WARNING: This chapter contains implied torture. I've stopped short of going into any serious descriptions of what might have been done to him, but I have detailed some of the after-effects. This chapter borderlines an "M" rating.
Jack didn't know whether to be annoyed, embarrassed or touched when not only did Ianto refuse to leave the Hub that night, but Gwen, Toshiko and even Owen insisted on staying. With the exception of Ianto, who made no excuses for himself, the others remained under the pretence of having important work to do that absolutely could not be left until the next day.
They all knew it was rubbish, but Jack found that he just didn't have it in himself to argue with them. He knew what they were doing, and while he appreciated their concern, a part of him desperately wanted to tell them all to take a hike and leave him alone. The only thing that kept him from doing just that was the knowledge that to reject their concerns now would do irreparable damage.
And so he turned in without word of protest, offering up a silent prayer to a God whose existence he had not acknowledged for a long time that his sleep would be blessedly dream-free.
The Doctor watched surreptitiously as Jack disappeared into his small bedroom, visibly exhausted. It was a strange thing, he reflected, and it was something Jack had mentioned to him softly, away from Martha. Where before he'd needed only an hour or two of sleep at the most to re-energise himself, now he found he wanted to sleep all the time. And indeed, he had done just that as soon as they were back on the Tardis. He had retreated immediately to his own room and had slept for the equivalent of one Earth month.
The trip from the Valiant back to Earth had been virtually instantaneous as far as anyone might have been concerned, but that was the beauty of the time vortex. The Tardis had been suspended there in time and space for as long as each person on board had needed it to be. For Jack, that had extended up towards three months, although he guessed the Captain had no idea it had been that long.
Martha had expressed worry at the way Jack had virtually done nothing but sleep, but the Doctor had brushed away her concerns, telling her not to worry but avoiding saying why. The why of it was simple enough, he mused. After a year of never being allowed to rest, it should have been obvious that the thing Jack would crave above all else was rest. Unfortunately, his sleep was plagued with a never-ending stream of nightmares, and so while he did, indeed, sleep, the rest he so desperately needed still managed to elude him.
Being back home, within the sanctity of his precious Torchwood had done absolutely nothing to abate his night terrors, either, as the previous night had well proven. He wondered with some small degree of bitterness, how long Jack would go tonight before his sleeping mind returned to the scene of his year-long torment.
He was just considering following Jack, with a mind to keeping an eye on his friend, when voices drew his attention. Walking to the edge of the railing, he looked down into the heart of the Hub to see Owen talking abrasively to the women.
"Never knew the man to sleep before, and now he's going to bed at nine bloody thirty? Does anyone else see something wrong with this picture, or is it just me?"
"I agree, it's unusual," Toshiko conceded. "But perhaps we should be reserving our judgment until we know what he really went through."
Owen snorted.
"Like he's really going to tell us what Saxon did to him. This is Jack we're talking about, people. He's not exactly the most forthcoming bloke. Hell, we only found out about the whole immortality thing because I shot him in the bloody head, and he came back to life in front of us!"
"I knew about it," Gwen volunteered, though she didn't sound entirely comfortable voicing that admission. Owen glowered at her.
"Only because you were there when Suzie shot him in the head. So we know Saxon tortured him? So what? The man can't die! How much damage is it gonna do to him?"
"Owen, you insensitive asshole," Gwen burst out. "He was tortured, and just knowing it should be enough for you."
"Well, it's not," Owen snapped. "And pardon me if I want to know the truth this time!"
"You want to know the truth?"
Owen, Gwen and Tosh all looked up simultaneously at the sound of the Doctor's voice as he descended down the stairs towards them. He looked angry, and all three of them found themselves cringing away from the force of his glare.
"You really want to know, do you? Oh, I wish I could show you, I really do. I wish I could bundle all of you into the Tardis, take you to the Valiant and let you have a real good eyeful… but I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?" Owen asked with a dark frown. "You've got a time machine, haven't you?"
"It isn't just a matter of going into the future," the Doctor snapped. "That future now only exists in a parallel reality, and the Tardis can't travel between parallel worlds." He paused, seeming to reconsider his last statement. "Well, there was that one time, but that was just a fluke. Can't ever happen again."
