WHEN GALAXIES COLLIDE
He missed Ianto so much that he wanted to howl at the moon, but he knew it wouldn't help.
Not at all.
It wouldn't bring back all that nonsense like a shy smile, good sex, a touch of a hand on Jack's shoulder, a cup of tea.
Ianto had died recently, but Jack knew how slowly time could pass. At some point he'd lost track – he stopped thinking how many days had passed from the moment of his goodbye to Gwen on Earth, he even stopped wondering what would have happened if he'd tried to play it all in a different way.
He also refused to think about Stephen. And Tosh. And Owen.
So he'd just reverted to his old, safe ways. He went on, just like he had so many times before. He ran away as far as he could, to keep the illusion that a change of scenery could help him forget.
Just for a while.
He wandered through the distant, familiar planets. He threw himself into every whirl of events - the interracial wars and minor conflicts - as if it would change anything.
But it wouldn't.
It could help him vent off for a short moment, but that was it. Afterwards he felt so empty on the inside again. And alive, so hopelessly alive.
A little bit later – as usual – he realized the moment he had to stop himself. This time it was a night he had spent with an exceptional eyesore.He couldn't really remember what species she was of, just that she had unpleasant, rather rough breasts. And that, had he been sober, he wouldn't have touched her with a ten foot pole.
But she had been travelling by a really good ship, similar to the Chula one he had stolen once.
So he had stolen that one as well. At once, the next morning. And then he just flew away, trying not to remember this whole mess.
And not to look for a fight.
He wandered galactic roads aimlessly, just to distance himself from the turmoil and the crowd. He felt best with the silence accompanying the birth of a star or all those rather quiet moments, when a planet forgotten by god and people ended its existence and burnt to the core.
It was like a faery of colours, soothing quiet and fire, dancing everywhere around. It was breathtakingly beautiful, so much that his eyes hurt.
Or a collision of galaxies. Yes, it gave so many possibilities, more than anything else. Two enormous forces, two powers, and then just void and stardust.
Reset.
And a crossroads – either the end of everything, or something new. Something different.
Actually, it wasn't so bad an idea. It was another thing Jack had always needed after some time: a finish to the cycle. And Jack had even his favourite bar, the one on a desert planet Zog. A place loud enough in which he could remain anonymous. The sharp scent of alcohol merged in one with cosmic pheromones and there was something brutal and primal about it. Something that had always helped him at this stage. Something that – paradoxically – made him feel not so hopelessly alone any more.
At the very least, he knew he wasn't the only one feeling like this.
The smoke hurt his eyes and irritated his throat, but he didn't mind.
When a strange female approached him, he could seem seductively hoarse to her. He was drunk – for now by the sheer atmosphere of this place – but it was enough to make him stop minding the fact that her eyes were bulging atop long antennae. And that her fingers were definitely too long, reminding him of tentacles. He started to imagine what she could do to him with those fingers, when all of a sudden things got unpleasant. From nowhere her brothers surrounded him – and, as if that wasn't enough, her mummy as well. A minute later he could hardly believe he fell for this. The critical moment was when they put their six tentacles around his throat. And then, with his last conscious thought, he remembered, how he knew her bulging, strangely sad eyes.
It was the alien he'd stolen that damn ship from.
It was understandable that her familiars were stopping his oxygen flow now. He couldn't really condemn them.
And he had no idea whatsoever how it would have ended, if all of a sudden he hadn't spotted a familiar brown coat and somebody's rumpled hair in the corner.
"Oi!" the Doctor's voice was surprisingly strong against the buzz of voices in the room. "I'm not sure about you, but I'd first think what the Shadow Proclamation has to say about it. According to the article five, paragraph nine, section two, the act of killing a member of other species, not belonging to the same biological system, has some rather unpleasant sanctions. I mean, I don't know, maybe you just like this place – it's got a nice name, doesn't it? I like it too. The bar Zagit Zagoo in the city Zagit Zagoo on the planet Zog. Can you pronounce it on one breath? Nothing difficult, you just have to practice and then it's as easy as pie. You see-"
"One moment!" the brother of the alien interrupted him in a local dialect, "who the hell are you?"
"I'm the Doctor."
"Who?"
"Just the Doctor."
The alien shuffled nervously and took his tentacles off his victim-to-be. Jack breathed deeply and looked at him sternly.
"It's nice of you to have stopped," he said politely. "Your hands are really not cool. Though, if you used them well, who knows..."
"Stop it," the Doctor scolded him, drawling the last syllable. "You know yourself you were impolite."
"Just in case you didn't notice, they wanted to strangle me. With tentacles!"
"Yes, I saw."
"And do you remember that their females, when they go mad, protract claws! Giant and sharp! At the end of the tentacles!"
"Jack..."
"Yeah, sure, every mad female shows claws at some point, but these are exceptionally dangerous, they can rip apart-"
"Shhh." The Doctor put his finger to his mouth in a soothing gesture. "Don't shout, it can be solved in another way."
"How?" Jack asked, carefully pronouncing each word, his voice low. He moved a little bit closer to the Doctor, right under the disoriented aliens' noses.
"Well..." The Doctor shrugged and indicated the exit with a move of his head. "First of all: run!"
Instinctively, they leapt forward, shoving tentacled creatures away. Before anybody else found their bearings, they were at the door. Jack looked back and gave one of the waitresses a charming smile.
"We'll settle the bill!" he exclaimed and winked at her. "Promise!"
They rushed out to the street – or rather at a bumpy road covered with red sand – and ran forward, arm in arm, not looking back. Hot air entered their lungs, wind hit their faces, they lost their breaths, but Jack ran faster and faster. He felt as if somebody had finally shaken him out of his stagnation, let him feel alive again.
