Warnings: some fairly explicit description of injuries, but nothing terribly gory.
Notes: I know, I know, I promised this like. A year ago. Maybe more. This is still very much a work in project and updates will be slower than usual. I'm dealing with a lot of health issues right now, but I miss writing, and I miss Doctor Who, and I miss you guys, and I hope posting the first chapter will kick me into gear.
That being said, this is definitely the last installment in the Shelter series. It's been great. It's helped me grow as a person and writer. Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end.
As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think.
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"Doctor!"
The cry tore itself from Jack's throat as he burst through the doors. It took him all of three seconds to take in the twin chambers, with an old man trapped in one and the Doctor halfway into the other, and realize what was going on. It took him only slightly longer to sprint across the room, yank the stunned Doctor out of the glass case, and slam his hand down on the button. Through the light and the pain he heard the Doctor's anguished shout, and then there was darkness.
When he gasped back to life, the first thing he registered was Ianto – Ianto's hands holding him steady, Ianto's voice murmuring reassurances, Ianto's legs beneath his head – but the first thing he saw was the Doctor. The Doctor, alive, upright, but bruised and bleeding, watching Jack with hollow eyes.
Jack allowed Ianto to help him to his feet.
"Jack." The Doctor's voice was flat, like he couldn't quite comprehend Jack's presence, or his own.
"Doctor."
"Holy fucking shit." All eyes turned to Owen, who was staring at the Doctor with shock and horror verging on admiration, medical scanner in hand. "Did you jump through the fucking ceiling?"
The Doctor glanced upwards absently.
"Guess I did, yeah."
"Are you insane?" Owen sputtered.
"Guess I am, yeah." The Doctor made a choking sound, and Jack braced himself for tears – but they never came. Instead, the Doctor began to laugh, high and thin and horrible, and every hair on the back of Jack's neck stood on end.
"Doctor." Jack stepped forward and grasped his shoulders, fiercely ignoring all the mauve alerts going off in his brain. "Doctor!"
He gave him a small shake. A grunt of pain found its way into the Doctor's mirthless giggling, and his knees buckled. Jack stumbled with a curse.
"We need the TARDIS," he snapped over his shoulder.
"Yes sir," said Ianto, and immediately turned away to question the old man whom Gwen was attempting to mollify.
Jack sank to the ground with his arms full of hysterical Time Lord, struggling not to panic himself. The Doctor had never, ever lost it like this. Tears, yes. Incoherent babbling, practically comatose withdrawal, even the occasional flash of irrational fury, but never this terrifying, desperate laughter.
Shit, Doctor. What has that bastard done to you this time?
"We have to snap him out of it," said Owen, crouching beside him.
Jack ignored him, choosing not to waste breath on pointing out the obviousness of that statement. Owen rolled his eyes.
"Fine then, I'll do it."
He drew back his hand.
"Don't you fucking dare," Jack growled, catching his wrist with bruising force.
"You have a better idea?" Owen demanded.
Jack shot a glare at him and turned back to the Doctor.
"Doc. Doc, c'mon." He gripped the Doctor's chin, forced him to meet his eyes. "Doctor." The single word was an order and a plea, and something about it broke through. The Doctor stopped laughing, though his breathing was still ragged and his eyes still hazy.
"Wha –?" he questioned weakly. "What –?"
"It's okay, Doctor," Jack soothed. "I'm here. You're safe. We're going to get you back to the TARDIS, alright?"
"In the stables," Ianto said lowly, appearing at his side. Jack nodded his thanks as he began to heft the Doctor to his feet.
"Careful," Owen warned, helping on the Doctor's other side. "He's got a fractured elbow and a couple cracked ribs."
It was a testament to how far gone the Doctor was that he didn't object to being spoken of as if he couldn't hear them. Maybe he couldn't. His eyes were foggy and distant, his lips moving silently, forming words that Jack doubted he would understand even if they were audible. He did his best to take some of his own weight as they moved him towards the door, but it seemed more automatic than anything.
"'Scuse me!"
