Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood belong to the BBC and Russell T. Davies. They are not mine, nor will they ever be.
Spoilers: 'Utopia', 'The Sound of Drums'
Warnings: Slight element of non-con (but quite tame, really).
Not Enough
The Doctor listened to the receding sound of Martha's footsteps, half-wishing he could have gone with her to the fish-and-chip shop. But two wanted criminals were more conspicuous than one, so he had let her go alone, remaining in this disused warehouse with the third wanted criminal of their little gang.
As the noise finally died away, the Doctor turned his attention back to Martha's laptop, scrolling through pages of text and hitting numerous websites in an effort to find out more about the Master's plans, about Martha's family, and about the mysterious Toclafane. And all the time he tried desperately to ignore the feeling of two eyes boring into the back of his neck.
Eventually, however, he exhausted all his avenues of research (even the BBC website had nothing more than scrolling pictures of Britain's current Most Wanted), and had no choice but to acknowledge the other person sharing his hideout.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Jack watching him with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. In fact, the look he was giving the Doctor was so intense that the Time Lord almost raised his hand to the back of his neck to check that it hadn't left some kind of mark there.
"So, I'm 'wrong', am I?"
The words were spoken with a certain amount of bitterness, which the Doctor supposed was justified, given his tactlessness on the subject when they had last spoken about it, back at the end of the universe. However, that didn't mean he was going to be any more tactful now. There was just no way to be sensitive about this kind of thing.
"I'm sorry, Jack, but that's the way it is. The universe wasn't designed to contain something immortal. Everything has its time, and its place, and then it moves on. To what, I don't know. For all I know, all those people who have been going on about reincarnation for thousands of years are right, and we're all going to come back as little fluffy kittens. But that's new life. It's a fresh beginning. You aren't new or fresh, Jack. You're old. Stretched. Repeated. The universe can't cope with something that will never end."
"Oh, thanks." Now there was sarcasm to match the bitterness. "I feel so much better."
"I'm sorry, Jack" said the Doctor again. "But even Time Lords don't live forever. Eventually I'll die too."
"And I won't," pointed out Jack. "And as you say, Doctor, that's a fact. There ain't nothing I can do about it."
The Doctor said nothing. There was no offer of help, no retraction of his harsh words, not even a murmur of sympathy. And for some reason this angered Jack even more.
"Do you think I want to be like this, Doctor? Do you think I want to be this 'wrong' freak that you seem to think I am?"
"I know you don't, Jack," replied the Doctor quietly.
"So why do you blame me so much? Why are you so afraid of me?" The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but Jack ploughed on regardless. "Do you think I haven't noticed how tense you are just because I'm in the room? Or how you have to try not to flinch away every time I come anywhere near you? Or how you try not to catch my eye if you can possibly help it? Or…"
"Jack!" the Doctor yelled. He had said Jack's name several times now without acknowledgement, so now shouting seemed appropriate.
Jack glared at him, stony faced.
"You're wrong," the Doctor continued more quietly. "No, I don't mean that again," he added hastily as Jack opened his mouth again in indignation. "I mean that what you said was wrong. I don't blame you for what you are. Not at all. If there's anyone to blame, it's Rose. But I don't even blame her. She didn't know what she was doing. She thought she was helping."
These words seemed to mollify Jack slightly, and the Doctor felt that maybe he should try again to explain himself.
"And I'm not afraid of you, either," he continued. "At least, it's not fear in the tradition sense. My not wanting to be near you is an entirely involuntary reaction. It's written into my Time Lord DNA. I can't help it." Thinking hard, the Doctor came up with an analogy that he thought might help. "It's kind of like a perception filter," he explained. "I know you exist, but my brain doesn't want to acknowledge you. So it tries to keep me at a safe distance." He smiled ruefully. "Not a very good metaphor, but it's the best I can come up with at the moment."
Jack frowned. "But what about before?" he asked. "When we were trying to hold off the Futurekind? You didn't seem to be having any problem being near me then."
The Doctor shrugged. "Distractions help. They mean I'm not constantly focussing on that tingling wrongness in the back of my skull."
"Will you stop saying that!" Jack exclaimed, suddenly angry again. The Doctor had always known how to push his buttons, and at the moment he was pushing the one that said 'extremely pissed off'. He also had his finger on the one marked 'reckless behaviour'.