The most important thing was that something was happening. He heard heavy steps and sharp voices of that lovely family behind him. In front of his eyes, close, he had the Doctor's straight back and his flying coat-tails. Trainers' soles whizzed in the air, softly bouncing off the sandy road.
"Right," the Doctor shouted, and Jack turned without thought, almost losing his balance.
And then he felt something heavy falling on his back, concentrating the strength of the hit around his kidneys.
He moaned involuntarily and fell down on the sand. And then everything happened at the same time.
Tentacles around his neck, the Doctor's exclamation, a familiar whirr of the sonic screwdriver.
"Get up!" A strong, slender hand tightened around the captain's. He followed the Doctor - it's not as if he had a choice. He would follow the Doctor anywhere, after all. Adrenaline gave him wings and that's probably the reason for which he couldn't really remember the last part of the road, between his fall and the TARDIS. He preferred not to look back. But he had to ask.
"What have you done to them?" he panted, once the door had closed safely behind them.
The Doctor stood at the console, his side to Jack, and was probably wondering what next. He bent his head, his breathing strangely heavy, and his long, slim fingers slid softly against the buttons and levers. It looked like a caress, and Jack couldn't stop staring, leaning forward, before the Doctor's sudden silence and surprised glance returned him to the real world in a flash.
"What have you done?" he repeated a little bit quieter.
"I put them to sleep. They'll lay there till tomorrow." He cleared his throat. "This race has on top, in skin receptors, their whole sympathetic nervous system, so it's easy to turn them unconscious."
"Is it... safe?"
"Yes, I think so."
"But..."
"Well," the Doctor interrupted him with that sudden, maniacally happy smile of his, "we are in the Time Vortex. Do you want to use swimming pool? A gym? A spa?"
"Do you have spa?"
He wrinkled his nose in a funny way and cocked his left eyebrow.
"Not exactly, no," he admitted unwillingly. "I hoped you wouldn't care about that."
Jack laughed out loud.
"You know, the girls would probably be happy. Oh, by the way, where are they hiding?"
A thick, heavy silence descended between them. Jack knew at once that he had said the wrong thing.
"Who?" the Doctor asked very slowly, not taking his eyes off the console.
"Donna," he stuttered. "And Rose. And there was the... The second one. I thought that you all, together... You know."
"No. I travel alone," he suspended his voice as if he was waiting for some remark, but his guest was too surprised to say anything. "It is better this way."
Silence again.
Jack instinctively moved closer, he hadn't a slightest about how to ask a question and not spoil everything. But he had to ask.
"Are they..."
"They are safe," the Doctor interrupted him with forced liveliness. "On Earth, you know, living their own lives, day..."
He stopped suddenly and looked at something above the captain's head. On his face he had something Jack would never dare name and something Jack couldn't help. So instead of that he moved closer still, and only then did he notice that the Doctor had stopped pulling back. They were almost against one of the TARDIS's coral columns, and Jack still couldn't really decipher the Doctor's face. Maybe it was because of pleasant, warm half-light inside, and this incorrigible alien still didn't turn to face him, not really, not in the whole.
He sighed deeply and tiredly rubbed at his eyes.
"A nice adventure," he said in an even voice. "The only one I..."
He didn't finish once again. He just turned his head and slowly, as if unwillingly, slid his hand down, along the column.
Jack mulled over the new information with difficulty. To be honest, he could hardly believe what he heard. Did the damn idiot really abandon Rose someplace with his copy? And what about Donna? Why couldn't she stay?
"You sent them away." Jack only realised he said it aloud when the sentence had resounded in an empty room. "You sent both of them away. And the other one."
"I had to."
There was so much quiet resignation, so much exhaustion in the Doctor's voice, that in spite of himself, Jack felt a sudden pull in his chest. He clenched his teeth, fighting with overwhelming compassion. He took a step forward.
And then anger prevailed against everything else.
"You had to, sure."
It sounded hurtful and sarcastic, and probably none of them had expected this, because Jack suddenly lost his breath, and the Doctor looked at him – this time really at him – with surprise.
The Doctor didn't understand, as always. He didn't understand that it really was possible to want to either have sex with him or beat him to death in equal measures. He didn't understand how mad you could become because of how he treated the people Jack knew were so important.
After all, he knew Rose well, he knew how much she had sacrificed, how determined she was – and he didn't believe, just didn't believe, that she'd let herself be rebuffed like that. It must have been much more twisted and painful than it seemed at a first glance. And that's why, if he could, he would strangle the Doctor with his bare hands right now.
Because... Damn him, he was making himself miserable! Himself, and everyone around him. Maybe it was convenient, not to feel anything? Or at least – try not to? Or maybe it was simple cowardice? A kind of escape from everything important, just not to look at passing of time and death?
Congratulations, Harkness. What the hell are you doing?
Shocked by this thought, he stepped in front of the Doctor, unintentionally cornering him. Blood still pounded in his ears, he had some red spots in front of his eyes, and the thought of Ianto still knocked about his skull.
Maybe if... If Jack had reacted in good time? If he had sent Ianto off somewhere far away?
And then he understood that he didn't even think about it. That he took some things for granted, agreed to them, even though he had seen so many things normal mortals couldn't dream about. Even though he had known there are ways to cheat nature.
Well, perhaps he should be proud of that. Of his actions, his way of thinking.
Maybe he would have been, but now he only felt sick and was shivering from anger.
"You had to, right?" he repeated, catching the Doctor's lapels, bringing their faces together. "You had to send them off like that?"
"She's happy." His voice quivered a little and Jack knew him well enough to catch it. But he couldn't stop himself from saying it, anyway.
"How could you possibly know?" he screamed. "How could you know, you self-centred..."
"She is. I didn't have a choice."
