The Doctor (
rude_not_ginger) wrote2010-08-08 06:31 pm
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for
quitehomoerotic: Welcome to the Sahara Desert
follows this.
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.
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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"I had the whole ship force-sealed when one of the guards told me you had that. Unless the Doctor turns it off, we're trapped here."
She reached down her hand to cover Jack's, where it pressed into her wound. Tears filled in her eyes. "I don't want you to die here, too. I didn't---I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted him to know. I just want him to be happy. You make him happy."
Her eyes started to close as the gas started to quickly take effect.
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Doctor, can you hear me? Please hear me. He tried, but he doubted it would be heard.
Jack shifted his other hand to her cheek and cradled her face as her head started to lilt. "It's okay," he said. "It's fine. I can't die. I'll wake right back up again. I'll stay with you. Come on, talk to me, Beatrice. Talk to me."
He carried on talking as he pulled her over into his arms, his hand tight over the wound and his bloodied fingers lacing with hers.
"You're going to be okay," he told her, but he knew that wasn't true, and there were tears in his eyes. He should have been able to save her. He could feel the gas as he breathed in, and he was losing strength too, his muscles giving way.
"Just you stay with me," he said, voice a little slower. "Stay right here, Bea. The Doctor will be here soon."
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Beatrice nodded. "Yeah," she said. "The Doctor will save us."
And with that, her head lolled over to the side, and her breathing stopped.
Jack. Jack talk to me.
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His hand tightened a little around hers, and he pulled her body closer to his. His lips touched loosely to her forehead and he fell sideways to the floor.
His eyes were struggling to stay open and he just about managed to press a thought to the Doctor, broken and shaky.
I'm sorry.
He breathed one last breath and his head fell to the side. He was dead. His hand still holding hers.
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The life signs in the engine room blinked, and then suddenly went out.
Jack!
The Doctor ran down the corridor, slipping on the wet metal and falling hard onto the ground. He bit his lip and it split open, but he pulled himself up and ran faster, further down the hallway. No, no, no. No, it wasn't possible. This couldn't be happening. No.
He to the door and pulled out the sonic. Deadlocked. He couldn't even pry it open if he wanted to. He looked up, through the small, glass window. The room was a fuzzy haze of green, but he could see the shiny metal of Jack's glasses in there.
They were dead. Both of them. No, no. All three of them. Jack would be back, but not Bea. Not Bea, because he wasn't fast enough. The ship shook again, and several lights went out in succession. He couldn't cry right now, he couldn't. Still had to save the TARDIS, still had to get Jack out of there. Grief could come later.
He reached a panel and pressed the button that said de-oxygenaite. With a whoosh of air, the room was cleared of the gas. He pressed another button that reoxygenated it. Too late, of course. He looked through the window to see Bea lying quietly on her back, and Jack to the side, holding her hand.
The Doctor closed his eyes and concentrated. Focused on healing Jack faster, the way he had before.
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This time it came with a cough and a splutter. He could still feel the damage from the gas on the inside of his throat. It felt raw and strained. He blinked his eyes slowly and he realised where he was. He realised who's hand he was holding, and he realised too that she was dead. Her eyes were closed and her skin already pale. His hand was sticky with her blood, and his shirt wearing the damage of how he tried to stop it. It all drew a painful picture.
Carefully, he pushed himself up, still on his side. He looked at her, watching, his hand still in hers and tears rolling down his cheeks without even noticing it.
And then, oh then, he knew he was there. He turned his head towards the door, and he saw him.
He could do nothing but stare.
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Get out of there.
He'd ask him why he didn't use it later.
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Carefully, he detached his hand from hers, and pushed himself to standing, one hand against the floor. He was wobbly on his feet, the gas still in his system a little. It would take a while to disperse.
He moved himself towards the door and put one hand flat to it.
I can't, he tried to tell him. The room is secured.
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Now, Jack. Get here, we'll get to the TARDIS.
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He flicked open his wrist strap and his eyes seemed to haze as he looked at it. He wasn't sure if it was the effects of the gas or just his inability to cope.
He pressed a button and disappeared from the room, re-appearing moments later on the other side of the wall, next to the Doctor, almost immediately slipping down the wall to the floor. He didn't look up at him.
