"Jack," Ianto called, running through Torchwood's rolling door, but Jack couldn't hear, locked up in his office as he was.
Before Ianto could call again, a man walked in behind him. Young though he obviously was, the loss in his eyes seemed to define him. While the tweed and bow tie would be quirky on others, on him it was a declaration of difference, an attempt at fitting in somewhere that left everyone knowing he did not belong. The young man looked around himself at the rift machine and its spire, the strange way every room seemed to be on a different level, and he looked at the faces, two women and one man, not counting the man he had already met, all of them confused and cautiously alarmed as they slowly ceased all activity.
A woman with long black hair, Gwen he thought he recalled, turned and entered a small room with shades drawn. He had one wrist pushed uncomfortably flat with his other hand, gripping enough to make his knuckles white. Shuffling awkwardly down the steps, he continued to look about himself, searching.
"Stop moving," said a male voice, one he did not recognize.
The man had close cut black hair and stood on the topmost step of the medical area—stood with a sleek black gun pointed at the intruder. The other two followed. The door opened and Gwen and Jack spilled out. Guns in hands, the two of them braced their elbows on the railing, leveling their weapons at him.
The young man gave them a small smile that quivered ever so slightly.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Captain Jack demanded.
Relief at hearing that voice flooded the intruder so strongly a single tear escaped him.
"Jack," he said as more of a gasp, "I don't… I didn't know where… Please…."
"Who are you?" Jack asked again.
The young man took a deep breath and pressed his hands to his face. Air slowly left his lungs, and he rubbed his eyes with the bottoms of his palms. Jack looked at him with a frown. He knew better than to trust a sad face.
"Jack," the young man said, gesturing at the air with his hands, "I didn't know where else to go…. I left her on the rift to refuel."
Understanding began to dawn on him. His mouth eased open, and the muscles in his arms relaxed.
"A-and," the young man stuttered, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a twisted metal rod with a cracked blue , "And my sonic got… it's…."
More tears fell down his pale face.
"Doctor?" Jack asked, standing up and lowering his arms.
The man nodded and covered his face again.
"Guns down," ordered Jack, spinning himself around the railing and sprinting down the steps, "I said guns down!"
A bright joy lit in him as he dashed to the Doctor, but every step brought Jack a little closer, and the smile slid from his face. He slowed as he walked off the last step.
"Doc, what happened?"
"I can't do it anymore," the Doctor said, "I just can't."
Jack opened his arms.
The Doctor watched the floor, hunched over as he was, but he saw the gesture in his peripheral vision. With one last sniffle, he gave up, let go, and threw himself at Jack's chest. A gasp wracked his body and one tear after another soaked itself into Jack's collar.
Jack watched his friend break and allow himself to be held. More than that, the Doctor needed to be held and finally acknowledged it. The Doctor had a new body again, but that didn't make it any less painful to feel him sob. Jack folded him into the tightest embrace he could muster without suffocating the man. Turning his head, Jack pressed his lips to the Doctor's ear, scrunching his eyes shut. What had happened to him? If someone had hurt him—Jack gritted his teeth at the thought—no God in all of creation would spare them.
"Shhhh, Doc," he mumbled, "I've got you. You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you."
The words didn't seem to have any effect.
"Hey, come with me, okay? Up to my office. There's a couch in there. Come on."
Jack pulled back a little as he spoke, placing his hands on the Doctor's shoulders. Head down, the Doctor still wouldn't look him in the eye. Jack moved his hands down the Doctor's arms to his wrists and gripped them.
"Yeah, this way," he said.
Knowing he was most likely crossing lines, Jack dropped his arm and curled it around the Doctor's waist, pulling him close, but he didn't let go of the Doctor's hand. He could see the other man trying to control his breathing, using his free hand to wipe away the tears that continued to fall. Guiding him up the stairs was slower than Jack would have expected because his friend didn't seem to want to step away from him. Jack held him tighter.
"Gwen, could you go make some tea?"
She nodded, finally holstering her gun, and sped off.
Leading them through the door, Jack released the Doctor's hand and pushed the door closed behind him. The Doctor pulled both of his hands into his chest and wrung them until his fingers were red. The office seemed like Jack, a messy desk, old fashioned safes, random artifacts and books littering the floor, and on their left was a black leather couch. One of the shelves above it stacked with horizontally placed books held a box of condoms that didn't look like anyone had even attempted to hide. The Doctor smirked and scrubbed the moisture off his face again.
"There," Jack said, sliding his arm away from the Doctor and nudging him to the couch, "A tiny smile, can't be all that bad."