"But you know what happened to him," Gwen said tentatively. "You know what was done to him, don't you?"
"Yes," the Doctor admitted without preamble. "And believe me when I tell you that you really would not want to see it with your own eyes."
"How bad could it be?" Owen argued. "The man can't die!"
The Doctor stared at him, incredulous.
"Are you really this ignorant? Just because he can't die doesn't mean he can't feel pain. If anything, it just made it that much worse, because as soon as he came back to life, they'd just start on him all over again. Think about it, do you really want to see… oh, I don't know, maybe see him being burned alive? Electrocuted? I don't even have a name for some of the methods that were used on him, but you had better believe me when I say they were horrific."
"But you were there," Gwen said in a faintly accusing tone. "Couldn't you have done something to help him? Couldn't you stop it?"
"I was as much a prisoner as Jack was," the Doctor answered, the anger bleeding from his voice as quickly as it had surfaced. "I couldn't do anything to help him. Though he did more than his part to try and help me. By rights, Jack shouldn't have even been on that damned ship. He could have escaped along with Martha, but he chose to stay behind, even though he had to know what would happen." He sighed softly and shook his head. "I wanted to help him, but I couldn't even help myself. Everything he went through… Jack bore the brunt of the Master's rage for me. Maybe… Maybe that's why I'm still here. I couldn't help him while we were prisoners on board the Valiant, but I can now… if he'll let me. And as for the issue of sleeping, why don't you start using those ape brains of yours, and think! He went a whole year without sleep, so of course he's going to sleep now!"
"You mean to say he never got any sleep at all?" Tosh asked in disbelief.
"Oh, well, there were brief periods each day," the Doctor conceded. "But that was when he was… you know… dead. Other than that? No. Not at all." He looked around at each of them, but focusing his hard stare on Owen, in particular. "Try to imagine living one day to the next in chains, never allowed to sit down or lie down, and knowing every day will bring excruciating pain. Try to imagine knowing that, and only that, day in and day out, with no foreseeable hope of anything changing. Try to imagine living not only with that sort of physical agony, but also with the pain of knowing humanity is suffering because you couldn't stop a madman. Try to imagine knowing that everyone you care about may be dead, dying or enslaved, and there's not a thing you can do except to hope that the torture will kill you sooner, rather than later, so that for a little while at least, you can have some peace. Try to imagine that."
Silence met the Doctor's words.
"We're sorry," Gwen murmured finally. "We hadn't thought of it like that."
The Doctor looked up towards Jack's office and bedroom to see Ianto standing there, watching him with a solemn gaze. They locked stares for a long moment before Ianto turned and disappeared into Jack's room.
"At least one of you has," he retorted softly.
Jack was already in the early stages of a nightmare when Ianto came to stand in the doorway. He lay stiffly on the couch, fists clenched and body tense, with his face showing visible signs of distress. Soft moans issued from his lips and, even as Ianto watched, tears leaked from the corners of his tightly-shut eyes and trickled down his face.
Ianto stood in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of his boss and sometimes lover trapped in the sleep-induced memories of his year-long nightmare. He desperately wanted to go and wake Jack up, to save him from whatever nightmare his mind was currently trapped within, but he could not bring himself to move. Instead, he continued to stand there, just watching.
The moans grew louder as Jack began to thrash, as though struggling against some unseen foe. Which, Ianto reflected, he probably was.
"No…"
Ianto straightened up, frowning, as the incoherent moans began to form words, just understandable in between the soft, anguished sobs.
"Please… No… I can't… No… Stop… Please… Please stop… It hurts…"
Begging… Jack had been reduced to begging… It was almost an inconceivable thing to him, that the indestructible Jack Harkness could have been reduced to begging. But then, what was it that the Doctor had said? Excruciating pain, day in and day out. Unending torture, unending agony.
Every man had his breaking point, and Ianto wondered how long Jack had gone before he'd reached his.
The desperate pleas once more became incoherent moans, interspersed with heartbreaking sobs. Acutely aware that he could be placing himself directly in the line of fire if Jack awoke violently from his nightmare, Ianto nonetheless crossed the room to the couch and crouched down beside Jack. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Ianto leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Jack's.
