Summary: What if what we saw of the 10th Doctor's goodbyes wasn't everything? This is what Jack's goodbye should have been. Or part of it, anyway. Happens after Torchwood: Children of Earth. References events that occurred in that series. May add another chapter or two, but for now it's complete. Let me know what you think, whether it needs more or not. I'm sure you all know the usual disclaimer - don't own anything, etc.
"Get out you lousy drunk!" the bartender shouted as he booted the man out of his establishment. He turned to one of the bouncers. "Get him away from here, will you? I don't want him scaring off punters."
One of the bouncers on duty shrugged and hauled the man up from the curb by the collar of his coat. He was a big man, in an old army get-up from Earth, and he looked like he'd seen far better days. The bouncer had a bit of trouble holding the man up-right.
"Too much for you, Larry?" teased one of his co-workers, but Larry ignored him and tried to steady the drunk.
"Come on, fella, you can't lie here and we don't want to have to call the authorities now do we?" he said in a placating voice. Probably gentler than he should be considering his boss's angry tone when throwing the man out, but he could see this man was no troublemaker. That was plain enough. "Where do you live?"
The man shrugged.
Larry sighed and led him across the road and a little down the street to a park bench. It was the best he could offer the man. The night was cool but he wouldn't freeze, not with that big coat, anyway. He sat him down and instantly he was lying down on his side, big coat wrapped tightly around him, arm draping across his face. His breathing was even and Larry didn't think there was any risk of him choking, so he left him and went back to work.
He didn't see the blue police box in the background of the park, framed by the trees. He certainly didn't see the man leaning against it in the shadows, bent double as a wave of pain washed through his body. He went back to work with a faint worry for a man he didn't know, fading already and forgotten by morning.
Jack Harkness lay on the bench, unaware of the Doctor's proximity, only vaguely aware of his own surroundings, and he tried to stop the tears from coming. His throat felt tight, his tongue thick in his mouth and the drinking wasn't doing as much as it used to when it came to forgetting.
It had been over six months. Six months since he had saved the Earth from the 456.
Six months of drinking himself into oblivion every night. Anything to forget what he did.
Oh Alice, I'm sorry, he whispered. I'm so sorry.
Would the pain ever stop? Did he deserve to let it? He had killed her son. His own grandson. He had destroyed him. He couldn't even bear to think the boy's name. He deserved to pay for his crime. He deserved to die.
Yet he never would.
The usual feelings of rage and frustration at his life began to well inside him, despite his level of intoxication, or perhaps in spite of. He tried to get a hold of himself, but it was too much. It always was. He sat up in a rush and a wave of nausea hit him. He leaned forward, fighting off the dizziness, holding his head in his hands.
"Hello Jack."
The voice startled him and for a minute he thought he was going mad. He didn't move immediately, aware of how much his head was spinning, knowing that moving suddenly would undo him. Carefully he opened his eyes one by one, and then slowly turned to look up into the face of the Doctor.
He was still in his tenth incarnation, long brown coat from Janis Joplin over his brown suit, hands stuffed unceremoniously in pockets, hair a spiky mess as usual. Yet he seemed different, too. Sadder. Resigned? Looking past him, Jack could see the TARDIS in the park, illuminated by street lights cutting through the trees. As far as Jack could tell, he was alone. That made him frown. Last time he saw the Doctor, hadn't he been with Donna? With Rose and the human Doctor?
Oh. But of course. Stupid Jack should have seen that coming.
He's been running.
Just like I am.
He realised he had been staring at the Time Lord for quite some time without replying, a vacant expression on his face, and so offered the Doctor a quick nod before repositioning himself on the bench. The Doctor moved closer and took a seat next to him. They both looked out to the street; the calm, quiet, alien street a thousand light-years away from the Earth. Not far away enough for both their liking, and yet much too far.
