He's Fire And Ice And Rage

After this.

This was more than needed. Several days of sun, warm sand, exotic meals, and time with Jack that didn't involve feeling like they were being emotionally pulled through a meat grinder. It was so good, he didn't want it to stop.

Which was why, he figured, it would.

"Breakfast," he said, hopping back into the hut in the early morning. "With nights this short, do they still call it 'breakfast'? Should they call it 'it's morning again' or something like that?"

Follows this.

It's time to say goodbye.

( Jack Harkness is dead. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,171
Based on RP with quitehomoerotic
Prompt: What makes you cry?

Follows this.

The Doctor did not often shop.

There were plenty of other interesting places to go, things to do, people to see. Like, the crosswords. He could easily do the crosswords and that would be miles more interesting than shop. Or flossing! Good for the teeth, very fun, better than shopping.

Still, right now, the Doctor was shopping. The fact was, if he correlated going out for lunch (A) to the number of disasters he and Jack had to face (B), he'd come to the conclusion that B was directly related to A, meaning that (B|A) could be drastically reduced if he instituted C, groceries.

So, (B|A)=(A-C), would mean that B would have a negative quantity of C. So the Doctor attached a Follow Me drone to carry as many groceries as he could afford.

"One credit for a Churro," the Doctor commented, biting on the sugary concoction. "I'm not sure if that's even how much it costs to make one."

Follows this.

When the Doctor woke, he was prepared to feel stiff and uncomfortable. Usually, when reaching that point of exhaustion, he usually found himself on the floor or on the console, in some sort of an awkward position that left him sore for the next day. This morning, however, he was out of his clothes and stretched out on his bed, under the covers with a heating blanket.

A breathing heating blanket.

He raised an eyebrow and looked to where Jack had an arm around him as he slept. The previous day came rushing back. Pearl Harbor, the goodbyes, the return of Gallifrey, being captured by the Shadow Proclamation, and finally nearly killing Jack. They came so very close. Too close.

Without really thinking about it, the Doctor found himself wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulder. Jack, who was ready and willing to die the previous day. And the Doctor was willing to give him that. He had been willing to give him that. Not anmymore.

Where could they go, now?

Onwards, of course. It was the only way they could go.

The TARDIS wasn't moving anymore, and the Doctor slowly extracted himself from Jack's embrace. He grabbed his trousers and shirt and threw them on quickly, heading towards the console, hopefully before Jack woke.

Follows this.

The warm air of the Pacific hit the Doctor as he pulled open the door to the TARDIS. A beach, as promised. It was about time he managed that. He'd always been so preoccupied with this disaster or that disaster, he'd often forgotten the little things in life, like watching the sun set over an ocean.

"Hawaii, as promised," he said, grinning to his companion. "The island of Maui, to be precise. Should be April 5, 1973. And not a bad landing, either."

He nodded back to the TARDIS, sitting comfortably in some soft, silty sand. It would be good for them, Jack and him, to stay somewhere touristy, he thought. To take away from the strange but very real fact that time had been altered, removing Jack and the Doctor from each other's timelines.

Jack must've meant a lot to the Doctor, considering how loudly his emotions rippled back to him.

"Had planned to land us in the morning," he said. "But! The nightlife in Maui can't be that bad, don't you think?"

Follows this.

Somewhere fixed and somewhere sunny. And, the Doctor decided, somewhere they could have a good time. So, scratching off a number of natural disasters and wars, he picked out a particularly famous and particularly fixed large concert in New York.

He even had a tie-dyed tie that clashed beautifully with his suit.

"It's a bit muddy," he said as he attached an 'Out of Order' sign to the TARDIS. "But I think we're just in time to listen to Santana. Janis should be up in a bit, I might be able to introduce you two." A beat. "If she's met me yet, I can never remember, what with that whole mix-up with time..."

Still! No reason not to have a good time. He tinted his glasses and slipped them on, grinning madly at Jack as he did so. At least three days of fun, without the worry of something terrible happening, just so long as they stayed within the concert.

Follows this.

It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.

One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.

Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.

It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.

It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.

That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.

While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.

But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.

Following this. &hearts

The Doctor dreamed.

He didn't often dream, as Time Lords didn't often dream, but seeing as his mind was slowly reconstructing events of his life, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised.

The first dream was pretty standard brain-dumping. The Doctor was late for class and looking for Zac Efron at a Beatles concert, and Ringo Starr chased him around with a hypodermic needle. Dreams of that level of absurdity were pretty easy to ignore.

The second dream, not so much. He was standing on a beach. It was Norway, or was it Boeshane? It was hard to tell. Everything was fuzzy at first, but the further he walked along the beach, the clearer it became. The single sun (or the twin suns) obscured by clouds, the biting cold. He tucked his hands into his pockets for warmth, but it kept getting colder. The lights kept fading.

"Doctor."

He spun around, and there was Jack. Standing with his feet in the icy water. The Doctor knew Jack was supposed to be a fact, but he couldn't shake the strong, petrifying worry that Jack might die of hypothermia. The tide rose quickly, too quickly.

"Jack," the Doctor said. "Get away from there."

"Doctor, it's coming," Jack said. Only, Jack didn't call him Doctor. He called him his name, the name he never used, the name he'd all but forgotten after so many years.

Curiosity overtook worry for one moment. "Who's coming?"

Jack shook his head, but didn't move. The water level kept rising, quickly overtaking his companion. The Doctor raced towards the shoreline, but it wasn't getting closer.

"Jack!" he called. "Jack!"

"He will knock four times," Jack said, firmly, right as the water overtook his head.

"Jack!"

The Doctor sat up from his curled position in the center of the Zero Room. It was colder than he remembered, but he could feel the TARDIS had fallen back into a restorative hibernation. Jack hadn't come back and from the amount of stubble on his chin, the Doctor imagined he'd actually slept a good few hours this time.

He struggled to his feet and hobbled to the door. With a tug, it came open to reveal the dark, cold corridors lit by fuzzy, organic nightlights. He headed back towards the bedrooms, intent on his own room for a shower and a long-needed shave. He stopped as he passed Jack's room. Would he be in here? Would he be gone?

He gave the door a quiet knock.