for quitehomoerotic: Welcome to the Sahara Desert

[rude_not_ginger]

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The Doctor woke only a few short hours later and found himself positively disappointed at his lack of dreams. He'd spent years asleep without dreams, and now, when he really wanted them, he still had nothing. No memories, no twisting nightmares, not even a good brain-dump of nonsensical mental garbage. Just nothing. He was asleep next to Jack on the bed, and then he was awake.

He sighed. His memory was still swiss-cheesed with missing parts of the last two hundred years, but there seemed to be more gaps filled in. And that was something, wasn't it? It meant maybe a few more nights of dreamless sleep and he'd be back to himself completely.

He just hoped there weren't more memories like Mars to discover.

He looked over to Jack, asleep next to him. This was what Jack loved the most, he said. Not sleeping alone. Not being alone. In that instant, the Doctor understood it.

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[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"We'll just pick a world," he said. "Any world, Jack, and we'll go there. And just...recharge."

If he could find a world that didn't need saving, that wouldn't need them running around and saving something every few moments, that would be a miracle in and of itself. But it was a miracle they really, desperately needed.

"And then...we'll find out what those storms are," he said, "And we'll stop them."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Best start narrowing it down then, eh?" Jack said with more than a little hint of irony. But really, the possibility of a place for them both, just a moment in time, a day or two for them to be able to relax. To take the time they very much needed to rebuild themselves; it sounded very good.

He knew what it meant, when the Doctor said he wanted to go after the storms. It was more than just something that happened now, it was personal. The Doctor wanted his own back. Jack couldn't blame him for that.

He pulled his head back a little and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah we will."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Revenge was a terrible thing to think of. It did no good, he knew this. And, at one point in his life, he would've thought he was the man who never would. But now, he was too old, too lonely, and far too bitter to think about showing restraint.

He nodded, then nodded back at the bed.

"Go on, Jack. Get some sleep. I'll figure out where we're going next."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'm not tired," Jack said, shaking his head. It was a lie. He'd died and that always wore him out. That and he was emotionally raw. But he didn't want to leave the Doctor to himself. Not now.

He wanted to ask the Doctor what he was thinking, but it felt too invasive. Silly, perhaps, given if the channels were open he could feel what he was thinking.

"Do you need sleep?" he asked him. "You've not been back very long. And it didn't quite... well, go to plan. We should give you the once over."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Nah," the Doctor said. "Not tired yet. But I won't go anywhere without you, you don't need to worry."

His voice was more flippant than he felt. He was so tired. So emotionally tired, but he couldn't make himself sleep. He thought, briefly, of the anesthetics in the infirmary, of forcing himself to collapse through that. But, really, he wouldn't really be resting, he'd just be unconscious.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'm not scared of you running off," Jack told him, and to his surprise it was more truthful than even he realised he would be. Perhaps he wasn't scared of that now, maybe that meant something.

"Lie down anyway," he said. "With me." Maybe if Jack could make himself sleep, then he could make the Doctor sleep with him too, just as when the Doctor woke it woke him too.

"And hey, could give you one of those coveted Harkness back rubs if you like."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Part of the Doctor still wanted to be alone. He wanted to go writhe in his own misery for a long while, then eventually push it down so deep into himself he almost forgot it was there.

But Jack wanted him to stay. And so, with a nod, he moved back to the bed. The cups crunched beneath his shoes, but he decided he'd clean that up later. He'd clean it all up later. It make it right, somehow.

"I'll stay for a bit," he said.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Good," Jack said, nodding. "Good."

He moved then, over to the bed, ignoring the destruction in the room. None of that mattered, it really wasn't what was important.

At the bed he toed off his shoes and pulled down his braces to remove and discard his shredded shirt. He wondered how many over the years he'd destroyed with blood stains and death.

That done, he climbed onto the bed and patted down the space next to him.

"So," he said softly "where d'you want to go?"

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

He moved to sit next to Jack, then laid down on the bed, fully dressed. It felt like removing his armor, and he felt far too vulnerable to do that. Far too much had happened in the last few hours.

He reached out and put a hand on Jack's waist, just initiating some contact.

"Somewhere with clear skies."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack turned slightly so he was half on his side, propped up on one elbow with his hand resting against his face.

The touch wasn't expected, but it was welcome, and Jack dropped his free hand over to gently and discreetly cover the Doctor's.

"Clear skies sounds good," he said softly, just watching him. He felt as though all that weight and sadness, as if it were somehow visible on him.

"You know I spent a week in a hotel once called Clear Skies. It was... whoo, not quite what you're thinking of, I don't think." He laughed then, teasing sudden. Trying to be a little Jack.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Was that during one of your four-day honeymoons?" the Doctor replied, trying to smile as well but feeling a little flat from the day. He felt flat, like everything had weighed him down. Part of him knew that showed.