Without stopping to think about it, Jack took a few quick strides towards the Doctor, not stopping until he was practically pressed up against the other man. As he had gotten closer he had seen the Doctor's tension levels ramp up accordingly, and now he was so close, he could practically feel the Doctor's desire to leap backwards, away from him. But the Time Lord couldn't do that, not unless he wanted to fall over the partially rotten crate on which the laptop sat.
"So, how does this feel, Doctor?" said Jack maliciously. "How wrong do I feel now?" He raised his hand, placing it on the Doctor's shoulder. "And what about now? Does this hurt you, Doctor?"
The Doctor didn't reply, but Jack could feel the waves of discomfort radiating off of him. The shoulder under his hand felt like it was trying to shrink away from him, almost as though the Doctor was trying to sink a few inches into the ground in order to break the contact.
"And what about this?" Jack continued, smirking slightly. "Will this make you tingle, Doctor?"
Without warning he suddenly leant forward and crushed his lips to the Doctor's. It was not how he had imagined his first kiss upon seeing the Doctor again, but he was too angry now to care. He just wanted to hurt the Doctor as much as the Doctor was hurting him.
But now the Doctor was fighting back. Where before he had been passive, restrained resistance, now he was all flailing arms and struggling shoulders, as he desperately tried to find a way to break Jack's tainted embrace. Eventually, he managed to thrust his hands against Jack's chest, and with an almighty shove he pushed Jack backwards, hurling him to floor and knocking the breath out of him.
As Jack lay on the floor, gasping for breath, he gazed up at the Doctor, trying work out just how much damage he had caused. Part of him was disgusted by what he had just done, but part of him also couldn't help but think that the Doctor had deserved it, at least a little.
The Doctor appeared to be having trouble reconciling himself to what had just happened. He was wiping the back of his hand across his mouth repeatedly, as if trying to rid himself of some kind of contamination. And when Jack finally scrambled to his feet again, the Doctor didn't bother to try and hide the shudder of fear that went through him at the thought of Jack coming near him again.
But now Jack was stepping backwards, away from the Doctor. The disgusted part of him was rapidly winning out over the callous part, the horror at what he had done congealing somewhere in the pit of his stomach, making him feel nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," he said quietly. There wasn't anything else to say, really.
The Doctor looked to be visibly pulling himself together. He was still a little pale, but his normal persona was settling back over him like a blanket, hiding the scars caused by Jack's actions.
"It's okay," he said, equally quietly. "Believe it or not, I can understand why you did it. But can you understand now the effect you're having on me? I can't help what I am, any more than you can help what you are. Neither of us has any choice in the matter."
"We had something once, Doctor," said Jack desperately. "There used to be something between you and I. Are you saying that's gone forever?"
"No, it's not gone," replied the Doctor, and for one brief second hope flared in Jack's heart. "But it isn't enough any more."
Jack suddenly noticed that the Doctor's hands had clenched into fists, and he made to move further away, out of the Doctor's personal 'wrongness' field. But as he did so the Doctor raised one hand towards him, before visibly reigning himself in and letting his arm drop back to his side.
"Don't, Jack," he said. Then, with no warning, he suddenly aimed a violent kick at one of the crates stacked up against the wall. The wood splintered into a hundred pieces, and Jack ducked as a few of them flew towards him.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Jack!" he cried. "Of course it's not gone. How can it be gone? This is you and me we're talking about. The Captain and the Doctor. Do you think I want to be this far away from you? Do you think I want to react that way when you kiss me? Of course I don't! But I just can't help it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Jack smiled a lopsided smile. "Don't worry about it, Doctor." He still didn't quite understand the Doctor's aversion, and by god, he wished things could be different. But things weren't different. This was the situation. And he would have to live with it. After all, living was what he did best.
"If things were different," offered the Doctor, echoing Jack's own desire, "you know I'd be over there like a shot." He grinned, but the expression was a muted version of its normal brilliance.
Jack chuckled. "Well, that's all I needed to hear, really," he replied, with an attempt at levity. "At least I know your heart still wants me, even if your DNA is repelled by me."
When Martha returned, she found the two men quiet, the Doctor back at the laptop, Jack examining his newly upgraded Vortex Manipulator. Caught up in her own worries about her family, she failed to notice that the silence was strained, and that the two men were avoiding each other's eye. The chips provided a welcome distraction for them all.