Jack gritted his teeth. It was the old man – the one the Doctor had been about to sacrifice himself to save. Jack wished that he could deduce something about the man's character from that, but the Doctor would sacrifice himself for just about anyone, including total strangers and total bastards.
"'Scuse me, sir – Jack, is it? I's just, the Doctor, he did something –"
"He does a lot of things," Jack ground out. Pretty much everything, except taking care of himself.
"No, but he did it to the TARDIS. Made it vanish. Said it was out of time, so the Master couldn't get it."
Jack stopped in his tracks, eliciting an oath from Owen and a pained gasp from the Doctor. Jack ignored the first, muttered a (probably unheard) apology for the second, and twisted his head around to address the old man.
"Out of time?" he repeated. "As in, out of synch with time?"
"Yeah, that's it," said the old man, his hands waving excitedly in front of him. "Did it with that screwdriver of his."
"Dammit," Jack growled. There was no way they'd be able to reverse that without the Doctor – who was barely upright, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Jack wasn't sure he'd still be conscious by the time they got him to the TARDIS, let alone coherent. "You never make things easy, do you, Doc?" he sighed, forcing their little troop back into motion.
"I don't understand," said the old man, trailing after them. "What's wrong with him? He was fine. Jumped through that ceiling and everything and he was still walking around, saving the day . . ."
"Adrenaline," Owen grunted. "Now it's wearing off; everything's catching up with him."
"He's gone," said the Doctor abruptly. His tone was startlingly clear and conversational, though a quick glance confirmed that his eyes were still unfocused and hazy. He continued to speak, jarringly matter-of-fact, as if he were talking about the weather. "He's gone, and they're gone, and it's gone. The Ood forgot to mention that bit."
"I know, Doc," said Jack, because he did. Oh, not what the Ood were or what was gone besides the Master, but he knew loss. He knew pain. And he knew the Doctor. "Just need you to keep it together for a couple more minutes so we can get you into the TARDIS, alright?"
"Mm," the Doctor acknowledged, and then came to an abrupt halt which had to be painful.
Jack stumbled slightly with a curse. The Doctor's eyes were fixed on what appeared to be thin air in front of them.
"Sonic," he mumbled, and reached for his pocket, only to flinch with a hiss of pain as he tried to bend his injured elbow.
"I'll get it," said Jack, and let go of the Doctor with one hand to reach across his chest and into his inner pocket. The action, actually fall more practical and – well, clothed – than much of the contact he'd had with the Doctor in the past, felt strangely intimate, almost obscene in this modern palace with so many eyes watching.
The Doctor accepted the sonic with a trembling hand. The ethereal blue light cast strange shadows in the gathering dusk for an instant, and then the TARDIS was there, as solid as ever.
The Doctor slumped wearily against the door, eyes sliding shut. He stayed that way, breathing shallowly, as Jack extracted his key from his pocket and opened the door.
"Doc." Jack pressed a hand to the small of his back, layers of fabric over pale skin and breakable bones. "C'mon. Let's get you to the med bay. We'll get you fixed up."
The Doctor made a sound in the back of his throat which may have been a mirthless chuckle and may have been a dry sob, but he opened his eyes, reaching out to grip Jack's arm with bruising forced as he tried to steady himself. Jack wrapped an arm around his thin waist and helped him inside, hoping he wasn't doing any more damage to his ribs.
The TARDIS hummed its concern as they stepped inside, and when they made it to the other side of the console room the med bay was there, not even separated by hallways as it usually was.
The others were still trailing behind them.
"Ianto."
"Yes sir." Ianto materialized at his side.
"Take him to the kitchen," Jack ordered lowly, indicating the old man with a tilt of his head. "Don't let him leave until I get there."
"Yes sir."
Ianto lead the old man off with a few polite words, and Gwen and Toshiko followed.
"Jack." The Doctor's voice was startlingly strong, his grip on Jack's arm tightening even further. "Don't – I know you're scared, but don't take it out on him. He's a good man. He's –" The Doctor cut himself off with a gasp of pain, eyes rolling back in his head, and dropped.