Jack didn't know exactly when the change happened. All he did sense, and only then at a very low subconscious level, was a slight shift somewhere deep within the fabric of his own mind. The images that haunted his subconscious were suddenly just a fraction less terrifying, just a little less agonising. Then, before his subconsciousness could begin to comprehend that change, real physical contact drew Jack up and out of the remnant of his night terrors, and back to the safety of the waking world.
He felt lips on his, a gentle and reassuring pressure. It was the most chaste of kisses, but even in his state of mind Jack could feel the emotion and tenderness that lay behind it.
Curiosity gradually overcame the lingering shreds of his nightmare, and Jack slowly opened his eyes.
It was a good several seconds before Ianto realised that he was being watched. Slowly, he came back to reality to find a pair of pale blue eyes watching him with an intensity that made him want to blush. Rather than jerk back like a guilty schoolboy, though, Ianto lingered for just a moment longer before finally withdrawing slowly.
"You were having a bad nightmare, sir," Ianto said simply by way of explanation. A small smile quirked Jack's lips but, tellingly, it didn't reach his eyes.
"You've got a unique way of waking me up."
"Not at all, sir. I seem to recall you doing the same for me… more than once, in point of fact."
"Ianto, you just kissed me awake. Quit calling me 'sir'!"
Ianto pointedly ignored the reproach.
"Are you all right now, sir?"
Jack sighed softly, resigning himself to not being able to break Ianto out of that particular habit. Instead, he answered the question quietly.
"I'm fine."
Ianto watched him piercingly, with a penetrating stare that left Jack feeling as though the younger man could see right through him.
"If you want to talk about it, I'm a very good listener."
An acute mix of pain and longing filled Jack and, all of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to share the nightmarish experience with someone. No, he corrected himself abruptly. Not with just anyone. He wanted to share them with Ianto, and for a split second he very nearly did. But then, a fresh memory surged to the forefront of his mind, momentarily overriding his own traumas. He saw Ianto, bound, gagged and terrified. He saw him battered and bleeding, and one step shy of being carved up by a brutal and sadistic serial killer. He saw Ianto, who still awoke even now with a scream on his own lips.
Jack's breath caught in his throat, and anything he might have said died before it reached his lips. What right did he have to place the burden of his memories on Ianto, when the normally gentle Welshman was still trying to cope with his own horror memories?
None, he thought bitterly. He had no right at all.
Ianto wasn't sure exactly what had happened. All he knew was that Jack had appeared to be on the verge of sharing when something had stopped him cold. Then, even as Ianto watched, the protective walls went back up, effectively shutting him out. He knew at that moment that he would get nothing out of Jack. At least, not that night.
For just a brief moment he was angry, but then he shut that anger down before it could take hold in his heart. He recalled with no small amount of pain just how hard it had been for him after their encounter with cannibals, and how long it had taken him to be able to begin sharing the content of his nightmares with Jack. He remembered that, and knew he had no right or reason to be angry now that the situation was reversed.
As Jack watched, he saw a flurry of emotions in Ianto's eyes. First there was confusion, and then disappointment. Anger followed, and then… Then, there was a mixture of understanding and acceptance. Ianto wasn't going to insist that he talk about anything, Jack realised with a flood of relief.
Ianto saw the relief flood Jack's expression, and knew instantly that he was right. He could not force Jack into sharing anything before he was ready to, and nor did he want to.
"When you're ready to talk about it," Ianto told him softly, "I'll be here."
Jack felt a warm hand close over his own and gently squeeze, and he returned the gesture without hesitation.
"Thankyou," Jack whispered, sincerely grateful for Ianto's consideration and understanding. Ianto hesitated in responding. He wanted to stay and keep Jack company, and perhaps do what he could to keep the nightmares at bay for the time being. He remembered the many nights when Jack had lain with him, holding him and keeping him safe. He wanted to do the same now for Jack, but there was a great lump of dread in his gut that warned him against such a move. Instinct told him that such an offer would be soundly rejected.
It seemed to him that it was one thing for Jack to be the comforter, holding him and keeping him safe when night terrors came for him, but whether Jack could accept that comfort in return, Ianto had no way of knowing. Maybe, though, he could offer a compromise.
