for quitehomoerotic: Welcome to the Boeshane Peninsula

[rude_not_ginger]

Follows this.

When the Doctor woke, he was prepared to feel stiff and uncomfortable. Usually, when reaching that point of exhaustion, he usually found himself on the floor or on the console, in some sort of an awkward position that left him sore for the next day. This morning, however, he was out of his clothes and stretched out on his bed, under the covers with a heating blanket.

A breathing heating blanket.

He raised an eyebrow and looked to where Jack had an arm around him as he slept. The previous day came rushing back. Pearl Harbor, the goodbyes, the return of Gallifrey, being captured by the Shadow Proclamation, and finally nearly killing Jack. They came so very close. Too close.

Without really thinking about it, the Doctor found himself wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulder. Jack, who was ready and willing to die the previous day. And the Doctor was willing to give him that. He had been willing to give him that. Not anmymore.

Where could they go, now?

Onwards, of course. It was the only way they could go.

The TARDIS wasn't moving anymore, and the Doctor slowly extracted himself from Jack's embrace. He grabbed his trousers and shirt and threw them on quickly, heading towards the console, hopefully before Jack woke.

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Drowning wasn't a pleasant thing, he decided. His cells were deciding whether or not it was time to start regenerating, and his hearts were starting to slow, and then---

Oxygen, at a combination with a good deal of nitrogen, was suddenly in his mouth. He sucked in the air greedily, not caring at first where it was coming from, only that it was there and he was breathing it.

Jack. Saving him again.

Half of him wanted to be furious, but the other half was too grateful to bother with that. His legs felt stronger, and he gave a solid kick, keeping his arms around Jack. They went up, towards the surface.

What had happened? What did that thing do to him? He tried to assess his physical changes, but the limited air in his system kept him from fully sorting exactly what had happened. He didn't feel ill, but that didn't mean he was safe.

He broke the surface and took in another breath of air.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack felt as though his head was full of cotton wool. And it became hard to tell exactly what was going on until they broke the surface and he took a very deep, much needed breath.

He looked around frantically, seeing the Doctor beside him, and he nodded, still catching his breath.

It struck him then, only briefly, that he might have yet again done something the Doctor didn't want him to. Was that his whole point? Did he want to get himself into trouble? Well Jack couldn't allow himself to find that out.

"You okay?" he asked when he finally had breath enough to. "I don't know what that thing was, but it was huge, I saw it."

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"I don't know," the Doctor said. He felt odd, like the breath hadn't made him better, hadn't fixed his ability to breathe. It was like dying.

He kicked away from Jack. "Something's happening."

He looked down at his hand, where the cells began to radiate white-hot energy. Regeneration energy. He was regenerating. How---how could he be regenerating? He wasn't---it wasn't---he hadn't died. He hadn't earned regeneration.

He felt the cells in his hand begin to relax as he thought that. His body began to normalize. He concentrated, and he could feel them start to activate again.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack looked over at the Doctor, worried.

"What?" he asked sharply. "What's happening?"

He glanced where the Doctor looked, his hand. Oh no, this couldn't be what he thought, could it?

"But you were barely under there!" he said, not wanting to believe it. "There's got to be something we can do."

And then, a realisation, and somewhat quieter.

"That's if you want us to do something?"

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"I don't know," the Doctor said, shocked at the energy moving from one cell to the next. "Poison, maybe? Something fast-acting?" He made a face. "That's a bit undramatic, isn't it?"

Did he want to do something? This life, this regeneration, it went so totally wrong, didn't it? It started out so promising, and now he was old, angry, and crippled by the weight of his failures. A fresh start, that was what he wanted, wasn't it? It was why he resented Jack's appearance, taking away his death in that room.

But...what if things were different? What if he regenerated into someone worse? It was hard with regeneration. He could never tell what he was going to get. But it wasn't as if he had a choice. It was too late, now.

"I-I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry, Jack."

The energy moved through his cells, and he waited for the inevitable crash as he lost himself to someone else. Nothing. It was as if the energy were waiting for something.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

This wasn't the time to get emotional, Jack told himself. It certainly wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself or mourn a loss. If the Doctor was going to regenerate then that would be okay. It was merely his body saving himself, right? And the Doctor would still be there. He'd still be the Doctor.

