A/N: Twicked, I blame you. The prompt: Martha, Jack, and the 10th doctor trying to take care of a baby (With that baby having a strange affinity to clinging to people, and Jack). Which my brain took as "that baby having a strange affinity to clinging to people especially Jack", even though that wasn't what was written. Oops.
Right, well, I wrote it. This particular plot bunny may come back; I've set things up deliberately so that I can come back and continue it if I want to.
WARNINGS: Mention of PTSD, implied torture, implied rape (if you squint), angst, fluff, swearing, Jack being Jack, and attractive characters holding a baby. You have been warned.
It's over.
One long, bloody year, the longest he's ever lived through, is over, and he isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry. The Master's dead, but everyone else is alive – and unlike normally, it isn't just everyone he's met, it actually is everyone – and his TARDIS is fine, and all he really wants to do is curl up in the library for a while and try to forget about this.
He can't, of course, because they're still on board the Valiant, with a dead President and a dead PM and someone will need explanations, but that's what he wants.
It's either that or dying himself.
"Doctor?"
He turns, focusing pain-filled eyes on Martha. "Yeah."
She grabs his hand. "Jack says we need to leave now unless we want to spend the next three weeks being interrogated by UNIT."
"Yeah," he says again, because there's nothing else in his head, nothing but the image of the Master dying again, over and over, and the emptiness of being alone.
Martha grabs his other hand and forces him to look at her. "Doctor. What are we doing?"
He doesn't want to make decisions, can't she see that? Instead he pulls his hands away and goes to look out the windows, down on the Earth that doesn't realize how much he sacrificed to save them. For a moment he's bitter. Then he's just sad.
"Doctor."
He can feel Jack enter the room. He wasn't lying, he doesn't like the way Jack feels, but he can tolerate it. It's just impossible to ignore.
He doesn't respond.
"Doctor." Jack's hand rests on his shoulder, a point of wrongness – because he's not in a mood to be polite – against a world that had ceased to have value. "I need your help with something."
He looks at Jack with the same gaze he'd used on Martha, and then turns away again.
Jack moves his hand down to rest on the Doctor's elbow. "Doctor, really, there's something you should know –"
His voice is cut off by a baby's sudden squalling, and suddenly the Doctor's world revolves on its axis.
Lucy Saxon is standing there, bracketed by two guards, and holding a baby in her arms. A very upset, very noisy, very impossible baby.
He leaves the window, crossing the room quickly to stand in front of Lucy. "Is it yours?" That's the first question, but it's not the most important.
She nods, crying slightly. She's had a very bad day, and if he was in the mood he'd feel sympathetic, because she hadn't deserved any of this, but she'd shot the Master, and he wasn't in the mood.
"And his?" This one is the most important question, although he can feel the child stretching more than five senses.
Again, she nods.
He has to turn away, has to wrap his arms around himself to stop the trembling. Time Lord genes are dominant. If the Master did it right – and he would have – that baby is the only other living Time Lord.
Still shaking slightly, the Doctor turns back, a mad, masochistic, self-sacrificing urge driving him to ask first: "Do you want it?"
Lucy looks at the baby in her arms and then at him, as if he's insane. "No. It's his, isn't it? I – I don't want anything of his."
He tries not to look too excited. "I'll take it, then."
There's a gleeful look in her eye at this, and it's briefly so wrong that a mother look so joyful at the theft of her only child, but then he rationalizes that it's a Time Lord child and a human mother and things wouldn't work out anyway. "It's a boy. He called him Apophis."
The Doctor blinks. Apophis – the Egyptian snake god of chaos and darkness. For the Master's child, it's an appropriate name. "Right. I'll take him."
He reaches out and Lucy – astonishingly caring for a woman who professes to hate her child – hands him Apophis. The baby's gradually quieting cries return full blast at the touch of the Doctor's hands.
Lucy backs away quickly, her guards following – she probably is trying to make sure the Doctor doesn't try to give the child back.
He doesn't, and he wouldn't. No matter how loud Apophis screams, he's never letting go. Because this child is a Time Lord and he can see a future for his race where none was before, and for the first time in a year he smiles.
Jack's standing behind him again. "Ah. I see you found the child. Doctor – you gotta plan?" Jack is clearly straining his voice to be heard over the baby's crying.
The Doctor turns, beaming, to present the child. "I don't know," he says, words which normally would burn, but right now he's grinning too hard for them to have any affect. "But Apophis stays with me. Come on, Jack – Martha – let's go back to the TARDIS." He's making and dissolving decisions rapidly, unable to commit to anything, but he knows the child is a Time Lord, and that's the most important thing in the world.
Jack and Martha follow him down the twisty corridors of the Valiant, screaming baby in his hands. Apophis isn't even screaming words or ideas – he's just upset, and trying to tell the world that. The Doctor mutters something comforting – he can't remember what, later – as he hurries to his TARDIS.
"Jack – hold him for a minute." The Doctor hands Apophis off to Jack, trying to remember which pocket his key is in.
Gracefully, Jack takes the child. The instant the Doctor's hands are gone, Apophis quiets, looking up at Jack with interest.
