Disclaimer - Unfortunately, I do not own the shows Doctor Who or Torchwood, or anything associated with them, including their incredibly lovely characters. This is just something my little mind dreamed up, in appreciation to Captain Jack Harkness.

Dreams of Immortals

The Doctor found Captain Jack Harkness pacing along the upper area of the Torchwood Hub, hair standing on end and wearing only a T-shirt and loose pajama pants. He was muttering to himself, and didn't realize the Doctor was there until he heard, "Another nightmare, Jack?"

Jack jumped out of his skin, spinning around quickly and raising his World War II-era Webley, reminiscent of his days fighting Germany. "Christ! You terrified me!" he yelled with a grin upon realizing who was visiting. Then he realized what the Doctor's presence could mean, and asked worriedly, "Why are you here in Cardiff? Did something happen? Is it the Daleks? Are they back? Or is it - "

"Jack, you know how I feel about guns," the Doctor said seriously, predictably running his hand through his disheveled hair and motioning with his head at the gun Jack had forgotten to lower. Realizing he still had the gun up, Jack sheepishly lowered it, saying, "Sorry. You startled me."

"Obviously. Now, would you like to tell me why the psychic paper summoned me here?" the Doctor queried, raising his eyebrow at Jack's sleep-deprived appearance and expecting someone to have died.

"It did what? I didn't send out a messa..." Jack said, belatedly realizing that his subconscious probably sent the message and coloring at what that implied. He turned and walked into his office, dropped into his desk chair, and pulled out some whiskey, not even offering the Doctor any, already knowing he'd refuse.

The Doctor followed the Captain into his office, his eyebrows going further into his hairline at seeing the immortal Captain Jack Harkness blushing. Then he realized it probably had something to do with a lover's spat for Jack to be embarrassed, and said, "If it has something to do with a lover, or the Ianto Jones that I've heard has made you monogamous, then I have no desire to hear about it."

Sighing and taking another sip of his whiskey, Jack placed his elbows on the desk and leaned his head towards hands. "It's just been the nightmares again," Jack said quietly, not allowing himself to look up at the Doctor.

"Mmm... The 456? Or something else?" the Doctor asked, sitting down in the chair across from Jack, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hand through his hair again.

"The 456. But instead of children... It was Ianto," Jack whispered. He then downed the whiskey and poured himself another glass. "Instead of that being the end of it, since that's all that happened when I delivered the children, I was on the ship with Ianto... watching them torture him like the invaders to Boeshane did to my people... My brother. Then I realized that that's what they might have done to those children," Jack said, looking up. "They could have wanted those kids for anything, horrible, torturous things... and I just handed them over without a thought. I just gave them to unknown aliens, not asking any questions, to save the lives of millions of people. Kids who never had a chance. Orphans, they had no one, not one person who cares about them..."

Unbeknown to Jack, for the Doctor had stood up and was facing out of the window looking over the hub, the Doctor was struggling not to cry. He knew about the 456, how the Captain had been the one to hand over the children, but the Doctor had hoped that after more than 40 years, Jack had begun to forgive himself. Instead, it was eating Jack alive from the inside out.

"But the worst part, the absolute worst, is that it was Ianto who I was betraying, Ianto who I was handing over without question to some new alien who decided to bully the humans around," Jack said venomously. "He died at the hands of the 456, and it was my fault. All my fault. But even though that hasn't happened and won't happen, he is still going to die in a several decades, and I'll be standing at his graveside with only one more grey hair to show the passage of time. Tell me Doctor, how am I supposed to live with this?" Jack asked, shooting to his feet and glaring at the Doctor.

"I am so sorry, Jack. I am so, truly sorry," the Doctor said, turning around to allow Jack to see the tears running down his face and know he was telling the truth.

"You're sorry," Jack laughed, devoid of humour. "You're sorry? No, Doctor, I think I'm the one who's sorry. I'm the one who will have to someday bury my daughter, my grandson, his children, and their children. I'll have to bury Ianto, the one person on any planet in any solar system who has managed to make me truly care, more than anything. And you think you're the one who's sorry?" Jack yelled, throwing his glass with the whiskey across the room, dispassionately watching it break into pieces against the wall, the whiskey spilling onto the floor. Then the Captain dropped back into his chair, propped up his elbows, and rested his head in his hands as his shoulders shook with the force of the tears he was keeping in.

Looking at Jack, the Doctor wished there were so many things he could say. That Jack was brave, more brave than he would ever be for staying with those wonderful, incredible humans and watching them die instead of running off to another place, another time. That although the hardest decisions always fell to him, he was stronger for making them, and that no one truly ever hated him for the choices he made, because everyone knew they were what had to be done.

Without another word, the Doctor strode out of the room and back to the TARDIS, randomly choosing settings and listening to the comforting grinding and whirring of going somewhere else, running away once again from a problem he'd created, and leaving Jack to do as he always does and pull himself back together.