"I'll be here," he said insistently, refusing his apology. "I'm not going anywhere. It won't change that, okay?"

And though he knew it wasn't entirely safe to be close to the Doctor in a moment like that, he moved over in the water and touched a hand to his shoulder.

"So many adventures waiting for you, Doctor. Just think of those."

But even as he spoke he was getting emotional. Because it wasn't the same as the last time he'd seen the Doctor start to regenerate. There was more, and though that more might be gone? He didn't want this.

But maybe the Doctor did, so maybe that made it okay.

"I'll make sure you're okay," he urged. "I'll get you back to the TARDIS, I'll get you home."

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Of course he would. Jack would take care of him, wouldn't let him down. He never did, that was part of who Jack was. Part of why the Doctor counted on him.

"I love you," he said, because if there was a better time for last confessions, the Doctor couldn't think of it.

He might change completely. He might be non-human or unrecognizably daft in comparison to who he was now. Some terribly selfish buzz in the back of his mind told him that he might not have a mole on his back or like his tea with milk or...

"What's it waiting for?" he found himself saying. The energy clung to him, but it didn't shift, it didn't take over his cells. He didn't feel like he was dying; there was no pain. But the energy hung there, as if asking for approval.

"Something's wrong, Jack," the Doctor said. "This isn't how it should be. I'm not a Time Lady, I don't get a say about whether or not I regenerate."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

And if Jack had thought he could hide his emotion then he couldn't, not now, not when the Doctor made his admission.

"I love you too," he said back to him, his voice choked up. "And I always will. Whoever you are."

But then while that was true it wasn't as true as he might like it to be. Because Jack always loved the Doctor, yes, but he was in love with this Doctor. And he'd miss him. Oh how he'd miss him.

But he went on and there was something wrong? It sent him into an internal panic. What if it didn't work? What if the Doctor died and didn't regenerate at all? It was too terrifying to imagine.

He shook his head sharply and looked again down to the water. For a moment he plunged himself back underneath and looked out at the occasional sparks of electricity. One of which seemed to curl around the Doctor's form.

He again came to the surface. "It's the current!" he said. "There's some sort of connection to you."

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That was good. Jack would love him even after he changed. It felt almost like he'd made a decision, then, like the regeneration was ready to take place, like he was ready to go.

Except--

Except he didn't want to go. He didn't want to change. He had so much left he could do, so much he had to atone for. He didn't want to just die, now. He didn't want to change. He would, one day, but not yet.

"Connected?" he called over to Jack. "Is that what's draining the energy from me? Killing me?"

But the regeneration felt wrong.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I don't know," Jack said urgently. "It's like... one of the pulses, the lightning? It's focused on you. It's holding onto you."

He ducked again under the water. He could see the creature, whatever it was, with a tentacle twisting out into the water and retreating again. But it was leaving Jack alone, why? Why had it focused on the Doctor. And Jack wondered, why him and not me? What was the key?

Again he came up from the water, hands reached out towards him. "Doctor I don't know what this is. I'm sorry I don't know. Let me get you out of here. Whatever that thing is it's doing something to you."

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Maybe he could focus the regenerative energy and heal his cells without having to die. Maybe? But he didn't know what was killing him, which meant healing the necessary cells would be impossible. But he didn't want to die. He didn't want to go. He wanted things to go back to the way they were, not end completely.

He could do so much.

When Jack submerged, he found himself choking out a frustrated breath. "I don't want to go."

It was like a hook in him had suddenly been pulled out, like the regeneration energy he'd been weighted down by suddenly lifted. The tether of lightning released, trailing off into the water.

"What was it doing?" the Doctor asked, looking down into the depths. "Something? What sort of something?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

It seemed like a snap in the water, and Jack could almost imagine he'd heard it, like a crack of sheet lightning hitting the sky. It withdrew and the cave seemed to grow a little darker.

"What happened?" he asked with confusion. "Doctor what happened, what's happening?"

And again he looked down and up again. "The pulses," he said, "they were wrapping around you. Like waves, like brainwaves. Doctor's the creature's still down there, I could see it and it wasn't attacking me. It's like it's waiting."

He was terrified then though, because what was happening? He had no idea. Was the Doctor about to regenerate?

"Doctor are you changing? Is it happening?"