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He had to keep moving. He couldn't stop right now. He couldn't think about Bea, he couldn't think about the things he'd remembered, and he couldn't think about the fact that he didn't even give Bea a hug before---before---
"Get up, Jack! Let's go!"
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He flicked his wrist strap open and looked at the display.
"One floor up. Storage 47," he said, closing the cover again and starting to walk in that direction. No other words. He didn't have any.
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He'd already fallen once in this corridor, but that wouldn't stop him from running again, faster this time. There was a loud crunching sound, as the storm seemed to tear the ship apart at its seams.
He darted up the stairs just as water started pouring in from the ceiling. The ship was taking on water. If they stayed, they'd be at the mercy of the storm, at the mercy of the water and the wind.
He threw open the door to storage 47. The TARDIS stood there, calm and patient as ever.
"In!"
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On the stairs Jack stopped only briefly to look up to a crack in the hull where the water came through like a flood. The desert outside must have been like an ocean, and for a moment, he considered what would happen if he stayed.
It was a fleeting thought though, and he was soon running up the remainder of the stairs and to the TARDIS.
He put a hand to the handle and she opened without need for a key. He head inside quickly and moved around the console, pressing a button or two to try and read the status of the storm. He left the helm to the Doctor.
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He turned a few dials and smacked the side of the console with the hammer, only to find it didn't need the extra jolt. The repairs Jack had made turned the usually rough exit into something resembling smoothness. But they weren't out of the storm yet.
"Hold on, this might be rough."
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The TARDIS shook a little as the time rotor started moving and they dematerialised away from the ship. Outside he could hear shudders of lightning as it attacked the damaged ship. Still the ship though, he hoped, and not them.
They shook again, rocking back and forth, knocking Jack from his stance, one foot losing stability and making him fall to the floor.
And then, quite suddenly, they evened out. They were away. Still in the vortex, but away. He pulled himself back up and looked up at the time rotor.
"Right," he said, his voice flat.
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Anything, anywhere, away. He thought about running. He thought about racing away from all of this and going somewhere, anywhere else. He thought about the places he could go and the things they could do instead of thinking about this or, well, anything. Anything at all.
But as he thought, he realized he'd moved to a sitting position next to the console, his back against the coral and his knees pulled up against his chest.
"I never found out," he said, quietly.
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Still, the Doctor's words made him turn his head towards him, and find him on the floor. He took a step around, slow and lazy, and he put his fingertips against the Doctor's shoulder, just slightly.
"I should have got her out of there," he said. And then a pause. "This is all my fault."
All his own selfish fault. His own desperation to revive the Doctor and have him back. But if he never had then that woman would have lived. She'd have had her child and in a way? The Doctor would have lived on. But his blind desperation and selfish desire to undo what had been done, and bring the Doctor back, it had all led to this.
"I think I'm going to just..." he gestured a hand back towards the doorway. He needed to do something. He needed to fall apart. But not in front of him.
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The Doctor needed to get away, too. Somewhere where he didn't have to think. Didn't have to consider the things that never happened, that should've happened. But if he started moving onto things that should've happened, he had no idea if he'd get out of that.
"Sometimes," he said. "Time Lords can see things that could be. But I can't. I can't in this case."
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He moved over towards the door and paused, his hand against the frame.
"I think," he started. "I think it might be time for me to go."
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The Doctor wanted to scream at him. He wanted shout at him and shake him and inform him that no, this was not a good idea in the slightest. Instead, he just sat there, looking up at him and unable to conjure the appropriate level of anger for that.
"I'm better off on my own."
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"I don't think it's about what I want any more. Look where'what I want' has got us."
He couldn't pretend he didn't want the Doctor to tell him that wasn't what he wanted, an excuse for him to tell himself it was a bad idea. Though that was selfish too, he shouldn't expect the Doctor to make his decisions for him.
And so they were back to the weak little lies both of them knew were false, it seemed. They knew each other so much better than that. The Doctor was never better alone, Jack knew that much.
"You need another Donna," he said. "Not another Jack."
He took a heavy breath. Glanced down and then aside. "Maybe I'll start Torchwood back up," he said, flippantly. "Someone needs to look after that rock when you're not around."
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"Jack," the Doctor said, suddenly, quietly.
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