PRODIGALS
THIRTYFIVE
In fact, Jack and Varna hadn't even noticed they'd been transported until John said, "Get him on the medical crèche."
While Varna leaned back, Jack looked up, saw the crèche next to him, put his arms beneath and around The Doctor, and tenderly lifted him to the bed's surface. As always, he was startled by how light The Doctor was. By no stretch of the imagination did it seem the Time Lord's weight matched his stature. "The man has bird bones," Jack muttered to himself.
The lights on the med displays above the Doctor's head blinked to life and an I.V. bag slowly drifted down from the ceiling.
"No!" exclaimed Jack. "No medicines!"
"It is only saline," the ship argued.
"I said no," Jack growled. "Nothing like that is to be done. Ever. Understand?"
"Very well, sir. I will, however, need you to remove his coat and jacket."
For a moment the three stood and looked at each other dumbly. No one was ready to take the responsibility for even partially disrobing The Doctor.
"Please, sirs. The numerous objects in his clothing are interfering with the scans."
"Oh geez," exhaled Jack. He shot John an exasperated look and added, "Come on and help me, would you?"
The two men carefully removed the brown coat. Jack smoothed it painstakingly with his hands and folded it; the same coat he'd presented to The Doctor after the original disappeared not all that long ago – yet ages ago – and set it aside, but not before ordering his fingertips to memorize the feel of it. While they were taking off his jacket, The Doctor unexpectedly moaned softly. Jack handed the jacket to Varna and leaned over the Time Lord's face. He placed his palm on The Doctor's forehead, once again remarking to himself how cool his skin felt to the touch: much cooler than any other human he'd ever laid a hand on. But then, the man wasn't human, was he? It was so easy to forget, sometimes…
"Doctor?" he said in something close to a whisper. "Doctor? Can you hear me?"
There was no response.
With his free hand Jack gently covered The Doctor's right hand. It was cool, cold even, the skin smooth and soft, and the hand itself was totally limp. The Captain closed his eyes. 'He has such beautiful hands,' he thought to himself, 'so graceful and expressive. At times so delicate-looking, and yet in reality so incredibly strong.' Jack loved the way the Time Lord's hands glided and danced through the air when he spoke, illustrating his every word.
'What is it about hands?' Jack wondered, not for the first time. When he was alone, lonely, longing for The Doctor, he would often visualize the Time Lord's hands. He'd imagine his hands, his smile, his eyes… You see, Jack knows it is our hands that physically set us apart from all other animals – that allow us to pick up a pen and write, or hold a paintbrush, or play the keys of a piano, or take up a hammer and chisel, or caress a lover's body. And it was The Doctor's smile, his eyes, and his hands, which physically set him apart from everyone else in the cosmos: the eyes that had observed in Jack what all the others had missed; the smile that had brought light to Jack's shadowy existence; the hands that had touched Jack's heart and soul…
He knew he was crying now, but it hardly mattered. 'Please God," he prayed silently, 'if there is a God, don't take this man from me. I'm not ready to give him up yet, or to even have him change. Dear God, I'm lucky and I am determined, but I'm not brilliant – and I need brilliance in my life – I need his brilliance. If you're micromanaging the universe down to the level of the two of us, God, I can't… I don't want to lose him. Please, leave him as he is and let him live.'
He tenderly gripped The Doctor's unmoving hand, lightly stroking the palm with his thumb.
It seemed like he was there for a long time, his eyes closed and his mind reaching for something that wasn't quite close enough to grasp. He heard John and Varna leave together, and still he stayed, whispering to the Time Lord, holding his hand.
He had no idea how long he stood watch over The Doctor's bed. Minutes? Hours? Days? It could have been any one of those, in any amount. And yet somehow he managed to continue standing, despite the weariness, despite the sadness, despite the fear, and despite a growing discomfort in his left knee (of course, the blasted ship had been right about his knee!). But eventually there came a time when he was disturbed from his meandering reveries; when he felt the slightest of pressures: the tiniest bit of tension in the hand he was holding. It was ephemeral at first – hardly there at all – but then it grew stronger and when Jack finally opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages he found himself looking straight into the eyes of The Doctor.
"Jack?" the Time Lord said.
"Doctor?"
The Doctor smiled mischievously, "Were you taking off my clothes?"
Jack smiled back, reassured. "Only in my wildest dreams."
"What happened?"
"You fainted."
"I what?"
"I don't know, you collapsed, you passed out."
"Passed out. I like that better than fainted."
Jack shook his head. "Whatever! Are you okay?"
The Doctor sat up and stretched out his back and shoulders, and then his neck, which cracked loudly.
"Think so. I'm a little hungry maybe…"
Jack grinned and impulsively kissed him on the top of his head. "God you scared me."
With an expression full of concern it appeared The Doctor was about to say something important to Jack when an entirely different thought abruptly flashed across his face and interrupted him. In one fluid movement he swung his legs out of the bed and jumped onto the floor. "Egads, Jack! What's going on?"
"I have no idea…"
"But the fleets!?"
Jack shrugged, "We're still alive, aren't we?"
"Then hurry… Allons-y! To the bridge!" he grabbed his coat and jacket off a nearby table.
"Wait, Doctor," Jack put a steady hand on The Doctor's arm, "Ship?"
"Captain, I have not discharged this patient from…"
"SHIP!"
"Aye, Captain. To the bridge."
One more time Jack felt tingly, but he couldn't quite tell if it was the transporter or if it was because The Doctor was standing next to him.