He didn't move. He just coughed – strangely, it sounded more as a muffled groan – and looked at the captain closely, biting his own lower lip a little. At last he blinked slowly and the strange cloud disappeared from his eyes, leaving just anger and emptiness.
"Didn't you have? 'Cause what?" Jack unintentionally raised his voice and pulled the fabric, tightening his fingers to the point of pain.
"Let me go."
"'Cause what? Say it!"
"I had to, because..."
"I'm waiting!"
"Because there are some rules."
"So here you are, you've got your rules!" Jack shouted. "Your only companions! Happy now?"
"Yes. Because now at least she's alive. They all are."
Jack felt like he lost his breath. Ianto's face, a smoky room, and then a hall full of evenly led 456's victims and tearful Gwen, when he had woken up – all of that flashed before his eyes. He yanked the Doctor's coat again, with all his power.
"And where were you later?" he shouted, because if he kept shouting, maybe this bloody egotistical alien wouldn't know how much his words stung. "Where were you when I... When we..."
He couldn't finish and he would give a lot to know, to be sure, if he had done it on purpose. Did he want it to sting, or was he just flying blind? Or just thoughtless?
"I had more important things to do," the Doctor drawled through his teeth. "I'm the last of the Time Lords, you know. There are other planets, not just Earth."
"So what, you jumped over to Mars for some tea?"
The Doctor looked at him weirdly.
"Yes I did!"
Not really in control of himself, Jack pushed the Doctor at the TARDIS column with all his might. Then he took a step back, because he noticed something was wrong. It wasn't even the fact, that the Doctor wasn't defending himself. The captain didn't really expect resistance, didn't really want a fight. On the other hand, if there was a fight – if this bloody idiot had reacted in some way, if he had at least screamed just as much as human – Jack would have probably felt better. He would have probably found a vent for his fury and pain. And this fucking loneliness.
Yet the Doctor just stared. And this familiar look from under knitted brows, the look full of anger, helplessness and terrible sympathy, flew him into a rage.
"Stop it," he said through clenched teeth. "Stop, or else... What are you...?"
The Doctor didn't answer; he just swayed a little, blindingly reaching his hand out to the column.
Jack jumped to him at once, caught him in half and steadied.
"What's wrong?" he asked shortly, looking at him anxiously.
The Doctor shook his head and moaned quietly, when the captain's fingers tightened around his arm. Jack felt he was touching something warm and sticky.
Blood.
He carefully sat the injured man on the TARDIS floor and helped him lean against a column, hardly stopping himself from grinding his teeth.
How could he have not noticed it before?
The Doctor breathed aloud. "You don't have to..."
"Shut up," Jack interrupted at once and knelt beside the Doctor. "By the way, you are the only person capable of bleeding out for a quarter and not saying a word about it."
He shuffled closer to him and opened his coat. The Doctor threw his head back and was looking at Jack in silence through half-lidded eyes. He was very pale, breathing shallowly with visible difficulty, his forehead covered in sweat. He clenched his teeth, when the captain carefully stripped the sleeve from his arm.
"Almost there," Jack muttered in a soothing way, pulling the other sleeve. "One minute and it's over."
The Doctor cleared his throat and wrinkled eyebrows.
"Hang it," he ordered in a horse voice.
"What?" Jack looked at the Doctor with disbelief, unsure whether he had heard him right.
"Hang it on the..."
"Okay, okay!" He stood up and went up to the two crossed pillars near the entrance, which usually served as a hanger. "Happy now?" he ensured, carelessly putting the coat between the columns. "I guess I can't do it in your fancy way, even though I'm quite experienced with coats. By the way, you're really crazy." He turned back instinctively. "Talk about priorities..."
He stopped suddenly and ran back to the column. He knelt and leant over his friend again. Damn it, it looked worse than he'd thought a moment ago.
"Hey," he said sharply and vigorously. "Come on, open your eyes."
The Doctor slowly lifted his eyelids and blinked, trying to focus on Jack's face.
"I'm not asleep," he said with visible difficulty.
"I think so. Don't think about fainting, all right? We still have a lot of layers to take off. Do you really have to wear so many clothes? Wouldn't one t-shirt be more comfortable?" he asked, unbuttoning his suit jacket with fast, steady moves, not taking his eyes off the Doctor's face. "For example, I feel best in my birthday suit. It's extremely comfortable. And light."
"I've no doubt," the Doctor muttered and smiled weakly, with this quick, fleeting smile, just with his lips' corner.
Jack took it as a good sign and used the moment to quickly take the Doctor's arm out of his sleeve.
"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed at once, because his patient moaned loudly, leaning his head against Jack's chest. "I'm sorry. I had to." He instinctively stroked the Doctor's back. "Is it better?"
"Y-yes," he staggered a little.
Jack nodded and took to his shirt. He opened the first two buttons, accidentally touching the warm skin underneath, and suddenly realised his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath and moved closer.
"Oh, if you'll tell me you've got an under-shirt as well, I'll really laugh at you, you know?"
"Mhm."
"Does it mean you have?"
"No." The Doctor swallowed with visible difficulty; pain on his face.
"Now that's a relief! I'd boil in all of that, you know? But, well, I'm me. I've always been hot-blooded."
"As... as hell," the Doctor admitted and suddenly coughed.
Damn it, one of his ribs must have broken as well.
Jack opened the last button and, completely lost, stroked the Doctor's ruffled hair with his hand.
"Almost," he muttered roughly, this time taking the Doctor's shirt off his good arm first. "Almost finished."
The Doctor sighed convulsively and closed his eyes, when the blue fabric was being torn off the wound. Jack was looking at his contracted face with anxiety – furrows around his lips, wrinkles around his eyes and the deep line between his eyebrows. Freckled cheeks.