He had to rebound, somehow. And he would, eventually. He'd be all right, because he was always all right. Eventually.

"And we'll need many little drinks with little umbrellas in them, I think."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Just worked a job, I think. That was my reward." He laughed but it was a little flat. He was trying though, trying so hard. He'd been trying so hard for too many years.

"Non alcoholic cocktails, I hope. I know you when you've had a drink. You're all hands."

He sighed, and his voice softened a little. His hand moved from the Doctor's hand out to touch further along his arm.

"It's nice to talk to you and have you talk back," he said quietly.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, it won't be long and that novelty will wear off," the Doctor replied with a little smile. "Then, next thing I know, you'll be telling me to shut up."

He could only imagine what it was like for Jack. He knew almost what it was like. He had Jack connected to those monitors for years, watching him sit there, silent and still. But the Doctor forced himself outside, he forced himself to live rather than to dwell (though there was a not inconsiderable amount of dwelling, too). Jack had no one. No one but the TARDIS and the Doctor's body.

"Properly on the wagon, though, you?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'm just glad I'll be able to tell you to shut up," he admitted, letting his fingertips gently move back and forth over the fabric of the Doctor's sleeve.

It was still, in many ways, hard to realise. Realise that he was here and real and alive. And with the events of the last few hours, focusing on life... Jack would really rather do.

The question though, made him duck his head. He couldn't lie, but nor did he want to answer truthfully. He didn't answer.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The lack of an answer spoke more than any words might've. He ruined Jack in so many ways. Leaving him. Leaving him again. And again. And dying. He remembered once upon a time Jack would drink martinis and dance and laugh. Now, they sat here, two old and lonely people, and tried to keep themselves together.

It was the Doctor's fault.

"Go ahead and sleep," he offered Jack, quietly. "I'll still be here. I promise."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'm not tired," Jack reiterated, shaking his head. "I don't want to, I--" he sighed and just looked off. He didn't want to sleep, or to dream or to think. He wanted to pretend, but he couldn't even do that, not really.

"Do you remember it?" he asked quietly. "Dying."

Jack died often, of course, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't being too late to regenerate, it wasn't being alone at the end of it all.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The Doctor shut his eyes. The sewer and the man and trying to turn things around but it was too late. And death, not with a bang but a whimper.

"Yes," he said, quietly. "I remember all of it."

But why would he be allowed to forget that? There was the brief not-bliss that was ignorance when he was first resurrected, and now there was just a cold memory and the emptiness of the time he'd been dead. Jack's emptiness.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I should have stopped it," Jack said with an almost cold voice. "I was too late."

He fell back to his back andooked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes. When he opened them he stared up at nothingness, focusing on the coral up above.

"I killed him," he told him, quietly. "I killed him with my bare hands. Well, no. I hurt him and I let him die. I left him to die because he'd left you to die."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut at Jack's admittance. He remembered the man who killed him. Just a blurry face in a dark sewer, but he remembered. The utter heartlessness in it should've infuriated the Doctor, but it just made him sad. There were people like that all over the universe, no matter what anyone did. No matter what Jack tried to do to stop it.

"Revenge---"

He opened his eyes and turned to look at Jack, sad and serious. "Revenge doesn't solve anything, Jack. Nothing at all."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"It made me feel better," he said, sad and quiet. "It made me feel better. For five minutes. He didn't deserve to live if you couldn't. He was there going through your pockets and I--" he sighed and shook his head. His eyes were sore and when he blinked small tears escaped across his face.

"It's not the first time I've told you," he said. "I used to sit and," he turned his eyes towards him, "it was almost like a diary, I guess. And I guess I thought if I could talk to you it was like pretending you were still there. I could imagine what you'd say back." He let out an empty laugh. "And it wasn't always good."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"I wish I could say I remembered listening," he replied, and that was actually true. Jack opened up far more than the Doctor ever could, but there was never a time where they could just sit and talk to each other. Whenever they did, the other was silent and unable to hear.

He gave Jack a small smile. "If I tell you I did the same to you, when you were sleeping in that room, would you believe me?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack moved slightly, turning again, a little towards the Doctor. "Look then," he said. "I can remember. All of it. Look."

He reached his hand out slightly, placing it on the bed in the space between them, his fingers out towards him.

"I'd believe you," he said quietly.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

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.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

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.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

It was strange, how very alike they could be. Both sitting, talking about nothing, or talking about the things they couldn't possibly talk about to someone who was listening.

The Doctor wanted to delve deeper. He wanted to see how bad the alcohol addiction went. He wanted to see just how terribly Jack suffered, so he'd know what he had to atone for. He had, after all, spent too many years running, and too many people were left behind to suffer.

Like Bea.

He pushed that memory back before it surfaced too far, before Jack saw too much of her.