"I'm just going to tidy your office, sir," Ianto told him, as though spring cleaning at nearly ten o'clock at night was the norm in the Torchwood Hub. "You'll let me know if I'm disturbing you?"
A small, sad smile touched Jack's lips. He knew what Ianto was doing, and he was not going to object. Just knowing the younger man was close by gave him no small measure of comfort.
"Go ahead," he told him. "You won't disturb me."
Nodding, Ianto retreated back into the office and a moment later Jack could hear him moving around, making just a little more noise than he might normally have done.
Jack smiled again and, not for the first time, reminded himself that he needed to find some way to show Ianto how much he appreciated him. Comforted by the other man's close proximity, Jack settled back down and once again gave in to the exhaustion.
"So… What sort of torture did he go through?" Owen asked finally, winning himself disgusted stares from both the women and the Doctor.
"You don't give up, do you?" the Doctor asked. "What is it, some sort of morbid curiosity? What?"
"Look, it's nothing like that," Owen insisted defensively. "I'm only asking because really, how can we help the man if we don't know?"
"I suppose that's a valid point," the Doctor conceded grudgingly. "Although, it's not really my place to say…"
"Oh, come on," Owen growled. "You must've seen some of it."
The Doctor fell abruptly quiet, momentarily lost in his own memories. Yes, he had seen plenty, particularly at the times when the Master himself had taken a personal interest in adding to Jack's torment. Indeed, there was one time in particular that was indelibly burned into his memory…
When he was pushed unceremoniously into the wheelchair, the Doctor initially had no idea what the Master was planning to do. Usually it meant a humiliating 'spin' around the control room, but this time the Master took him clean out of the room. He watched through half-closed eyes as they passed multiple areas of the Valiant, eventually descending down to the lower levels. It was when they had passed Martha's father as he worked in solitude in the bowels of the Valiant, that the Doctor finally realised where they were going, and at once his hearts leapt and his stomach sank.
He hadn't seen Jack face to face for weeks, although he'd certainly seen him on a viewer numerous times – primarily because the Master had been more than a little anxious that he watch Jack being tortured. Now, as they rounded the corner, he found himself staring at a man whose features he barely recognised through the dirt and grime. The eyes, though… Never could he fail to recognise those pale blue eyes.
Jack lifted his head slowly, as though to do so required more effort than the movement was worth. His gaze met the Doctor's, and it was all the Doctor could do to hold his gaze. This time, though, that discomfort had nothing to do with what Jack was, but rather with knowing that Jack was painfully aware of what was going to happen.
At the sight of the Master, the Doctor could feel the despair rising in Jack, and he knew why. Over the last however many weeks it had been, the Master had had a steady stream of would-be torturers lined up to do whatever they would to Jack. Though many had no experience in the practise of torture, they were enthusiastic nonetheless to try their hand on 'the freak', even if all they ended up doing was beating him to death.
There had been a limit, though, to what each of these wanna-be torturers could do. They could carry on until he was dead, and then they had to stop. The Doctor knew from the slim psychic connection he seemed to share with Jack that it was the one consolation he took from the situation. Most of those coming to the Valiant to try their hand did not have the skill to put a limit on their infliction of pain and to draw it out. So far – and this the Doctor knew from the Master's disappointed complaints – only three had managed to keep Jack alive beyond a couple of hours.
Now, though, the Master himself had come to take a turn, and the Doctor could see the very real fear in his friend's eyes. It was a justified fear, because the Master was not likely to abide by his own rules. In the coming hours, Jack was likely to suffer over and over again at the hands of his captor.
Then, as the Doctor watched in sick helplessness, a tired smile lit up his friend's face and he spoke with a cheerfulness that belied his grim situation.
"Hey, Doctor, got yourself your own personal chauffeur! Way to go!"
Even in light of what they both knew was coming, the Doctor couldn't help but be affected by Jack's natural cheer, and he smiled in response. Behind him, the Master chuckled, but it was humourless in its sound.
"That's very funny, Jack. Hadn't actually seen myself as a chauffeur, but I suppose you're right."
Jack's smile faded minutely.
"So what's the deal? Finally run out of people who want to hurt me?"