He repressed a stupid urge to touch the Doctor's face with difficulty.
As if it could help anyone.
"Well, t-shirt now," he ordered vigorously, hoping that the other wasn't suspecting anything.
The Doctor opened his eyes, looked at the wound and then suddenly looked aside.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, but didn't move and Jack couldn't say if the Doctor didn't have strength or was that afraid of another wave of pain.
"Come here," Jack muttered. "Let's get it over with."
He supported the Doctor and, without waiting for the answer, took his t-shirt out of his trousers, baring his back.
He instinctively moved his hand against his skin, along the spine. Then Jack carefully helped the Doctor put the fabric over his head.
"I think I've spoilt your hair," he muttered, fighting with a sleeve. "Were you especially attached to it?"
The Doctor laughed, quickly, and then froze and tightly clenched his fingers around his wrist, when the fabric needed to be torn away once again.
His hot, hoarse breath tickled Jack's neck.
"OK," the captain murmured after a while. "I think we've done it. You can let go of me now."
The Doctor almost violently yanked his healthy hand away and tried to straighten himself up, but he visibly swayed.
"I said 'let go'," Jack growled. "Not 'do acrobatics'."
He helped the Doctor sit down near the column again and gently straightened his arm which the Doctor tightly pressed against his side.
"Hey," Jack said after a while, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Don't be so shy.Sure you're skinny, but not everybody can have a gorgeous body like mine, can they?"
The Doctor just nodded, looked at the cut at his arm, and then quickly turned his head away.
"It doesn't look so bad," Jack hurried to assure him. "Okay, it does, but it's not anything we can't handle, understood?"
"Y-yes," the sick Doctor staggered, and then took a deep breath and leant his head against the column. Jack could see just the outline of his sharp profile now; wrinkled eyebrows, a shadow of eyelashes on his cheek, tightly clenched teeth.
Jack sighed, moved closer and took a look at the wound.
It was nasty. Deep, with uneven, shredded edges, it went through almost whole arm and the left side of his chest.
"She got you pretty good," he commented. "By the way, an interesting thing, how you can see at once that it was a furious female chasing you. I'd said at the beginning that their claws are horrible."
The Doctor snorted quietly, and then started coughing again.
"Calm down," Jack said, angry at himself. "Damn it, I keep forgetting you can't laugh."
"Doesn't... matter."
"Would you please stop being so polite? Because, you know, sometimes it's infuriating."
There was no answer.
The captain sighed, leant down and delicately took the Doctor's face in his hands, forcing him to move his head back in Jack's direction.
"Come on," he said softly. "Don't fall asleep, remember? Hallo?"
The Doctor murmured something indistinct and slowly opened his eyes. Jack suddenly thought that he is one of the few ones who have the occasion to see the Time Lord in such a state. When he simply has no strength to deal with the universe and when, just once, has to let somebody else take care of him.
Struck with this thought, Jack instinctively touched the skin on the Doctor's cheeks with his thumbs and then quickly moved back his hands.
"Welcome back," he said dryly. "Hang on for a little while yet, will you?"
The Doctor bit his mouth and glanced at him. That tension-filled look almost completely threw Jack off his balance.
"Don't look like that, okay?" he suggested helpfully and swallowed, because his throat went dry. "A little bit more and I'll think you don't trust me at all."
The Doctor shook his head, still watching him carefully. Jack cleared his throat and with delicacy turned the wounded arm so that the palm was upside.
"Try to clench your fist," he ordered calmly. "Just like that. Good. I know it hurts, I'll try to be quick."
He delicately checked all the way up his arm, to the chest, with his fingertips.
"All right," he declared. "Tendons and muscles look good. She probably didn't do you any more harm. Apart from some broken ribs."
"It's... good," the Doctor stammered with difficulty and nervously swallowed saliva.
Jack looked up at him with attention.
"I think it'll suffice if I disinfect it and make a few stitches." He stood up, straightened and stretched, only now realising how much his knees hurt. "But this rib... It must have cracked when she hit you. Do you have any first aid kit here? I'll be damned if I know what that monster had under her claw, so I'll better wash it."
"I can do it on my own," his patient suggested weakly. "Just give me..."
"Yeah," Jack interrupted him impatiently. "I so can see you sonicking your arm with one hand. And then the chest. Especially as you weren't even able to take off your own shirt. Bloody hell, don't move!" he growled, when the Doctor tried to get up and in result leant forward dangerously.
Jack crouched near him, put his hands on the Doctor's arms and leant him against the column once more. He felt clearly tensed muscles and slightly prominent collarbones under warm skin. He swayed, unwillingly touching a place somewhere between his neck and shoulder with his nose.
"I said: no acrobatics," he murmured, trying to control himself. "Let me help you, there's no shame in needing someone to help you."
The Doctor didn't say a word, just bit his lips and averted his eyes.
The smell of perspiration and something weirdly sweet, a little metallic, that Jack always associated with TARDIS, made him feel dizzy. He hardly stopped himself from touching his tongue to the place where – he felt it clearly – double pulse hit.
"Where do you have the medical kit?" he asked instead matter-of-factly, straightening.
"Behind the console, closer to the exit," the Doctor muttered very quietly, still avoiding looking him in the face. "There are disin... fectants there. The best ones, from... the thirty-seventh century."
Jack quickly stood up and went in the pointed direction. He hadn't expected he would react in such a strong way.
Damn it.
He'd encountered hundreds of species before. Some he had kissed, some just bedded, the others he hadn't touched at all. But the Time Lord...
No, it wasn't about the race, or males on the whole. This time it was about the Doctor. Only about him.
As always, ever since Jack had met him.