Sitting on the couch, just on the edge like he was, allowed the Doctor to relax, and he hadn't realized how badly he needed to. His muscles melted. Then Jack was there in front of him, kneeling on the carpet, knees between the Doctor's feet. He had somehow missed Jack getting on the floor, but it didn't matter. He was there. One of the Doctor's abused hands reached out and curled its fingers into Jack's blue button-up shirt, pulling him inches closer. Leaning forward, the Doctor rested his forehead against Jack's. He closed his eyes and the rest of his body relaxed. Tears resumed but this time they were silent and slow.
Purposely keeping his breath even was difficult for Jack. He gently placed his hands on either side of the Doctor's neck. He moved so that he could glare unseeingly at the back of his couch and spoke, his lips brushing the Doctor's forehead.
"Just tell me, did someone hurt you? I need to know. Did someone hurt you?"
"No," the Doctor mumbled.
Jack closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the Doctor's forehead. He took a deep breath and sat back, but his hands still lingered on the Doctor's neck.
"Well then, whatever it is, it's nothing I can't fix, right?"
He did his best to keep his voice light, but he felt dread swelling in him every second. The Doctor had suffered more than Jack would ever know, so what had broken him now?
"Hey, just breathe."
The Captain ran his fingers through the Doctor's scalp.
"How do you always end up with amazing hair?"
The comment and its accompanying smile went unacknowledged. After a minute, the Doctor reached out and pulled Jack closer again, still not looking at him. Jack closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the Doctor's. His hand trailed through his friend's hair a second time, slower and gentler.
It wasn't a surprise; it didn't happen quickly, but Jack never suspected even as he watched. The Doctor turned his head enough to tilt it forward and press his lips against Jack's. Desperation, Jack thought, he had never felt anything so desperate in all his lifetimes. It pulled at him, and he found himself returning it, like if he could do it well enough he could make that feeling vanish.
Fingertips brushed his face so feather light he wasn't sure they were there at first, and then he felt them again. This time they stayed, delicately framing his jaw. It was all Jack could do not to groan in frustration. He gently curled his fingers around the Doctor's palms and pulled his hands away. Viciously biting into his own bottom lip, Jack replaced his forehead against the Doctor's.
Jack said quietly, "Not when you're like this."
The Doctor's face crumpled as if Jack had physically crushed him. He pulled his hands back and tried to rub away yet another fresh wave of tears.
"I know this isn't how you expect me," he said, his voice thick and disjointed with ragged breathing, "I know, but I can't change back, I can't. People liked him more; I know you wanted him, but…but I'm just this."
"No," Jack said right away, alarm and urgency in his movements as he once again took the Doctor's hands in his, "No, I don't mean your body, Doc. I will take you in any form. You should know that. I mean your mind. I don't know what's wrong or why, but there's definitely something, and I don't intend to ever take advantage of you. So no, not when you're like this."
Standing, Jack placed a quick kiss on top of the Doctor's head and pulled him to his feet.
"This will not be comfortable to sleep in," Jack said, pulling at the collar of the Doctor's jacket.
It took a minute before the Doctor cooperated and let his friend remove his tweed, revealing red suspenders and far too much of his unfortunately patterned shirt.
"Those boots should go too."
The Doctor looked down at his feet and blinked several times before he sat back down and began to unlace them. He should have left the jacket on, Jack decided as he leaned his butt against his desk watching the man before him. The last regeneration was thin, comically so, but it fit him. This regeneration was also thin but that wasn't completely accurate. It was more like he was small, too small, almost under developed. Watching him pull his undone boots off one at a time, Jack's heart sank. Vulnerable, that's what the Doctor was, small and young and vulnerable.
The Captain pushed himself forward, took a couple steps, and sat beside his friend. He put an arm around him and pulled him with as Jack laid back into the arm of the couch. The Doctor followed and rested his head on the front of Jack's shoulder, but that didn't seem to be enough. He kept moving and maneuvering until he had pushed Jack nearly flat and laid on top of him like an exhausted child. He held a fist full of Jack's shirt and buried his face in his collar again. The Doctor's hips lined up perfectly between Jack's, and his legs curled almost at a ninety degree angle. He snuggled himself down so far into the person underneath him there was no need for a blanket.
Jack held his arms aloft, allowing the Doctor to get comfortable. When he stopped moving and within seconds seemed to already be asleep, Jack let his arms gently fold around him again. He turned his head and rested his face in the Doctor's hair. Jack decided he would not move. He wouldn't move even an inch, not until the Doctor was ready.