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"I don't know," the Doctor said. He looked down at his hand. The freckles, the hairs, they were all totally familiar to him. He could feel the mole between his shoulderblades brushing against the back of his shirt. He was still himself. That...that didn't make any sense.

"Brainwaves," he repeated. "My brainwaves, the ones that were begging for regeneration moments ago. Practically pleading with the universe for it. And when I changed my mind..."

He wiggled his leg, now totally injury-free. It was strange, surreal. He was ready for death, but he wasn't. And that thing, whatever it was, was willing to give it to him.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"It could hear you," Jack suggested. "What you were thinking, Doctor it could hear it."

He looked back to the water, wondering about the creature that lurked just beneath them. What it was and why it did what it did.

And then Jack thought again on what the Doctor had said and he turned his head sharply towards him. "Is that what you want?" he said. "You want it that badly? It's that bad being you?"

He shook his head. He felt lost. What could he do here? He didn't know what that thing was, he didn't know what the Doctor wanted, and he couldn't work any of it out.

"Doctor just tell me wha--" and then he listened a little more. "You changed your mind?"

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"You have no idea," the Doctor said. After a second, he added, in a more flippant tone, "No, wait, maybe you do. You've been me, before."

What was that creature? Why would it do that?

The Doctor sniffed, then nodded, keeping his eyes on the water. "A Time Lord only has thirteen lives. Losing one because I don't want to deal with the life I've led's a bit immature, don't you think? I'd like to think I've outlived that much immaturity."

He took in a breath, then swam downwards, wary of any stray tentacles. But the creature seemed to be still. For now.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Yeah," he said, "and you've been me, so I think we can do without the games."

Jack still worried. He had no idea what was going on here, but apparently the Doctor wasn't regenerating? At least it appeared that way. He didn't seem to Jack that he was very bothered either way, and he couldn't tell if that was his holding in emotion or just that he didn't care.

And then again he was gone. Jack saved just a moment to give an incredulous stare at the water. "I wish I knew what the hell you were thinking," he said to the air around him, and then took a deep breath to follow him down.

Under the water it seemed as though the creature had retreated somewhat, but the electric pulses still continued in the water, like a heartbeat.

Jack touched a hand to the Doctor's side to get his attention and made a confused gesture in his direction. He wasn't happy with any of this, and he had the overriding feeling that they should get out.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Yes, the Doctor had been Jack. He'd been Jack, and he'd seen how utterly terrifying it was to die. Not to regenerate, not to straddle the lines of death and life. But to die, completely and utterly.

How could Jack say that was 'all' it was? How could he think the Doctor would just easily kill him? Death was horrifying. And the Doctor wanted to protect him from it, wasn't that obvious?

He followed Jack's lead back to the surface of the water.

"Whatever it is down there, it's changing the climate of this area," he said. "And no matter what it can do, we can't let it alter your history. Because while nobody loves altering a fixed event like I do, we both know what'll happen to the universe if it does."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack let out a long suffering sigh and shook his head.

"You're right," he agreed, "you're right but we're not doing any good like this. We need that breathing aparatus. It's stupid going head first into this, we have no idea what this thing is and what it's capable of. It'll be dark out there, Doctor. We should go back to the city, get what we need and do this when it's light."

He looked again to the cave, the way they'd been and the way they came, and again back to the Doctor.

"Are you with me? I don't want to risk this, Doctor."

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The Doctor didn't want to leave. He wanted to know what that thing was, he wanted to know what very nearly happened to him. He wanted to sort this out now.

But he jumped in without a thought. It nearly cost him a regeneration (or had it given to him, whichever the case was). And Jack...He'd hurt Jack, not just with his actions. The Doctor was impossible at times, but this was far worse. He wasn't sure what he wanted, and he thrust the blame of that onto his companion.

The least he could do was relent.

"All right," he said. "Let's go."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Travelling the unknown could be all well and good, but sometimes there could be a lot to say for placed that were known so well that they could be navigated with your eyes closed. A skill especially helpful when you're soaking wet and it's pitch dark.

And so this was one of those occasions. Jack knew Boeshane well and he knew how to navigate it. From the sea where they'd emerged and back along the beach to the city and again inside. It was practically empty now, unlike the busy marketplace it had been earlier in the day.