He found the first aid kit where the Doctor had told him to look, and quickly returned to his friend. He crouched on the opposite side and opened it. The Doctor moved restlessly, sliding down the pillar a little bit.
"Wait." Jack carefully took him under his arms, avoiding hurting place the best he could, and helped him settle in a more comfortable way. "It's better now," he muttered with a false contempt, just to say something. The fact that the Doctor was so close to him didn't allow him to concentrate. The Doctor's rumpled hair tickled his chin and slim fingers tensed around his forearm once again. "Yes," he continued in a trembling voice. "By the way, I've got no ideas... She must have really had fancied you, judging by how she hurt you." He slowly took his hands away and smiled at the thought that he could easily count the Doctor's ribs right now. "And I don't understand, why, you're as thin as a rake. Oh, I know," he continued with a good mood, opening the bottle with the disinfectant. "That's why you wear so many clothes! You think they make you look stronger."
The hurt man didn't open his eyes, but he smiled weakly.
"And you must be cold," Jack added, encouraged by his reaction. "When somebody doesn't have an ounce of fat, they must get cold quickly, am I right? Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"Aren't you cold?"
"N-no." He opened his eyes with visible reluctance and snorted. "Jack... You don't have to. I'm not asleep."
"It's good. Hang on now, okay? I'll wash it."
The Doctor nodded, and then froze, looking at one point on the captain's chest.
"What's wrong?" Harkness asked hesitantly."
"I got you dirty."
Jack looked down and saw a dark stain of blood on his coat.
"It's nothing," he murmured without any thought. "Ianto will..."
He stopped suddenly, furious at himself, when he realised what he had intended to say.
For a moment they just looked at each other wordlessly; the Doctor's dark, solemn eyes were still so full of sympathy Jack just couldn't stand it.
He turned his eyes away.
"I'm sorry," he heard from the side.
"Stop it," he growled, hardly recognising his own voice. "Just... Stop."
In the terrible silence that had fallen, he slowly tilted the bottle and started washing the wound, trying to control his shaking hands. The Doctor didn't speak; he was just observing him from under half-closed lids. His forehead was covered in fresh sweat, he was clenching his jaws with all his strength.
"Just a little bit more," Jack murmured through his teeth and poured plenty of the medicine on the Doctor's collarbone. He quickly put a tissue under that place and unintentionally touched the wound's edge. The Doctor shouted and jerked instinctively, as if he was trying to get away from Jack at all costs. Jack put the bottle away at once and kept him in place by force.
"Okay," he murmured in a calming way, when the Doctor stopped fighting. "Almost there."
Still keeping his hand on the healthy arm of his friend, he reached for the disinfectant again and delicately poured it down on the cut on the Doctor's chest. Damn, he was so angry, so lost. He did want it to hurt. He did want the Doctor, the Time Lord, who appeared and disappeared as he deemed convenient, to feel just an ounce of what Jack experienced. Maybe then he would understand, finally, what it means to be dying from longing.
Oh yes, he didn't lose the hope it really hurt. And because of that he had no idea where this stupid wish to carefully kiss the skin on his chest, to be able to cling to him with the whole of himself, to bury his fingers in his rumpled hair and taste him, came from. To forget. With him.
He swallowed and carefully ended dressing the wound, so that he couldn't hurt him again, intentionally or unintentionally. When he looked up, the Doctor was looking him straight in the face, and Jack - for the first time since he'd met him - felt he'd disturbed this defensive barrier the Doctor was still surrounding himself with. That he had broken him in some way. He had to know yet if there was a request not to leave him or just the contrary – to finally let him be.
For a while he didn't move there, and then he slowly put away his medical accessories and reached to the back for his friend's suit jacket, lying there on the floor.
"What are you doing?"
"Can't you see?" he grunted distractedly, searching through his pockets. "I'm treating you."
He carefully took the sonic screwdriver out and moved closer. When he had raised his hand, the Doctor suddenly caught him by his forearm.
"I prefer... myself..."
Jack smacked his lips with impatience and pulled lightly to free himself from a weak grip. He wanted to shout at this stubborn alien with all his strength – but then he looked in his face again and slowly, almost softly pulled his healthy hand away.
"Trust me," he muttered quietly. "Okay?"
The Doctor swallowed and moved restlessly.
"But... How..."
Jack smiled carelessly, a little bit mysteriously. The Doctor frowned.
"I didn't know you knew how to use that."
"You don't know many things about me yet."
The Doctor blinked and quickly nodded. Jack took it for permission; without a word he set the screwdriver on and started to move it very slowly just over the cut, from time to time peeking at the wounded man's face.
The tension was going away little by little, the Doctor closed his eyes and leant his head away again. The wrinkle between his brows disappeared, the ones on his forehead smoothed out. He breathed calmly, deeply. Jack clearly saw his parted lips and rhythmically moving chest.
He forced himself to avert his eyes with difficulty and with attention was moving the screwdriver up and up.
"You're tickling," the Doctor whispered, when Jack had reached his armpit
"I'm sorry." He carefully raised his arm to move the device exactly along the cut skin. "I'm finishing."
He felt the muscles trembling and heard clearly how the Doctor's breath got shorter, full of fitful gasps.
"Just a moment," he said in a calming voice. "Hang on now, there are just ribs left."
He heard a strange crack, as if the bone snapped too suddenly into place and – almost at the same time – a quiet groan. The Doctor started coughing violently, deeply, and then supported himself with a hand and stilled, catching his breath.
Damn it.
Apparently Jack wasn't as much of a medical genius as he had thought himself to be. Or else, seeing that one patient, who had just gone very white, all of his first aid knowledge had slipped Jack's mind.
