was smiling about, but the Doctor found himself sharing the little smile. They were both being dramatic idiots, really. The Doctor, running to rewrite the universe. Jack, running in the face of huge, unstoppable creatures.
They really, really needed a holiday.
"If you ever make me have to drag half of you away from something like that again, though, I will be really put out."
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He laughed a little again and shook his head. Things had got a little crazy, hadn't they? Emotion and circumstance had run away from them. Damaged things, and Jack thought irreparably, but he was beginning to hope he had been wrong.
"Why would you have to?" he asked cautiously. "I mean, I don't plan on it happening again, especially not soon, and," he shrugged, "well, we'll be parting ways as soon as we find transport, won't we."
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The Doctor reached down and pressed his hand against his aching wound. Being a companion was about trust. The Doctor couldn't trust Jack.
"Yeah, suppose so."
Well, he could trust him with his life and with his TARDIS, but not with a gun. Maybe if guns were just eliminated from the picture completely, things would be different.
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He cleared his throat a little and lifted his voice. That tone he used to cover emotion. Falsely chirpy. Most people bought it.
"Well it shouldn't be too hard to find civilisation," he mused, "I can track tech on this," he tapped his wrist strap and rubbed a little blood off it. "If we follow that we can find our way to a shipyard. We'll get you transport first and then I can get some work on an oil replication refinery or something. 27th century was full of those."
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