There was a small in to the far side of the city, and Jack had taken them there. Thankfully even in Boeshane, and even when dripping wet, his signature charm worked a treat and he procured them both a suite for the evening. A small collection of rooms, all for their use. Somewhere to unwind and inside safe before the sandstorm started (they'd have never made it back to the TARDIS in that).

From a cupboard Jack pulled two towels and threw one in the Doctor's direction.

"Shower's through there," he told him as he removed his coat and hung it over the back of a chair to dry it out.

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The Doctor's coat found a place over the side of a table, and he left for the washroom without so much as a word. What had become of them? Last night, with Jack. And today, with the Doctor. So close to death for the both of them, and for what? What were they proving to each other?

He lifted his calf to the side of a sink and looked at the cuts on his trouser leg. Holes, like spikes, stabbing into the skin. He'd definitely been snared, but now no cuts remained, like the creature had sealed them when it let go. Or when Jack made it let go, whichever it was.

The Doctor lowered his leg and looked into the mirror. This old face. He'd gotten very used to this face, though now it had pink scars forming underneath the torn flesh from his confrontation with the Time Lords. Battle scars, Wilf had called them. Maybe that would be enough of a change. Something to remind him of what he had been, instead of what he would be.

What about Jack? Jack, who never held onto any scars or cuts. Jack, who was eternally 35. It seemed so logical, before. Taking Jack with him so they could spend their eternities together. But now, it seemed, their longevity was catching up with them.

He threw off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before heading out of the washroom to find somewhere to make tea. He'd shower later, he had enough of looking at himself.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

As the Doctor left the room Jack sunk himself down into a chair at the table. He leaned his elbows forward and buried his head in his hands. Today had been a very strange day. Very long and full of so many emotions. But then everything seemed like that lately.

He took a deep sigh and wondered if it was his fault. What happened to the Doctor out there in the water, he could have regenerated, he could have died and Jack had no evidence that he'd cared either way.

The Doctor was always such a wonderful man, and everyone Jack touched broke. Was he breaking the Doctor too?

He didn't hear him come back, so he was taken a little off guard, but as soon as he realised he was out of the bathroom, Jack pulled back his hands and took a deep breath. He was still sitting in his sodden clothes, but he had little inclination to change them.

"How're you doing?" he asked gently. Worried over the Doctor after what happened earlier. Worried in general. Nothing was right, and he longed for something that once was, but he felt more than ever it would only be a memory.

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"I think the tentacle released some sort of a healing enzyme," the Doctor said, casually. "Not a cut, not a bruise. And that creature had one hell of a grip."

When in doubt, the Doctor simply ignored. He knew, even as he fiddled about in the cabinets, that ignoring wouldn't last forever. He couldn't ignore, because it only made things worse. It only made injuries fester.

He turned to Jack. He should say something, he decided. He should say something, try to make it better. Try to apologize. Not just a 'sorry, so sorry' apology, but a real apology.

No words came out.

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Jack nodded at the information before straightening his back a little and speaking up. "First thing in the morning we'll get out there. We'll get some equipment and get back to that cave. It looked like it had been there a while so it should be fine for tonight."

He let out a long and laboured breath. "Could it be like last time?" he asked, "Regeneration energy healed what was there and then the rest fizzled out."

Fizzled out, isn't that the description they'd used about Jack himself were he to die?

The Doctor looked at him and Jack looked back. It was as though he was waiting for something, but Jack couldn't place it. "What?" he asked tiredly, throwing his hands back up a little before leaning back in his chair.

"Look we should get our heads down, get some rest and get an early start."

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"I'm----" Sorry. He was sorry. He was impossibly sorry in every sense of the word. Give me a capital S. S! Give me a capital O. O! Give me a capital R. R! Give me a capital R----

But after the previous evening, after the previous week, sorry didn't feel like it was enough. He could've been screaming it from the hilltops and it didn't hold enough weight.

So, the Doctor did what he was best at: He changed the subject.

"---pretty sure that the regeneration energy wasn't created by me, or my Time Lord DNA. It was far too regular, far too easily controlled. The human side to my DNA makes regeneration very difficult, very dangerous. I wouldn't be too terribly surprised if my next regeneration blows a hole in the TARDIS from pent-up energy."