The Doctor struggles with the lock for a moment before flinging open the doors. "Aha! Home at last." He strides into the TARDIS, making it all the way to the console before he turns, remembering the baby. "I'll have him back now."
Jack follows him, Apophis whimpering slightly as he steps into the TARDIS. "You certain, Doctor? I can hold him during flight if you want me to."
That's just it, the Doctor doesn't want. Jack is alien and wrong and has no right to be touching a being so frail and precious as a baby Time Lord. "Just for a minute. To introduce him to the TARDIS." There's something slightly off about this, but he can't quite place it, so it must not matter. He can always remember the important things.
Again, the moment the Doctor's hands touch Apophis, the baby begins to cry. This time the Doctor's paying attention.
So is Jack. "Um, Doctor? Is there a reason?"
The Doctor looks down at the little miracle and frowns. "Martha? Come here."
Almost reluctantly, Martha comes over, but the Doctor's got too much on his mind to worry about this. Silently, he hands Apophis to her. He quiets, but not by much. Martha's also frowning, but when she hands the baby off to Jack, that frown softens to a smile as he quiets instantly.
Apophis looks up at Jack, blue eyes huge, hiccups, and falls asleep. Both the Doctor's hearts melt. He's suddenly flamingly jealous of Jack, and all he really wants is to take the baby back, but he can't, not now.
Swallowing, he looks at Martha. "We've got a problem."
She nods, giving him a Look. "Several, actually. Not the least of which is, I want to stay with my family."
"Oh." He frowns again, looking at the others, back and forth, not sure what to do with this latest dilemma.
Jack steps forward, still cradling Apophis in his arms, now firmly asleep. "UNIT's on their way, Doctor. Martha, if you wanna get your family and bring them here, the Doctor'll take you home."
"Oi!" the Doctor protests, none too seriously, at being treated like a taxi service. Sobering rapidly, he looks at Martha. "Yeah. Get your family. If you run into UNIT, tell 'em – oh, drat it, what was the passphrase – jelly babies!"
Martha's Look returns full force. "Jelly babies?"
He nods, beginning to grin. "That's my passphrase. Hopefully the Brig made sure everyone still knows – anyway, off you pop, go find your parents, Jack and I'll be right here." He smiles at her, knowing that it's fake, knowing that she knows it's fake, but not having the energy to care.
She gives him a pitying look – he hates it, he doesn't need her pity – and leaves the TARDIS quickly.
"Doctor." Jack steps closer to him again, adjusting the baby until he can place a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "What about his body?"
The Doctor has to mouth the words a couple times before they make sense. His body. The Master's body. "It – someone should go get it. It's valuable."
Jack looks at him. "Like the hand."
"Yes – no. But yes. Sort of." He can't keep it all straight in his head anymore, his companions and their families and the Master and his son. It's all running around in circles and he's not old anymore and the Master's dead and there's another Time Lord and UNIT's here and Jack's wrong and he has his TARDIS back and there are humans to take care of and it's all too much and he wants to run again but he can't because there are humans who need to be dealt with –
"Doctor." Jack again. "Focus on me. You're exhausted and in shock; you need to sleep and deal with the events of today. Things won't fall apart just because you take a nap."
He thinks this is wrong, but he doesn't know why he thinks this. "Can't. Someone's got to get the body and someone's got to watch Apophis."
Jack adjusts the baby. Apophis' eyes flicker open. For a moment they focus on Jack's face, and then, with a quiet gurgle, they slip closed again. Jack grins at Apophis and from the look on his face, the Doctor can tell that he's lost. "You go get the body," Jack says, still smiling, "I'll watch the little one."
"No," the Doctor says flatly. "There is no way I'm leaving you alone with him."
Jack glares at him. "Don't worry, Doctor, I'm not gonna molest your little Time Lord. Who do you think I am?"
The phone on the console rings at this point; something that's all for the better given the Doctor's array of possible responses.
"You have a phone? Since when have you had a phone?" Jack asks.
The Doctor scowls at him, working his way around the console to the antique handset. "Since I had companions with mobiles."
Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "Rose had a mobile."
Ignoring him, the Doctor picks up the phone. "Martha? You alright?"
"Yeah, yeah Doctor, I'm – god – I'm fine."
The Doctor briefly contains the thought that she doesn't sound fine, and then moves on. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I – I'm with my family."
That's not really an answer. "Fine. Are you on your way back?"
"No." That, at least, is strong. "These UNIT goons won't let us leave. Want us to answer questions. God, Doctor –" She's starting to cry. Why is she starting to cry? He's not good with crying women. Or crying anything, actually.
He looks at Jack, who can hear what's going on perfectly well. Jack shrugs.
"They're dressed just like the – the Master's guards. They – they move like them."
Oh.
The Doctor sighs. "Martha. Take a breath. Take a good, deep breath, and hold it. Can you do that for me?"
A half-choked sob comes from the other end. "Uh-huh."
"Good. Now let it out slowly. And another breath. And hold." He makes eye contact with Jack, who mouths P-T-S-D. The Doctor nods.
Martha makes a noise a bit like a chuckle and a lot like a sob. "I – I know what you're doing, Doctor. I – I know about shock."