"On the contrary," the Master assured him. "You wouldn't believe the list I have. No, today I felt like trying my hand. And I want the good Doctor to watch, to see with his own eyes what he's responsible for."
Jack's smile had faded altogether by then, and when he spoke it was with a surety that could not be ignored.
"No. He's not responsible for this. I made my own choices. He didn't make them for me. You're not going to put this on him. No fucking way."
The Master laughed openly, amused by Jack's fervour.
"You sound so sure of yourself. I wonder how sure you'll be by the time I'm done with you?"
Jack looked at the Doctor, who returned his gaze with an anguished one of his own, and tried desperately to convey his avid belief that he was not to blame. When he returned his gaze to the Master, it was to discover that he'd removed his jacket and tie, and was in the process of rolling up his sleeves, whistling gleefully to himself as he did so.
"What are you going to do?" Jack asked.
A cruel grin lit up the Master's face, highlighting the insanity in his eyes.
"Everything."
An hour later, Jack was a bruised, battered and bloodied mess, barely able to stand on his own. And yet, through the haze of pain that eclipsed his entire being, he was aware of the Doctor. He could feel the crippled Time Lord's mind reaching out to his own, attempting to shield his consciousness from the very worst of what was being done to him.
"What are you doing?"
Slowly, Jack dragged himself back from the brink of oblivion to discover the Master had turned his attention to the Doctor.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor rasped.
"No!" the Master thundered. "No, you're doing something! He should have been screaming by now! You're doing something to protect him from the pain, and I want you to stop it!"
Wheeling around, the Master fired his laser screwdriver into Jack's forearm. Jack groaned in pain, but that was all.
"Case in point," the Master hissed furiously. "Now, stop protecting him, or the next one I try this on will be the lovely Tish. Understand, gramps?"
The Doctor looked past the Master to Jack. The younger man stared back at him through bruised and swollen eyes, and as the Doctor looked on in anguish, Jack's equally swollen and bloodied lips formed two simple words.
"It's okay."
His hearts breaking all over again, the Doctor withdrew from Jack's mind, taking his protection with him. The consequences were instantaneous. Jack's body convulsed violently as a wave of devastating pain crashed down over him. An agonised scream shattered the otherwise still atmosphere, and reverberated throughout the lower levels of the ship.
Not too far away, Martha's father froze in his work, sickened by the scream. Further along, Tish and her mother were also brought up short by the ghastly sound.
"Is that…?" Francine asked hoarsely.
"Jack," Tish whispered, tears filling her eyes and rolling unchecked down her cheeks. "That bastard is torturing Jack."
In the caged area, the Master was whooping with delight while the Doctor bowed his head and didn't even try to stop the tears. Jack's screams rent his very soul, and there was not a thing he could do to help him.
The Master was good. He was very, very good. By the time he finished nearly three hours later, Jack was hovering on the brink of death. Rather than go that final step and push him over, though, the Master adjusted his screwdriver and used it to heal the most immediately life-threatening injuries.
"You don't get to die," he told Jack with a cruel glee. "Not this time. This time, you get to stay here and heal, however long it takes."
"No!" the Doctor burst out hoarsely. "You can't leave him like that!"
"No?" the Master retorted. "Watch me!"
He moved back, leaving Jack virtually hanging by the chains that were attached to his manacled wrists, like a broken and twisted scarecrow.
His legs had both been broken in multiple places, as had his feet. His pelvis was shattered, along with his hips. Every rib was cracked or broken, making each breath he took feel like fire in his chest and lungs. Both of his arms were broken, all the way down to his wrists, and his hands were little more than pulp after being smashed under a spring-loaded hammer, making hanging there by his wrists sheer agony in itself.
His collar bone had been broken, his jaw shattered and his skull badly fractured. He hung there, barely alive, and yet denied the death that would renew his body and end his pain.
"Don't," the Doctor begged, finally tearing his eyes away from the battered and abused body of his friend. "Please don't leave him like this. Let him heal!"
"Oh, but I am," the Master assured him. He then spoke to the guard, who had been watching the proceedings with a strange sort of detached interest. "The prisoner is to have no visitors. He is to be left completely alone." He pulled a mock-sympathetic face at the Doctor. "To give him time to heal. You guards will take up positions around the corner. He is not to have anyone to speak to, or to look at. He is to be left completely isolated. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
The Master nodded in satisfaction, and began to pull the Doctor backwards, out of the cage.
