Solipsism

John: Fifty-fifty Survival Odds

"And what the fuck is that ridiculous suit you're wearing?" I spit on the floor, more due to the physical reaction of being so rudely interrupted from my hibernation in the pod than true dislike.

Although there is some of the latter as well. A lot of it, in fact.

It was bad enough having to deal with his specter the last time. It was bloody hard. The other ghosts… well, I could handle them, but Jack? I wanted so badly for him to be real; I wanted so badly to touch him, for him to touch me.

This is just fucking unfair.

I yank the pod's contacts from my forehead and step out and clear of it. I had believed I'd be safe from any further paranormal visitations while ensconced in the pod. Obviously I was wrong, and it really pisses me off.

"What are you still doing here?" I yell at the thing. "I'm not going to listen to you, you know. I'm not going to behave how you want me to behave. I don't want anything to do with you at all. Go away!"

I notice the thing isn't smirking at me with its ubiquitous all-knowing smile. It isn't giving me its usual spiel. It isn't trying to entice me. It isn't trying to touch me. It's just standing there, blinking at me with a surprised look on its face.

"John?" it says; its look of surprise becoming one of bewilderment. "Is it really you?"

"Oh, clever try! Go fuck yourself!" I hiss.

Now it looks sort of hurt. How bizarre.

"John," it says, "it's me, Jack. Really."

I don't want to believe it; I can't let myself believe it, not after everything that has happened. It is trying to trick me, to lure me into its clutches in a different way than before. I won't fall for it. I made that mistake once already and look what it wrought; I won't fall for its trickery again.

"John, don't you recognize me? I'm Jack!" it steps towards me, hands reaching, fingers grasping. I back away in horror and, I admit, fear.

I snarl in response, "What person who is nothing like me are you saying that to?"

"John, what happened to you?"

It assumes a non-threatening pose, relaxing its arms again at its sides. I see a look on its face, a particular look, the same look I'd given Captain Jack Harkness on one specific occasion when I'd asked him the exact same question, and suddenly a small bubble of hope forms inside my chest. I can't help it. You know what they say: it springs eternal. And God help me, I want to believe.

"Jack?" I half-whisper.

"John?" is the reply.

"Is it really you?"

He smiles at me. "Depends… how dorky do I look in this spacesuit?"

"Well, on a dorkiness scale of one to ten, I'd say about a twelve. And your hair's a mess."

He reaches up to his head and smoothes back his hair, "Any better?"

I shake my head. I'm crying. But not because of Jack's hair. "No, you're a lost cause. Always have been, always will be. No amount of salon product could ever control…" I'm unable to go on.

He does not move toward me but he does open his arms wide in invitation.

I have to decide. I know that if I go to him, and I'm wrong, that I'll be lost. I'll be lost forever in the clutches of something that I can't even begin to understand and which is far more powerful than me. I will be lost and there will be no hope of escape. Ever.

I have to decide. I've become weary of the battle. If there is no other real escape available, perhaps, I think, losing in this particular way isn't the worst thing that could happen to me. Disappearing forever into the arms of the shade of Captain Jack Harkness? I can think of worse ways to go.

I have to decide. Am I done fighting or not? I've always claimed I wanted to go out fighting but now that it comes down to it, it's a damned harsh way to die.

He's still standing there, arms outstretched. He notices me looking at him. "John, are you okay?" he says softly.

I nod my head but otherwise don't budge. "Yes. I'm fine. I'm good. I'm just peachy." My words ring hollow.

"You know, John, when people answer that question in that way, usually they aren't."

And then he, too, nods his head. But it is a slow, barely perceptible nod and that's all it takes; I figure I have fifty-fifty survival odds as I step into him.

He envelopes me in his arms and I bury my face in his neck. The first thing I notice is that he smells like the real Jack. Not like the idealized version of Jack. Not like a dream of Jack. Even with the spacesuit, I can taste his scent and I recognize it.

"Oh, Jack," I cry. "Is it really you?"

He just squeezes me tighter and for a microsecond I fear the worst, but then he whispers hoarsely, emotionally, "Yes, it's me," and I know it is the truth.

I'm so relieved I feel faint, like my bones have turned to water. I squeeze him back with all my might. "Oh my God," I breathe, "oh my God."

We stand for awhile like this, in each other's arms, unspeaking, rocking slowly back and forth. We're both sobbing.

Finally he presses his lips to my forehead and then pulls back just the tiniest bit. He takes his hand, cups the side of my face and looks into my eyes.

"John, what happened here?"

"I don't know… horrible things… awful things… terrible things. Jack, the ship… the ship tried to kill me. This ship… my ship tried to kill me."

"Hush," he says, as he strokes my face. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm going to take care of you."

I close my eyes for a moment, catch my breath, and silently offer up a prayer of thanks for Captain Jack Harkness. When I look at him again his blue eyes are peering into my soul.

"But John, where's Varna?" he asks me. He asks me but I don't want to answer him. I'm afraid of answering him. And yet he deserves to know. He deserves an honest answer if he came all this way to rescue me. If he came all this way to rescue us…

"Oh Jack, it was dreadful! Varna's dead! The ship… Newhope… murdered her!"

Suddenly there's a noise. My breath catches in my throat. I feel Jack tensing. For a second I'm petrified. We both turn instinctively toward the sound.

We both see him at the same time. It's The Doctor; I don't think there's any doubt it's really him, and boy does he look pissed.