He swallows. "Good. Martha, I'm really sorry, but I need you to go up to one of the guards and ask if you can speak to the Brigadier. Throw my name around a lot."
"Right," she says weakly. "Go up to a guard, ask for the Brigadier. What if there's more than one?"
That sparks a half-laugh from him. "Oh, don't worry Martha, there's only ever the one."
"Great." There's a pause. "Stay on the line?"
"Of course."
Another pause, then he can half-hear Martha arguing – politely – with a soldier. Then, clearly, he hears, "Look, you stupid berk, just get your CO and I can explain myself!"
Jack laughs. "Didn't think she had it in her."
The Doctor raises an eyebrow.
"Alright, fine, I had some suspicions after she played the Master. But really – swearing?" Jack chuckles. "I could get to liking her."
"Jack!" Martha's back on the line, and a bit upset, if her tone of voice is any indicator. "Doctor, I'm handing you off to the Brigadier."
The Doctor switches the handset from one hand to the other, waiting for the sound of breathing to change. When it does, he grins. "Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, good to talk to you again."
"Doctor?" A pause. "You regenerated again, didn't you." It's not a question.
He's beaming now, and fidgeting back and forth. "Yep! A few times, actually. Look, I need you to do something for me."
"What else is new," the Brigadier mutters.
He ignores this. "That girl who called you over – let her go. Her and her family. She's not part of this – well, she is, but she's not going to give you any useful information. Just let them all go."
The Brigadier sighs. "Sir, I know –"
"Don't," the Doctor says coldly. "Whatever you're going to say, don't. That family has been through hell in the past year, and I am going to protect them now."
"Year?"
He almost swears, but stops, because young as Apophis is, he can still remember things like that. "Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. It was three minutes for you from the death of Winters to the – the death of – of Saxon. It was a year for everyone on board that ship."
"Christ."
"If he'd been there, things might have gone better," the Doctor comments. They certainly couldn't have gone any worse.
The Brigadier snorts. "Look, Doctor, I need a little more information. What am I supposed to tell the United Nations?"
He hasn't thought of that. The Doctor looks at Jack, who shrugs again, Apophis sound asleep in his arms. "Um – Tell them that Saxon shot Winters and then himself. If UNIT protests, tell them that he was under the control of some alien thing. Keep it simple. Oh – and I need Saxon's body. Wipe up the blood and bring me every drop of it, am I clear?"
"Why?"
He doesn't want to say but all of a sudden, it's just too much and the whole thing comes pouring out. "Because the bloody United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland decided to elect the Master as their Prime Minister! And I had to come and fix it and he's dead on the floor up there and I need every single thing that could contain his genome and you're going to let my companion go because I have spent far too long away from her." He pants, the rage having drained him.
The other end of the line is silent for a long minute. "I'll deal with it," the Brigadier says finally. "Where are you?"
The Doctor stares blankly at Jack, who grins. "Bay 6B," he says, looking down at Apophis.
"You get that, Brigadier? Bay 6B."
Another snort. "If I didn't get it the first time, I definitely do now. On my way, sir." There's a click from the other end of the line.
"Now what?" Jack asks.
The Doctor doesn't have an answer to this question, although sitting in a corner and crying is definitely a valid possibility. He's been through so much today, and he wants to take Apophis and just worship the little miracle, but for some reason the little miracle doesn't want to be worshiped. Or rather, not by him. He likes Jack just fine, which is annoying.
"Fine then. Don't answer," Jack snarks, looking a little annoyed himself.
Serves him right.
They stand there in uncomfortable silence for a while, both men looking at the baby. Apophis sleeps on, peacefully unaware of the chaos surrounding him.
When the knock on the door comes, both men jump. Apophis wakes up, eyes going huge for a moment. Then he looks up at Jack and smiles, displaying empty gums. Gurgling, he reaches a hand up for Jack's hair. Jack laughs and shifts him to be supported by only one hand, before letting Apophis grab onto the other. Apophis' eyes focus on Jack's hand. He frowns slightly, trying to pull Jack's hand closer to his mouth.
Jack laughs. "You should get the door, Doc. This one wants both my hands."
The Doctor makes a face at him, but crosses over to the door regardless. Pulling it open, he beams – a real, true grin – at the Brigadier. "Brigadier! You haven't changed a bit!" It's a lie, it's always a lie, there are more wrinkles around his eyes and his hair is much greyer, but it's an expected lie.
"Sir. You've changed quite a lot." The Brigadier scans him up and down – a lot of up and not much down.
He shrugs eloquently. Or at least he thinks it's eloquent. It might not be eloquent, now that he thinks about it. It could be horribly misleading, or an innuendo – actually, yes, now that he's thinking about things, shrugging is a come-on in at least three systems – and he's babbling again, although at least this time, it's only in his head. "Did you – Martha Jones!" He spots her behind the Brigadier and bursts out of the TARDIS. "Excellent. And the rest of the – the – the Joneses, good, good. And – that."
The Brigadier has, with his customary efficiency, wrapped the Master's body up in a tarp. Beside it is a bucket filled with blood-stained rags. It's surrounded by four black-clad UNIT soldiers. Martha and her family are off to the side.