"Say bye-bye to handsome Jack, my dear Doctor. He's not going to see you again for a long time."
The Doctor could only watch, helpless and impotent, as he was taken away from Jack. The sight of Jack's swollen, bloodshot eyes staring at his retreating figure with confused despair and utter desolation was almost more than he could stand, and he broke down into heartbroken sobs. And all the while the Master only laughed…
"Oh my god," Gwen whispered, ashen-faced.
"How long?" Owen asked, and the Doctor noted with grim approval that he looked as ill as the women. "Do you know how long it took his body to heal?"
"Not precisely," he answered sombrely. "All I know is that the Master deliberately broadcast his screams and crying over the ship's loudspeakers so that everyone could hear, and they went on for at least two weeks.
"And all that time nobody went near him?" Gwen asked in horror.
"He never laid eyes on anyone," the Doctor confirmed. "Even a robot was sent in to feed him, rather than Tish or her mother. It was the worst thing the Master could have done to him, and we all had to listen… When Jack's mouth healed… I think it was the first part that did fully heal… He begged for someone to talk to, to stay with him. He begged just to hear a voice. But the Master denied him even that. If there was anything that truly broke Jack during those twelve months, it was that. The total isolation. It just about drove him mad."
"Jack always did like having people around him," Tosh remarked tearfully, and the Doctor nodded in agreement.
"Yes, exactly. It hurt him very badly to be cut off like that."
"Well, no wonder he's having nightmares," Owen muttered.
"Shouldn't someone be in there with him now?" Gwen wondered. The Doctor smiled knowingly.
"Someone already is."
Ianto wandered aimlessly around Jack's office, shifting a pile of papers from one side of the desk to the other, only to then shift them back again. More than anything, he wanted to abandon this ridiculous charade and go in to Jack, but a lingering uncertainty held him back.
He believed he knew his boss as well as any of them could hope to, and he knew above all else that Jack would not willingly show weakness in front of his team. He gave comfort, reassurance, forgiveness… even love… in spades to all those around him, but accepting it in return? That was truly uncharted territory.
Ianto paused in the middle of rearranging Jack's coat on its hook, as it occurred to him that it was suddenly too quiet in the other room. Only a couple of minutes ago, he'd been able to hear the slightly muffled sound of faint moans as Jack slept restlessly. Now, there was nothing.
Knowing better than to think that Jack was finally resting peacefully, Ianto walked over to the other room and peered inside. His fears were confirmed a moment later.
Jack lay on the couch, his body rigid from apparent shock, and his mouth locked wide open as though in a silent scream. The terror and agony that was virtually burned into his features tore at Ianto's heart.
"Jack," Ianto gasped as he strode over and collapsed to his knees beside the captain. "Jack, you have to wake up! Jack… Oh my god…"
It took him only a moment to realise that Jack was not merely in shock – he was no longer breathing. Starkly afraid, Ianto began to yell for help.
Out in the centre of the Hub, both the Doctor and the other three members of Torchwood all froze at the sound of Ianto's distressed shouts.
"Ianto?" Owen called back, heart starting to pound painfully in his chest. "What's wrong?"
"Someone, get in here!" Ianto shouted. "I think he's gone into shock. He's not breathing!"
It was hard to know who got to the room first, Owen or the Doctor; but it was Owen who won the battle for the spot beside the couch that Ianto had quickly vacated. There, the young doctor anxiously checked Jack's airway to ensure that nothing was blocking it. Once he'd assured himself that was the case, he sealed Jack's mouth with his own and began to blow air into the other man's lungs.
"C'mon, Jack, breathe!" Owen bellowed as he ceased performing mouth-to-mouth and began chest compressions. "Goddamn you, Harkness, breathe! Gwen, get over here! I need to keep up the compressions."
Gwen darted over, not hesitating to continue the mouth-to-mouth. Meanwhile, the Doctor stood back, watching the scene before him in grave silence as he recalled a conversation he'd had with Jack not so long ago.
'Do you want to die?'