His first reflex was to whack him hard in the back, but then he saw closely the millions of tiny freckles and the sharp line of his spine – and he knew he couldn't – so he just embraced and stabilised him, half-leaning him against himself. He had stroked the places between his shoulder blades in calming, soothing moves until the Doctor caught his breath again. Only when the Doctor leant against him with his whole weight, did Jack carefully look into his face.
"Are you all right?" he asked in an undertone and almost laughed, when he'd realised how stupid his question sounded in that circumstances.
His amusement drained away, because he saw that the Doctor had lost his consciousness again. Jack carefully laid him on the TARDIS floor, just under the pillar. He leant over him and with relieve stated that both of his hearts beat strong and even, and he is breathing on his own.
So he had just fainted from pain and exhaustion.
It looked as if both of them had a long night ahead.
Jack sat down next to his patient – he felt instinctively that it would be better not to move him now and just let him rest. He stretched his legs, trying to find the most comfortable position possible, and then remembered painkillers he had in his coat pocket along with retcon and some others useful pills.
Congratulations, Harkness, good reflex.
He looked through each pocket, found a few vials and put them on the floor under the column.
He suspected that they'd get very useful once the Doctor woke up. Jack looked him over, assessing him, and then touched his forehead just in case. He probably didn't have a fever any more – his skin was nicely cool again, as usual with the Time Lords. Everything indicated that Jack managed to fix him just well. And then he should be as good as new when he rests. Jack breathed with relief, and then he thought that it's not really good to lie motionlessly on the floor, while naked waist up, no matter the race.
He looked around quickly. Even though the TARDIS seemed to produce warm fumes from a grid next to which they were – as if she felt that the Doctor needs just that – Jack wasn't sure if it was enough. He carefully moved his hand around the ill man's arm to make sure – it seemed colder than before. Jack didn't really have any way of changing it, and because he simply didn't feel like standing up, he took his coat off without any thought and carefully covered the Doctor up his neck.
Only after a while did it occur to him that he usually dislikes sharing any of his clothing with anyone, especially this one part of it – his coat - but of course it didn't matter, because he would do anything for the Doctor.
That's why he sat with him for the next few hours, that's why – when the Doctor woke up for the first time and didn't really know what was happening around him – Jack gave him a solid dose of medicine, ignoring his protests. That's why he patiently adjusted his coat and held its tails each time the Doctor was shivering from cold and trying to throw away the heavy fabric.
That's why he tried to calm his patient down, murmuring quiet, trivial remarks. And he even managed not to fall asleep.
It was well after midnight when the Doctor opened his eyes again and for a while stared at the TARDIS's high dome with a blank face. Jack leant over him with concern and carefully touched his cheek.
"How are you?" he asked quietly. "Can you hear me? Do you need anything?"
The patient's eyelids shivered slightly – even in that semi-darkness Jack could clearly see veins running under skin – and the Doctor slowly, with visible difficulty, turned head in his direction, unintentionally touching the captain's palm with his lips.
"It hurts," he whispered.
And Jack felt then that it was too much for his resistance, that his helplessness is making him crazy, that though he had wanted the Doctor bare and needy before him, to hurt as well, to stop pretending – he had always wanted that – but maybe not so much, damn it.
Not so much.
"Shhh" he murmured in a soothing voice, touching his forehead again. "It'll stop in a moment, I promise."
He prayed inwardly that it was true, that he didn't screw up his calculations – but he consoled himself that he knew the exact effect of Torchwood's drugs better than anyone.
The next time, he'd only need a quarter dose of medicine, at most.
The Doctor clearly calmed down, indeed. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes again, and Jack felt something approaching relief.
It looked as if it was much better, but after a moment his patient moved restlessly, raised on his elbows and tried to shake off his cover again. And then he said it.
"Rose." It was just a hoarse whisper, and then a fit of coughing and a quiet sigh. "Rose...?"
Jack caught him under his arms just a little too forceful and leant against the column again so the Doctor could breathe more easily; he just couldn't take this pleading voice any more, he couldn't bear it wasn't his name – and he couldn't help it as well.
"Calm down," he muttered at while coarsely, adjusting the sliding down coat again. "Come on."
Only after few moments did he realise that the Doctor was looking at him quite consciously, as if this sudden movement woke him up.
From this close proximity, Jack could clearly see tiny freckles, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and drops of sweat on his forehead.
Without a word he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried the Doctor's forehead, delicately touching the fabric to the skin. He stilled when he got to the temple, for a while they both stared at each other in silence until Jack, completely lost, suddenly embarrassed, quickly withdrew his hand.
And then he leant in and, testing, he touched his lips to the Doctor's.
It was an impulse. He couldn't stop himself and subconsciously felt that the other would turn his head away at once, but nothing like that happened.
For a second they both were wordless, millimetres away, breathing each other's air, and Jack, with his eyes fixed on the Doctor's terribly dark pupils, knew it was the end, there was no way back, even if he was to regret it for all eternity. So he just took the Doctor's face in his hands and kissed him full on the mouth, clinging to him and taking him in with all of himself.
He made him part his lips and could feel his taste with his tongue – a little bit sweet and metallic as well, because that was the way the TARDIS, time and space, pain and blood must have tasted. Teeth clicked with teeth and he felt so suffocating, almost losing his breath, but of course he couldn't have stopped, he had to have him closer still. He moved his hand to the Doctor's nape, pulled him closer with all his force. He heard a quiet groan and sobered up enough to try and breathe, remember, that the other was injured not so long ago and maybe...
But then the Doctor started reciprocating. It was violent and surprising at the same time. Arms surrounding him, the tip of tongue moving hastily around his lips and darting inside, hands wandering frantically along his spine. At last he embraced him – or actually held him firm, and his fingers clenched tightly at the fabric of Jack's shirt. The captain unwillingly rubbed his cheek with his nose, hardly catching breath. He saw the Doctor's eyelids, tightly closed, and his shivering lashes. Jack felt dizzy, his pulse beating in his ears and he'd rather didn't dwell on about whose image the Doctor saw behind those closed eyelids, because it wasn't important after all, not now. Not when there was just the two of them, when Jack could do something for him, when he was the only one who might be able to.