"Right-o," the Doctor says, jamming hands in his pockets. "Everyone into the TARDIS. You lot," he gestures vaguely at the soldiers, "get his body. Come on, hop to!" Grin fading, he turns his attention to Martha. "How're you doing?"
She swallows, hard. "Fine. You?"
He makes a dismissive gesture with his head. "I'm alright. Should we go then?"
"Yeah."
Neither of them move. The soldiers work around them, transporting the Master's body into the TARDIS. Eventually Martha's family heads in. They've all had to clean the TARDIS console at one point or another over the past year, so there aren't any exclamations. Which is a bit unfortunate, the Doctor reflects, because he really likes that bit.
"Can – can I?" Martha hesitates and looks down. "I – I don't know what he did, Doctor, but after – after captivity, some people –"
He figures out where this is going and smiles slightly. "You're worried about hugging me?"
She makes a face at him. "If you put it that way, it sounds silly."
"Oh, come here you!" He runs at her, pulling her up into a hug. They stand there for a moment, caught up in being with each other once again – a whole year without his companion, it was more tortuous than anything else the Master could have done – until finally Martha pulls away.
"Right, time to go, innit?" She smiles, sort of, and he smiles back
Jerking his head at the TARDIS, he scans the room for anything they've forgot, and then follows her in. "Right – oh good, I see you two have met."
Jack and the Brigadier are standing about six feet apart, glaring at each other. The effort is spoiled slightly on Jack's part by the presence of the baby. To his credit, this doesn't make any difference in the intensity of his antagonism towards the other officer.
Stepping forward, he smiles brightly at the two. "Brigadier, may I introduce Captain Jack Harkness, of the Torchwood Institute? And Jack, this is Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, of UNIT."
"We've met," Jack says abruptly.
"Oh good," the Doctor says, looking between the two of them. "And we're getting along just fine, are we? Jack, back down, I trust the Brig with my life. Have, a couple times. Brigadier, same to you. Jack's a good man, much as he is a rogue."
The Brigadier gives him a look. "I'm sure there's a story behind the child, sir."
The Doctor nods. "There is, and it's a long one, and you don't get to hear it. Sorry," he says, not really sorry at all.
"Of course," the Brigadier replies, with the air of a man who hadn't expected anything else and should have known better than to ask. "Do you need anything else?"
He smiles shakily. "It's good to see you again, Brigadier." He says this because it is, the Brigadier is one of his oldest and longest companions, but also because the answer to the question is way too long and complex and revealing for him to say.
The Brigadier almost smiles. "Glad you didn't need my help this time. I'm getting old for this, Doctor."
"Yeah," the Doctor says quietly. "So am I." Before the Brigadier could say anything to this, he continues. "Off you go, then, Brig. Take your soldiers with you. I'll deal with the civies here, just make sure to clean up the Valiant."
Both the Brigadier and Jack look worried at this, although only the Brigadier says anything. "Sir. I'll keep an eye out for you." Saluting, he waves the other soldiers out ahead of him. "Take care of yourself, sir," he mutters on his way out of the TARDIS.
As the door closes, the Doctor relaxes, supporting himself entirely on the console.
"What's wrong?" Jack, far more astute than the Doctor ever wanted, steps forward, looking at him.
The Doctor snarls. "Nothing." Without warning, he pulls a lever, sending the TARDIS off into the Time Vortex.
One of the Joneses yells – he doesn't care enough to figure out which. Apophis wakes up and begins whimpering, turning head towards Jack's chest. Jack uses his free hand to punch the Doctor, gently, in the shoulder. "Stop it."
The Doctor flinches – he can't help himself – and steps away from Jack. "I saw him," he says suddenly, "during the past year, I saw the Brig."
Jack nods, understanding enough about the Doctor to remain quiet.
"The Master found him – the Master found a lot of them, but he particularly cared about the Brigadier. He was alive when the guards brought him in. And then – he wasn't." The Doctor looks down at the console, pulling another lever, much more gently this time.
Behind him, he can feel Jack freeze. "Oh. I'm sorry."
The Doctor ignores this, piloting the TARDIS through the Time Vortex, particularly complex now after the events of the past year – or fifteen minutes, he's not sure which.
"I met the Brigadier," Jack says, "a couple years ago. A dispute over whether UNIT or Torchwood had jurisdiction. We didn't like each other. He thought I was a insincere fop, and I thought he was a pompous idiot."
The Doctor laughs, sort of. "I called him that, once. A long time ago."
Jack smiles, in the same sort of way that the Doctor laughs – bitter, self-depreciating, hopeless. "Where are we landing?"
"Inside the Hub," the Doctor says, falsely casual.
As expected, Jack isn't happy. "You've never been inside."
The Doctor grins at him, hoping that Jack will get angry. He can't deal with pity right now, but he always knows how to deal with anger. "Nope!"
"You'll hit something," Jack bursts out. "You're not any good at landing the TARDIS even when you've already been there, what makes you think you can do it now?"
He ignores this, flipping a switch. With a thud, the TARDIS lands. "Well then. Here we are."