"The Master came back," said the Doctor. He said it in such an off-hand, casual manner that Jack wasn't quite sure he heard him correctly. What? he thought. But he had seen him die. He had refused to regenerate... The Doctor had burned his body. How... did he come back? Jack could hardly comprehend it.
"He nearly brought Gallifrey back with him," continued the Doctor. "And the Time Lords."
"Is that so bad?" asked Jack, feeling like a stupid ape all of a sudden. Despite the centuries Jack had lived through, he still managed to feel like a child in the presence of the Time Lord. The alien who had seen so much, done so much, been through the impossible...
The Doctor nodded, a grim look upon his face. "Yes, it was very bad," he admitted. "But it's over now."
He seemed to grimace in pain for a second but Jack didn't quite catch it. He was lost in his thoughts, in his memories, until finally the Doctor murmured, "Martha told me what happened with the children."
Jack stiffened at the Doctor's words. His back went rigid and he could feel the tension in his body quickly building. Martha told him? What the hell did Martha even know?
But of course. Gwen, he realised belatedly. Gwen would have told her everything. Asked her if she could speak to the Doctor. Because who else would be able to fix him other than the right kind of Doctor?
Well, maybe he didn't need the Doctor's help this time, he thought, bitterness welling inside him. Maybe it was too little, too late.
The Doctor clearly realised he wasn't going to get a response from Jack, so decided to continue. "It wasn't your fault, Jack."
The laugh from Jack's throat was hollow. "Wasn't it?" he replied. "Who's was it, then? Yours?"
The Doctor sighed. "Jack..." he began.
Jack stood up then, anger emanating from him, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't 'Jack' me, Doctor! I'm not just some young human who's never been anywhere outside of England, alright? I've lived. I'm from the fifty-first century and I've travelled with you and without, and I've gone through more battles than I can count. I've saved the Earth enough times to know what I'm doing and I know what I did was wrong! I killed him, Doctor, I killed my own blood, and I don't need your pity!"
The Doctor said nothing and Jack continued, the stream of angry words getting the better of him now. All his bottled up pain and regret and frustration and confusion at everything pouring from him in a rush. "Where were you, Doctor? You claim Torchwood is so bad, that we're all killers, but what else do we have? What else does the Earth have without us? UNIT?" At this he gave a bitter laugh before continuing, "UNIT didn't do squat. They sat there with their thumbs in their asses waiting for the Commander in Chief to show his face. We need you, Doctor, they cried! Well, you didn't come and so I had to make the tough decisions, the ones nobody should ever have to make, and I did it and now everyone's dead and it's my fault and I have to live with that! Where were you when we needed you, Doctor? Where were you when I needed you?"
He choked the last few words out and nearly broke down again, the tears pouring down his face. It was the most emotion he had shown in a long time and he was scaring himself but he couldn't stop. He was losing control. The alcohol in his system made his entire vision swim and he swayed on his feet. Sobs racked his body and he turned away from the Time Lord, trying to get in control of himself once more. He needed to regain control. He was heading towards a downward spiral in which he wasn't sure if there was any turning back. Oh Alice, he thought once more. I'm so sorry! What did I do? Oh Doctor, help me. Why didn't you help me?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and his sobs quieted. Slowly, he regained his composure, little by little, from that simple touch. That touch that reminded him of who he was. He turned to face the Doctor and he saw the tears in the Time Lord's eyes, and the pain and grief shone on his face. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said. "I'm so sorry. I truly am."
And Jack knew he was. He could feel it, and the guilt he suddenly felt for being the cause of the Doctor's pain was staggering. But still, with all his heart he wished that things had been different. That he'd had the Doctor there to tell him what to do. "You would have found another way," he whispered.
The Doctor shook his head. "There was no other way, Jack. You did the best you could."
Jack wiped his eyes. "Sometimes our best isn't enough," he said sadly.
The Doctor led Jack back to the bench and they sat down once more. The Time Lord gave him a watery smile, holding the man's hand firmly in his own. "Sometimes it's not," he agreed. "But it's all we have."