The Doctor was breathing heavily, just like after a long run, he moved a little, pressing his back harder against the column and Jack got scared suddenly that in a moment he'd change his mind and push him away... But no.
He still held him with all his might, still kept his eyes closed and the captain suddenly understood that everything was up to him right now. The familiar pain in his loins grew stronger every second, the Doctor's smell – a strange mix of sweat, pheromones and that sweet and metallic something – filled every scrap of space. He was confused and he wanted to do so many things with this alien, and the awareness that he couldn't – not yet – almost killed him.
He instinctively moved his thumbs over the thin skin just under the eyes of the other man and kissed both closed eyelids. He pressed his lips to the place just over the left eyebrow, delicately brushed aside his hair and moved down, to his temples. The Doctor sighed heavily, unclenched his fingers at last and fleetingly stroked Jack's arm. He relaxed clearly and even leant his head away, so Harkness without any thought stuck out his tongue and licked him behind his ear and then quickly nipped at the lobe.
The Doctor's ears, weirdly small and a little bit protruding – for some reason they totally disarmed Jack. Maybe because that he wanted to lick those ears, even starting with the Doctor's previous regeneration, as well.
Jack laughed very quietly, and, to his own astonishment, heard a quick snort, as if the Doctor was amused as well. Jack raised his head and look at the Doctor with disbelief. They stilled for a while as well, faces centimetres away, and Jack clearly saw roguish, a little mocking smile of his – lifted lips' corners and a small dip in his cheek. And these eyes, a little hazy, almost black, with wide pupils.
He bent and kissed him briefly. And then again. And again.
Longer, clenching his teeth over fuller, bottom lip.
"Jack..."
"Shhh" He shook his head and started slowly touching each millimetre of the skin under his jaw with his lips, so as to not miss even a bit. He moved his tongue along his neck, delighting in each second. Listening to quiet murmurs, he finally reached the place where the Doctor's pulse was beating frantically. And then he nuzzled his nose against his shoulder, breathing in this mix of smells, exactly as he had always wanted.
At last he embraced him fully, threw the coat away and moved down. He clung to his chest and kissed slowly, perfectly aware of the fact that his warm breath was tickling the other man. He drew small circles around nipples with his tongue. He felt slight shivering of tense muscles under his fingers, when he wandered along the ribs to the belly button with just his fingertips.
He slowly opened his trousers and for a while played with the little hair on his stomach. He felt the Doctor catching his arms and instinctively pushing him down.
"Jac-k."
That tiny falter, the last letter of his name carefully separated, disarmed him completely.
He glanced up, but the Doctor was still flexing unwillingly, leaning his head back. Jack could only hear louder and louder sighs, see the sharp outline of his chin with a shadow of stubble, and his Adam's apple moving restlessly.
He smiled and carefully, almost hesitantly – on purpose – moved his fingers along the skin of his groin. Slowly. Up and down. And only when he heard a sharp, strangled moan, did he lean down and surround with his mouth. He felt a delicate skin on his tongue, felt the other man grip his hair with long, thin fingers and it was the end, he could only breathe with him and feel only him, unwillingly closing his eyelids. All of a sudden there wasn't enough oxygen in the air and the only thing existing was a sharper and sharper taste and uneven rate of the Doctor's breathing.
He felt a flush of blood and fought with all his might to catch this primal, familiar rhythm. He sucked, circled with his tongue and teased with his teeth and knew that the Doctor still didn't have enough. He felt slender hands pulling his head closer and closer. He heard moans, felt fingers clutched tightly around his hair and quiet murmurs.
And he knew, really knew how to make the Doctor totally lose control.
It was a wonderful feeling – to control the Doctor like that.
And then, when he was finally sure he succeeded, he delighted in the Doctor's quiet moan, a convulsive breath, the last muscles trembling.
The knowledge that the Time Lord didn't push him away. That he'd bared himself after all.
He fleetingly touched the Doctor's inner thigh with his mouth, pulled himself up and stroked his sticky hip. He put his hand on the Doctor's buttock, and even cuddled up to his stomach. A crazy thought about moles made of stardust, and never-ending travel through a time vortex wandered around his head.
He felt the Doctor's breath steadying, quieter and quieter; he felt the Doctor relaxing.
At last he looked up from under creased eyebrows, he saw the other man slowly raise his head and swallow with difficulty. Seconds later their eyes met and Jack almost choked, because he hadn't expected... He didn't know what he'd expected, but surely not this – again – this strange, completely empty look.
It seemed as if the Doctor was afraid. Of another loss, another abandonment. Even though he didn't have to, because, of all people, Jack didn't plan on moving anywhere.
He didn't want to leave the Doctor. And he could, contrary to normal mortals, survive anything.
He didn't need to be sent away.
He sat up, moved away and silently observed the Doctor slowly lifting his hips and pulling up his trousers, and then standing up – jumping to his feet in his normal, energetic way. He turned his back on Jack, closed his fly and bent down, this time carefully, almost painfully, reaching with his hand under the console. He took out a clean shirt from some hidden compartment with his back still to Jack – and hundreds of words exploded in the captain's mind and he didn't know what to say first – he had no ideas at all. But he had to think of something, because everything was better than this stupid, embarrassing silence, the Doctor's arms rigidly upright, sharp profile in the shadow.
He wanted to ask so many questions – where they were going to fly next, where first? What should they do now: talk or shag almost till death, and only think of some plan at dawn? Was there even such a thing as a plan? Probably not, because the Doctor seemed like a person who improvises and does so brilliantly.