Jack shoots him a glare – Apophis is still whimpering and hasn't fallen back asleep yet – and makes his way to the doors, pulling one open. "Well," he says dryly, "you don't seem to have landed on Tosh's computers."
"Excellent!" The Doctor fakes enthusiasm and thinks most of the humans bought it. Only Martha gives him a look, but it fades quickly. "Right, off you go Jack. And give me my baby back."
The look on Jack's face clearly says that he's not going with it. "No. We're all going to pull up some chairs and talk about what happens next."
Oddly, the Doctor only nominally protests. He doesn't want to fly off again, not really, and as wrong as Jack feels, he's still a source of stability in a world that seems determined to throw him off.
It took Jack years to figure out that he can't die. It took him even longer to find out the other card in this twisted hand: he can't go insane. No matter what happens to him, he can't acquire PTSD, depression, shock, or any of a thousand and one other mental disorders. Most days he is grateful for this. Some he isn't.
The cost of this, of course, is that sometimes he forgets that other people can still be affected. Like Martha and her family.
Like the Doctor.
Their "discussion" about what will happen next is little more than Jack giving orders and fending off increasingly desperate attempts from the Doctor to regain control. In the end, Martha and her family go to rent a hotel room in Cardiff for a few weeks. Their home has been infiltrated, and until Jack has the time necessary to put their life back together, it'll help for them to be nearby. The Master's body and everything with his blood on it are moved into one of Torchwood's stasis chambers until the Doctor is stable enough to burn them. Jack calls his team and gets Gwen, which is fortunate because he really doesn't think he can handle Owen right now. They're given instructions to get back yesterday, if at all possible, and Gwen says they'll be back the following morning. Which leaves Jack and the Doctor. And the Time Tyke, which is what Jack has begun mentally calling Apophis.
The Time Tyke isn't the problem, or at least he isn't most of it. The problem is the Doctor, who is rapidly approaching the verge of physical and mental collapse. The problem is that he won't listen to anything and he won't eat and he won't sleep and he's paranoid beyond all belief. The problem is that the Doctor's damaged and Jack hasn't a clue how to fix it.
It takes two hours of talking to get an agreement out of the Doctor: he'll return to the TARDIS and sleep, but he won't fly off, because Jack's not giving up the Time Tyke for another ten hours and the Doctor may as well spend that time sleeping. To keep him from jumping forward in time anyway, Jack specifies that it has to be at least ten hours in both their timelines.
By this point the Doctor is about ready to fall asleep at the table, so Jack helps him up one handed – he hasn't put Apophis down yet, other than to change his nappies once and thank god for that incident back in the '60s – and tips him into the TARDIS.
That job done, Jack moves on to the next: Taking care of the Time Tyke.
The aforementioned incident in the '60s had also produced a number of baby products, including a sling, which Jack gratefully straps the Time Tyke into. Apophis looks up at him and giggles.
Jack giggles back, setting off a round of mutual giggling for a while. "Thank god that some of us got through this unscathed, eh?" he says companionably, running a hand through the Time Tyke's brown fuzz.
Apophis burbles at him.
"Yeah," Jack says, not sure what he's agreeing to. "I bet you're hungry, though."
It's the oddest excursion for the Torchwood van yet: One immortal and one half-alien half-human baby, off to Sainsbury's to pick up formula and whatever else he decides they need. While he gets some looks in the store – a few involved phone numbers – finding supplies is easy enough, and they're shortly headed back home.
He hopes that Time Tykes don't have any allergies to human food – the Doctor doesn't seem to, but that could just be him – and feeds Apophis the better part of a bottle. Done with that, he gives the Tyke a dummy and gets a perplexed stare.
"Don't look at me like that. It's a dummy – you know, a pacifier?" He doesn't really expect that Apophis will know the American term any better than the British, but it's worth a try. He manoeuvres the dummy into the Time Tyke's mouth.
Apophis promptly spits it out.
Jack makes a face at the Tyke and puts the dummy back in his mouth.
Apophis spits it out again, giggling at this great game.
"You know what? You don't want it, you don't get your dummy." He knows perfectly well he's being petty, but neither of them care. "It's probably bedtime for you, isn't it?"
This gets another burble, the Tyke intrigued by the change in tone.
"Yep, definitely bedtime." Grinning, Jack unbuckles the sling, gently pulling Apophis out and laying him to rest in the crib. The crib is also from the '60s incident – that had been a fun two years, Jack recalls absently – but out of a sense of paranoia, Jack's kept it clean.
The Time Tyke coos at him, blinking tiredly.
Jack smiles, pulling a chair over. "Yeah, you go to sleep. I'll be right here."
Morning finds them sound asleep, Jack's hand resting between the bars of the crib, Apophis holding onto it with a tiny one of his own. Asleep – peacefully asleep – for the first time in days, Jack is less than pleased when several things happen at once.
His mobile begins to ring, playing Hit Me Baby One More Time.
The Doctor bursts in, dressed – unfortunately – and grinning. "Oh, I am so thick sometimes!"
And the Time Tyke wakes up, sees the Doctor, and begins squalling at the top of his lungs.
