The Doctor reached out his hand, curling his fingers with Jack's. They didn't need a physical connection at all anymore, he supposed, but it was nice to at least touch. To at least anchor that.

He closed his eyes. He let his own memories of talking to Jack filter to the surface. The many days of just sitting there and going on and on, as if he could pretend Jack was listening. He kept the sad days, the bad days, he kept those down and buried. Jack didn't need to see the way the Doctor had been when things were very hard.

And he waited for Jack to offer his own memories.