And wasn't it cool that none of them was going to be alone now? Wasn't it easier – to divide this bloody feeling of guilt to two of them?
It looked as if they needed each other, indeed.
Damn it all, how was he supposed to...
It was so weird. He was, after all, the same captain Harkness. He always reached for what he wanted and he got it, without any problems. He bedded whoever he wanted to at the moment. And only with the Doctor, only with him – he proved to be so unsure of himself, so subordinate, so... Hopelessly devoted.
It was so disgustingly sweet and in a way frightening, and that was probably the reason he couldn't voice any of these things.
Probably the reason for him silently watching the Doctor trying to put on this wretched shirt.
He clearly couldn't cope. Apparently amazing drugs from Torchwood stopped working and his arm started to ache again, so Jack without a thought came closer to him and delicately touched his back.
"Give it to me," he murmured, catching the sleeve.
And a moment later ha thanked each and every deity there was that he stayed silent, because the Doctor just pushed his hand away – not strongly, but firmly – avoiding looking him in the eyes.
He dressed on his own, slowly, with visible difficulties, and then pushed a few buttons on the console and finally faced him.
"It's better you left now," the Doctor said very quietly. He didn't close last two buttons, just under his neck, and his hair was wildly sticking in every direction. He clenched his teeth and stared at the floor, his hands in his trouser pockets.
Jack felt as if there was no air in the TARDIS again, only now there was no help to it.
"But..." he staggered, trying to collect his thoughts at each cost, "but... You and me... We could..."
"No. I travel alone." The Doctor looked at him askance and then away. "I'm sorry."
It was worse than anything else. Especially that in that moment the floor shivered and the TARDIS had landed.
It would have been better if he had just pushed him away. If he had insulted him – or even hit. Everything would have been better than these three words.
Because they were enough to make him feel – again – cheated.
Inadequate.
Even fucking unworthy.
"Go now," the Doctor repeated quieter still.
Jack, not looking away from that solemn, freckled face, as if in a dream reached for his coat. He lifted it, dusted it off and cast it over his arms, and at last left, carefully closing the door behind him.
In a small vent between the edge of that door and the frame he saw for the last time the Doctor's upright silhouette – still motionless, leant against the console, his arms crossed at his chest.
Jack hardly noticed that they'd landed in the same place they had started from; he breathed deeply and just moved forward.
The old, tested method – to run as far away as possible – was apparently going to work now as well, because a moment later he was dashing ahead, breathless to the point of pain.
It was a middle of the night; sharp, icy air of a desert rushed in his lungs and cooled feverish face, and strange, capricious wind pulled his hair.
He returned to the bar and paid the bill – he didn't whether he saw those aliens again, it wasn't important in the slightest. Anyway, the bartender, out of the gratitude she wouldn't have to explain herself to her boss, with pleasure took him upstairs.
He left her at pale dawn, met a stray smuggler of Raxacoli eggs in front of the bar, and then left Zog with his whole band.
Some time later - he couldn't tell any more if a few days, weeks or maybe months had passed – he was permanently stoned.
He wandered around the cosmos again, unconsciously replaying his old, usual pattern again. He looked at colliding and collapsing galaxies and only after a few times did he realise that everything was happening too fast, as if somebody accelerated the whole cycle.
Well, even if it was like that, it wasn't his problem after all.
Even when there was just void left.
He remember New Memphis best of all – a post-industrial city on a change moon. Maybe the fact that it grew up around the cosmic port of the King Elvis was enough, or maybe it was the fact that constant rain somehow extinguished everything which was eating him form inside all this time. The gangs, the slums, the glamour clubs. Complete madness, murderers, whores and arm dealers – and then there was him, perfectly anonymous. He spent the majority of his time there – before he decided he could return to Zog, to his bar.
The bartender recognised him at once and seemed willing enough. Apparently she didn't mind him leaving without a word the last time. He even got a drink on the house.
He drank it slowly, wondering if he wanted to go upstairs with her again and thoughtlessly surveying the aliens filling the stuffy room.
And then one of the bartenders covered his view for a moment, putting a paper folded in four in front of him.
"From the guy over there," he pointed behind himself and moved away quickly. Jack looked up – and then he saw him. Clothed in his brown, pinstriped suit and a long coat, the Doctor stood several metres opposite him.
The room was crowded and full of smoke as always, and the lights dimmed a little, but Jack couldn't not notice that that bloody alien looked older. And very, very tired.
He pointed at the scrap with his chin, raising eyebrows in his typical way. His eyes... It was like a request and Jack – again, damn him – felt a sudden tug in his chest and then quickly looked down.
He unfolded the paper and for a moment looked the the regular, straight letters. At last he breathed deeply, noticed a move next to him in a corner of his eye, a sailor suit, sad face of a bloke sitting on a stool next to him – and he knew.
He knew it was an apology. That the Doctor couldn't do it in another way.
He looked at him again. He felt a scratch in his throat, and burn under his lids – everything due to this desert dust, smoke and pheromones. He saw the Doctor salute him in his way, with two fingers, clenching his mouth.
For a split second, they looked at each other and there weren't metres between them any more, there weren't even light years.
So Jack saluted him back, and then watched him go away.
And then he reached for his glass.
Damn it, but he hadn't allowed anybody to treat him this way. But he knew that – yet again – he'd forgive the Doctor that as well.
He already had.
Sometimes after a collision of galaxies there was only void left, because both of them ceased to exist. Sometimes just one of them survived. And sometimes new, completely different, ones came into existence.
Jack sighed and looked at the boy in a sailor suit.
"So, Alonso," he started, instinctively giving him charming smile number five, "going my way?"