With a glare at the Doctor, Jack stands up, stretching briefly, before reaching down for Apophis. "Well done, sunshine. You woke him up."
"Yes, well…" The Doctor waves a hand.
Jack ignores him, trying to comfort the Time Tyke. "Human baby formula is fine, right?"
The Doctor blinks. "Yeah, but he's not hungry right now."
Apophis continues crying.
"What's the nasty Time Lord done to you," Jack says, holding the Time Tyke up to his nose. "Huh? What's he done to you? I don't care what he says, you're three months old, you need another meal."
"Three months, two days, and seventeen hours," the Doctor corrects. "But it can't hurt him."
Jack ignores this, holding onto Apophis with one hand and picking up the phone with the other. "Hello?"
"Yeah. Hi. We landed, talking to some of your UNIT buddies now. Be home in about an hour."
Jack blinks, trying to readjust again. "Great. Thanks, Owen."
"Whatever." With that, Owen hangs up.
Staring at the phone in his hand, Jack sighs. "Right. Time to face the music."
The Doctor quivers, bursting with excitement. The sleep seems to have helped him – if 'helped' means 'made more excitable than usual', which quite frankly, would be impressive. "Yes, but Jack – I figured out why."
"Why what?" Jack's not awake enough to deal with excited Doctor. He needs Ianto's coffee first. And Ianto, more than likely.
The Doctor bounds forward, almost hugs Jack, almost hugs the Time Tyke, stops himself both times, and leans against the wall. "Why Apophis doesn't like me but does like you."
To be honest, Jack hasn't thought about it. To be brutally honest, he's not sure why the Doctor has. With a sigh, he crosses the room – and it's then that he realizes he's finally got the Doctor in his bedroom and neither of them are anywhere near ready for sex – and grabs another packet of baby formula. "Come along, Tyke," he tells Apophis, who giggles. It occurs to him that he needs to shower. This is shoved off to the back of his mind, on the list of Things That I Can Worry About Later.
"Tyke?"
Jack brushes past him, both hands occupied in holding squirmy baby or else one of them would have ended up somewhere on the Doctor, headed for the kitchenette he has in his quarters. Get a towel out, put Time Tyke on towel, put one hand on Tyke, try to open cupboard and get baby bottle out one-handed, then try to open packet with one hand – who the hell designed these things? – dump packet into bottle, or try to, because most of it ends up on the counter instead, swear, repeat.
The Doctor watches in amusement. "Would you like help?"
"No." He gets it worked out eventually – it's been a while since he's had kids, things have changed a bit – and the Time Tyke latches onto his bottle happily, sucking eagerly while staring up at Jack with wide eyes.
It's nice that someone is happy, because the next problem is Jack's daily cup of coffee. Or, rather more accurately, his daily first cup of coffee. With Torchwood, it's either caffeine or alcohol as a replacement for blood, and this decade's caffeine. Also, the coffee's on the other side of the kitchen.
"Fuck."
"Don't," the Doctor says, frowning as he sits on the counter.
Jack briefly considers socking him, but he's on the other side of the room, and Jack's pretty sure the Tyke knows how to roll over. "There's coffee in the cabinet beside you," he says instead, trying to keep a grip on his fraying temper.
The Doctor reaches in and passes over a bag of ground coffee, watching with interest as Jack goes through a similar process with the coffee as the baby formula, only without the swearing.
And then, midway through putting way too much coffee in the coffee maker, the Time Tyke drops his bottle.
There is, at this point, no way to get the bottle without taking his hand off the Tyke, who is beginning to turn a beet red. Jack looks at the Tyke, looks at the bottle, looks at the Doctor.
"You could ask," the Doctor says, looking as if they've just now reached the point in the conversation he's been waiting for.
No, he can't. Because the instant he asks for help, he tells the Doctor that he can't handle this, and then that gives the Doctor grounds for taking the Time Tyke back, and Jack cannot believe he's gotten attached this quickly, except that this is the first person in a really long time who he could conceivably spend the rest of most of a significant fraction of his life with – and who is not the Doctor, because he shut down that train of thought sometime during the Year That Never Was – and none of this makes it out of his mouth, or even onto his face. Instead, he picks up the Time Tyke, who is noisily unhappy about this, and bends down to get the bottle.
Apophis latches onto his bottle again, and is silent.
The room is equally silent as Jack places the Tyke back on his towel and begins to make coffee. The Doctor stands and observes. It's creepy, how still he can be when he decides he wants to.
Of course, this doesn't last for long, as nothing with the Doctor ever does. "Why are you doing this?" he asks, waving a hand. "Caring for Apophis. He's my responsibility, after all, I can do it –"
That's it. Jack is done with this flouncing pinstriped blithering idiot. "Shut. Up. Doctor," he snaps, turning back to his coffee maker, back straight with tension.
The Doctor flinches.
It's bizarre how Jack knows this – he can't see the Time Lord, but after a year on the same ship, being tortured by the same man, he's come to recognize the shifts in breathing and the sound of cloth and the scratch of a shoe against the stone floor that mean he is now on the very short list of people who scared the Doctor and lived to talk about it.
He wants to apologize. He doesn't. He just stands there, his back to the Doctor, and continues making coffee while keeping an eye on the Time Tyke.
