Jack twisted his fingers a little around the Doctor's, and he looked out, staring at their hand in hands. It was an anchor, and maybe more than an anchor to just a connection, but an anchor to reality.

He took a deep breath as he started to see. To see what the Doctor saw. He recognised it, and recognised how it had helped him too. Oh it was strange how similar they both were, wasn't it? How they'd become over time.

Offering his own was hard because none of them were easy. None of them were good. But he tried. There were times where he sat there just talking. Sat there crying or monologuing at him. Times he held his hand and spoke of the day's repair works, carefully detailing them out to him, precise and important. And then there were the days he sat there with a bottle in his hand and tears in his eyes, wearing himself out until he slept on the floor.