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]

"It's all right," the Doctor said. He loosened his tie and threw off his jacket. "This is your room, too."

It was odd, saying that. But it had been true before. Before they both started dying and leaving the other alone. Before...well, just before.

He turned back to Jack. "You sure you want to go?" he asked.

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Jack's back relaxed slightly, and he took a slow step back into the room. He supposed it was. The whole TARDIS had been for the last few years, but Jack never really felt like anything was truly 'his'. It was hard to accept anything as that.

"No," he said honestly, shaking his head and standing with his back leant against the wardrobe.

"It's not about what I want. Looks what I do when I'm around. And I think--" he looked down again. "I think maybe we had a window. Maybe we missed it. I don't know any more."

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"You didn't do this, Jack, I did," the Doctor said. "She could've moved on without me, but I---well, I---"

He let out a quiet sigh. It was so sad, everything that had happened. And it had happened because of the Doctor. Because of the Doctor and the universe and loneliness and---

Before he could properly register it, he was suddenly swinging his arm out violently, knocking over the lamp and the contents of his bedside table. The lamp shattered against his hand and went flying across the side of the room, and the rest of the table followed suit, scattering across the floor.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack could have moved out and tried to stop him, but he didn't. He just let him rage, because maybe he needed that. Everyone needed that, sometimes. There was more than one occasion Jack undid his work from rage and anger.

"So you slept with someone you shouldn't. You want to count the amount of times I've done something like that? I've been so... obsessed with getting you back that..." he shook his head and despite himself, he started to laugh, though it was small and pained.

"Oh listen to us. Arguing over who's fault it is."

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The side table didn't feel like enough. He went over to the table with the tea set on it and threw that aside, too, watching each of the fine cups pop and shatter against the hardwood floor. The table went next, splintering as he threw it aside.

He stood there and took a few calming breaths. He wanted to destroy more. He wanted to destroy enough so that it stopped hurting. His eyes were burning.

"Yeah, and she ended up dying for it," the Doctor said. "And I never knew."

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Jack stiffened and jumped a little as the Doctor carried on and as the ceramic shattered and cracked and the table following suit. The room looked like a mini hurricane had gone through it. And he couldn't just stand there and watch.

He took a step forward and reached both hands out, grabbing hold of the Doctor by his arms.

"Doctor," he said firmly, trying to grab his attention. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. I know."

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He could've pushed Jack away, he imagined. Shoved him away, too, and carried on destroying his room, then other rooms in the TARDIS. But he didn't, he let Jack hold him still, let Jack's grip on his arms steady him for the moment.

"I never found out, either," he said. "And it's not fair, Jack, I should've---"

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"I know," he said. His voice was firm but gentle, imploring and careful. "And it hurts. I know it hurts. But wondering what might isn't going to help you, it'll just eat away at you until there's nothing left."

Cautiously, so cautiously, he let go at his arms and moved forward a little, slipping his own gently around the Doctor's shoulder. And while he could, even for a moment, he held him.

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Jack understood. It made it easier, somehow, knowing that Jack really, genuinely understood.

The Doctor didn't hug Jack back. He stood there, stiffly, almost afraid that if he moved he'd start lashing out again. He was so angry with himself, so angry with the universe, and so utterly furious at whatever the storm they'd been running from was. Before, it was something frightening. Now, it had killed.

"I didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl," he said. "Just like me, though. Never thinking to ask until it's too late."

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The Doctor's lack of response to the touch didn't disparage Jack. He simply stood there, holding him closer, if anything gripping him a little tighter. He put one hand to the back of his hair, stroking just gently.

"I know," he said sadly, closing his eyes. "I know." Because he had known. He'd known exactly what the Doctor meant even before he'd said so in as many words.

"She might not have known either," he suggested somewhat unhelpfully.

Gently, he turned his head in a little towards the Doctor's so that he could whisper in his ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

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"Good," the Doctor said. "Right now, I need Jack."

Having Donna here would've been wonderful. Even having Bea here, all awkward looks and pressing for him to talk more about himself, that would've been wonderful. But right now, he needed someone who understood him. Someone who could say he knew and the Doctor could know that yes, he absolutely did.

He closed his eyes and leaned into Jack very slightly. Not quite a response to the hug, but a request that Jack didn't stop.

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Jack perhaps ought not take comfort from that statement, but it would be a lie to say he didn't, just a little. He understood that need. And it really was a need. It wasn't just a passing desire, it was something deep inside. Or at least that's how it was for him.

The movement spurred Jack slightly, and he gripped him just that little big tighter. He turned his head and pressed his lips just gently to the Doctor's forehead.

"You know the last few years," he said in a whisper. "What I'd do, if I felt like this. I came and talked to you. I'd sit there holding your hand and just... talk."

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"What happened during those years, Jack?" the Doctor asked.

Part of him didn't want to think about it. Four years of Jack hiding away, going out only to collect debris and when he finally landed in London. But he needed to know. He needed to know what he'd lost.

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"Oh nothing," Jack said, dismissing it as though it were two weeks in the Algarve.

But then he valued the Doctor more than to ignore what he wanted to know like that, so he took a long breath and sighed against the Doctor's hair.

"I missed you," he said, as though that explained all of it. And maybe it did, in a way.

"I worked," he said. "It's all I knew how to do. I looked after her because I couldn't look after you. And I--" he stopped and sighed. "I think this old thing was all that kept me going."

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"I know how that feels," the Doctor replied. How often he'd had nothing in the world except the TARDIS. How often she'd been the only thing holding him together when the world fell apart.

Right now, it was just her and Jack. It needed to be enough.

"We need a holiday," he said, very very serious. "Something without storms or running. Just for once."

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He knew, of course. That was one thing about them both. They had an understanding that ran beyond even any romantic feelings, or perhaps feelings at all. Because of all the people out there in the Universe, they were two that both understood. And they understood a lot.

"Yeah," Jack said with a sigh. "Yeah we do. I think we've needed that for a long time."

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"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."

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"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."

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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."

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"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."

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"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.

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"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."

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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.

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"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?"

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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."