But this is wrong, this is so, so wrong that he can scare the Doctor. He knows he wouldn't have been able to do it a year before. This is a new development, a new terrifying development, because it means that the Doctor is a lot more damaged than he ever wants to give away.
Clenching his teeth as he tries to pour the coffee one handed, he gives up. "What did you want to tell me? About the Time Tyke?"
"Time Tyke?" the Doctor asks.
Jack shrugs, getting his first sip of coffee for the day and instantly feeling better. "It's what I call him."
There's a pause. "I like it," the Doctor says tentatively. One more sign how damaged he is. "Time Lords – our genome isn't stable."
Taking a large gulp of coffee, Jack looks at him. "Really."
The Doctor smiles slightly – a good sign. "Yeah. Um – it's the least stable after regeneration, but it's really not – not steady at any point, really. And, well, during – um – during childhood, it's important that the genome be, you know, pretty – ah – set." He's dancing around the problem for some reason, and Jack takes a sip of coffee as he waits for the Doctor to get to the point.
"Apophis needs to stay with you."
Jack spits out his coffee, tries to wipe his mouth without taking his hand off the Tyke, and drops the mug on the floor, where it promptly shatters.
The Time Tyke starts crying. Both the Doctor and Jack lunge for him, but the Doctor stops himself quickly. Jack picks up the Tyke and rocks him gently, ignoring the puddle of coffee on the floor and the stain on his shirt. "You owe me a mug," he mutters, trying to calm Apophis back down.
The Doctor shifts awkwardly. "He likes you better than me."
"I'd gathered."
The Time Tyke's sobs turn into quiet whimpers. Jack picks up the bottle and offers it to the Tyke. Thankfully, he decides to take it, and the room is silent once more.
Until, of course, the Doctor starts talking again. "There's a reason."
Jack blinks at him, grabbing another mug. "Of course there is. Can you explain it to me without the technobabble?"
"You run Torchwood!" the Doctor protests, waving a hand.
Coffee goes in mug, something that's a lot harder than it sounds when one and a half of your hands are occupied with baby. "And?"
The Doctor doesn't seem to know what to say to this. "Time Lord babies need stability," he says as if speaking to a five-year-old. "You're the most stable thing in the universe."
Jack is suddenly grateful that he doesn't have any more coffee in his mouth, because otherwise it would be joining the former mouthful all over his shirt. "What? No – wait. You're saying that the reason you can't stand to be around me is the same reason the Tyke has to be?"
The Doctor looks very uncomfortable. "Maybe?"
"Doctor." Jack's running out of patience, and the team'll be here in less than forty-five minutes and he still needs to shower, and the Doctor doesn't seem willing to talk about whatever is going on, and he really does need the information.
A long pause. Jack takes a sip of the new coffee and makes sure to swallow. Finally the Doctor jams his hands in his pockets. "You're prickly, Jack. You're all spiny and pokey in my mind. But that's not a basic fact of you, that's part of me. To my mind, you're wrong – but not to the universe. And certainly not to that one." He nods at the Time Tyke. "To my mind, you're wrong because I haven't felt anything like you in centuries – you're stable, and I'm too used to travelling the universe. Nothing's been stable for me since –" He cuts himself off. "For a very long time."
Jack drains the mug, nodding as he sets it down on the counter. "And the Tyke?"
"Like I said – Time Lord babies need stability. Normally, at – at – on Gallifrey, the parents'd stay home from the beginning of pregnancy all the way through the twentieth birthday. Obviously, the Tyke's had a bit of a rough start, but – but now –" He smiles hopefully.
Jack's not the most awake person in the mornings, but even he can put together where this is going. "You're stuck here for twenty years because you don't want to leave a bunch of stupid humans together with your Time Tyke. And you're sulking."
The sudden blankness on the Doctor's face says that yes, that was exactly where this was going. "I wasn't gonna put it like that," the Doctor whines, trying to dig himself out of his nice personalized hole.
"Yes, you were," Jack says flatly. "You know what? Fine. Stay here for twenty years if you want. I'll have Ianto get you your own room and you can join the Torchwood team. Do whatever the bloody hell you want, 'cause I don't fucking care." He's angry and he's hurt and he's grieving, because whatever the Doctor's got planned, it won't end well for him. It never does.
The Doctor blinks. "Don't – don't swear."
Jack rounds on him. "And why shouldn't I? I'll fucking swear as much –"
The Doctor's eyes flicker down to the Time Tyke.
Jack's follow. "Oh. Okay then. At three months?"
The Doctor nods silently. He hadn't moved at Jack's outburst, but he had paled, and is now starting to shake.
"Right. No swearing. Owen'll like that." Jack feels the need for another cup of coffee, and looks over at the Doctor. "Something to drink?"
To his delight, the Doctor actually looks surprised. "No."
Jack sighs, filling his mug again. "So – you, me, Time Tyke. Anything else we need to sort out or should we start with that relationship?"
Again, the Doctor is surprised. Jack could get used to this.