Jack studiously ignored the question, focusing his attention on the task at hand.
'Ah, this one's a little stuck…'
The Doctor was not so easily dissuaded, though, as Jack should well have known.
'Jack.'
Just a single word, spoken with an emphasis that the former time agent could not ignore. He glanced up, and when he spoke it was with mixed emotions.
'I don't know. I thought I did…'
"Stop it, both of you," the Doctor ordered them abruptly. Owen glared back at him, not so much as hesitating in the compressions.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"I said stop!" the Doctor snapped. "You're just wasting your efforts. He doesn't want to be resuscitated."
"And what, just let him die?" Tosh cried out incredulously.
"Exactly," the Doctor answered. "Let him have his own way… this time, at least."
"You are crazy," Gwen said hoarsely, and the Doctor rolled his eyes in visible frustration.
"Look, it's a moot point anyway, isn't it? He'll only be dead for a minute at the most. Just stop it. Let him be."
Slowly, Gwen pulled back. Owen continued the compressions for a few seconds longer before stepping away with an angry shout. Ianto moved back in and pressed his fingers to Jack's throat, searching for a pulse. He found it, but it was thready and getting weaker with every second that passed.
"He's gone," Tosh whispered shakily when Jack's features at last relaxed. Ianto nodded in confirmation.
"No pulse. He… He's dead."
"Not for long," the Doctor assured them as he consulted his watch. "Just give him a minute."
Sure enough, no more than a minute or two later, Jack abruptly re-animated with a wild gasp for air, and a convulsive jerk of his body. For a long second it seemed that he didn't know where he was, but then he set eyes on his team members, and a soft groan escaped his lips.
"Always go for the theatrical way of doing things, don't you?" Owen retorted as Ianto helped Jack up into a sitting position.
"Jack, what happened?" Gwen asked. "Talk to us."
He didn't answer immediately, instead looking past them to the Doctor and firing him a mildly threatening look.
"Don't say it," he warned, and the Doctor harrumphed indignantly.
"Really, Jack, that's just insulting. When have I ever said 'told you so'?"
"Do you really want me to give you a list?"
Rolling his eyes again, the Doctor merely turned away. Jack continued to watch him for a few seconds longer before turning his attention back to his team. Before he had a chance to speak, though, Owen spoke instead.
"Listen, mate, if you're thinking that you aren't supposed to let us see a side of you that isn't the heartless bastard that we've all come to know and love, then you're wrong. We aren't going to fall apart because you've got issues, you know?"
Jack uttered a strained laugh.
"Issues, I like that."
"Seriously, though," Owen persisted. "You're always telling us to come to you if we have problems. That can go both ways, you know."
Jack looked around at each of them slowly, and though the look on his face was bitter, there was something else in his pale blue eyes. Something hopeful…
"How strong are your stomachs?" he asked abruptly.
"This is us you're talking to, Jack," Gwen threw back at him.
"Yeah," Owen agreed. "I mean, c'mon, we've watched you snog Ianto, after all."
Jack had to laugh then, despite himself. Gwen sat down beside him and gently grasped his hand in her own.
"We're not going to fall to pieces just because we can see that you're hurting, Jack. Credit us with more strength than that."
Standing back observing the scene, the Doctor could feel his hold on Jack slipping, along with his chances of convincing the captain to go with him when he left. With every word spoken by his Torchwood colleagues, the Doctor could almost physically feel the bond between them and Jack growing stronger. He could feel it and a part of him wanted to weep for the anticipated loss.
He was vaguely surprised at how much it hurt to realise that Jack really did not need him as much as he needed Jack. Trying not to let the bitter hurt through, he began to edge around to the door, intending to make his escape before anyone – particularly Jack – noticed.
Jack was on the verge of starting to talk when he suddenly realised someone was missing.
"Where'd he go?" he asked anxiously, starting up from the couch.
"Who?" Tosh asked.
"The Doctor!" Jack burst out. "Where is he?"
Surprised silence reigned. None of them had noticed him go.
"No," Jack whispered hoarsely, starting towards the door. "Not again. He can't leave me again…"
And then, before any of the others had a chance to say a word, he was gone, chasing after the Doctor once more.
tbc...