Forty-five minutes later, they have a deal hammered out, Martha is on her way over, Jack still hasn't showered but he has changed clothes, and the Torchwood team is running late. This, Jack explains to an increasingly anxious Doctor, is normal – expected, even – and he won't call Gwen until they're at least an hour behind schedule. The Doctor doesn't buy it, but is sufficiently distracted by the presence of Myfanwy to drop the subject.
Fifteen minutes after that, Martha walks in, sees Jack wearing a sling with the Time Tyke in it, and laughs so hard she almost falls in the pool. The Doctor sort-of explains the situation to her, and Jack fills in the gaps. Martha looks at the two of them – the Doctor has a lovely bruise rising on his cheekbone resulting from his 'accidental' insults involving the Torchwood team, and Jack looks like he's been freshly shagged – and invites herself onto Torchwood. Her explanation – much more to Jack's taste than the Doctor's – is that they'll kill each other if left alone, and there needs to be someone sane in the area. Jack's protestations that the team is sane fall on deaf ears. He's not sure if he believes them himself.
Seventeen minutes later – he knows because the Doctor has been counting aloud – the Torchwood team shows up, looking varying degrees of exhausted, annoyed, and generally pissed off. The last one belongs to Owen, as usual.
"What the hell is going on?" Also Owen.
Jack and the Doctor look at each other. Predictably, the Doctor is the first one to speak. "Don't swear."
Owen opens his mouth again, but Gwen covers it with her hand. "Jack, please tell me the baby isn't yours."
"He's not mine," Jack says obediently, ignoring the continuing doubt about whether or not the Tyke is his. Their deal hadn't gotten around to terminology or anything else that would clarify whether the Time Tyke is the Doctor's that he's taking care of or whether the Time Tyke is his and the Doctor's educating or whether it really matters at all.
Gwen looks like she knows he's lying, or at least not telling the whole truth.
The Doctor touches him on the shoulder, and he just about melts, because it's the first time the Doctor's initiated a touch since – well, since Satellite Five. "Jack – introductions perhaps?"
"Right," Jack says, realizing belatedly that he's ever explained to anyone about the Doctor. "Ah – guys, this is my team. Gwen Cooper, she's my woman of all work."
Gwen chuckles at the description, removing her hand from Owen's mouth. "Hey."
"That's Owen Harper, medic."
Owen scowls equally at Gwen and at Jack – he's not going to react well to the revelation of the Doctor.
"Toshiko Sato, technology."
Tosh smiles, setting her bags down. She's not good with strangers – no matter how she takes to the Doctor, she's still likely to end up on a computer, tucked away in a corner.
"And Ianto Jones –"
"Tea boy," Ianto says, which is probably a good thing given that Jack really isn't sure what Ianto's description was going to be. He smiles and waves at the others – he's the other one Jack's worried about. He's pretty sure Ianto hasn't ever dealt with Canary Warf, and the Doctor was all wrapped up in that.
The Doctor shoots a glance at Jack that the immortal promptly ignores. "Right," Jack says, "and these are my friends. Martha Jones, medical doctor –"
"Not yet," Martha says.
"Really? After all that time with himself," Jack waves at the Doctor, "and you haven't gotten your degree yet?"
Martha grins. "Not sure any of those degrees would work on Earth."
Jack shrugs. "And – and this is the Doctor."
"Hello!" The Doctor smiles and waves. "Oh look – guns."
Because yes, Ianto has a gun out, and Owen's hand is disturbingly near his. Tosh looks worried, and Gwen confused – that's right, she only came on the team after Canary Warf, she doesn't know about the Doctor.
Jack steps forward, uncomfortably aware that he has the Time Tyke in a pouch on his chest and doesn't have a gun. "And this is Osiris," he says, stroking the Time Tyke's head.
There's a moment of dead silence as Ianto points a gun over Jack's shoulder at the Doctor, and the rest of the team looks confused.
"Osiris?" the Doctor asks. "No, hold on, his name is Apophis."
Jack deliberately turns his back on Ianto and grins at the Doctor. "I'm not having you call the child after the Egyptian god of chaos and destruction."
The Doctor frowns. "Right, but calling him after the god of the dead is a much better choice. Shouldn't we use the name his father wanted?"
"His father's dead. And insane. And tried to destroy the Earth. I don't think he gets any weight in this decision," Jack says bluntly. "Besides, Osiris was also the god of rebirth. I think that's a good message, don't you?"
The Doctor, who had looked strained at the mention of the Master, brightens up at this. "You're right. And," he looks down, clasping his hands behind his back, "he is your child. I – I'm just here to help."
Jack can tell by the angle of the Doctor's eyes that Ianto has started to lower his gun. That doesn't matter, because what matters is the way that the Doctor has just given him a reason to live – and evidently broken his own hearts in the process. "No. Sorry, Doctor, but you're wrong. He's our child. Got the two of us for fathers. Best raised child in the universe."
He could get used to that expression of surprise on the Doctor's face. "Wait. But – what? We – we're not a thing, are we? Is this a human thing, to – to – to –" He waves a hand.
Jack laughs – really, really laughs, holding onto Osiris, surrounded by friends, and standing in front of the one man who cannot leave him anymore, not for twenty years, at least. "Only if you want to, Doc."