Solipsism

John: A Miracle

Despite the excruciating pain in my head, I manage to keep moving toward The Doctor's TARDIS.

To be honest, I was sort of expecting it to happen – the pain, that is. I wasn't looking forward to it or anything but if the Time Lord did what I thought he was going to do, it was inevitable. I'd been warned, even. So I was prepared.

Still, the agony is so overwhelming that if it wasn't for my helmet's HUD I'm not sure I'd be able to see anything at all. My vision has tunneled down to the tiniest slit of reality.

Yep, it's that bad.

But the good news is I haven't dropped Jack.

The other good news is that I don't think he is experiencing any horrendous pain because, well, he is still dead.

Which in itself is good news because I have no idea what will happen when – not if! – Jack revives. I am worried that he'll start flailing around uncontrollably, and maybe violently wrench himself out of my grasp and go floating away. Worse yet, like I said earlier, if he does resuscitate he'll just die again and I simply and enormously and profoundly do not want to see that happen to him.

The spacesuit is pumping me full of something to keep me coherent and keep me going. Maybe even keep me alive. Whatever it is, it's a hell of a cocktail and I'm feeling a tad like one of those superheroes in the old-timey Earth comics Jack once collected. Of course, whatever the suit is shooting into me, I'm sure I'll pay for it later; I always do. Still, I manage to chuckle to myself, "With great power comes great responsibility," and right now I'm cradling in my arms a gigantic chunk of great responsibility.

I press Jack closer to my chest as I stumble into the shuttle pod bay. Through my barely open eyes I see The Doctor's TARDIS standing invitingly before us. It suddenly dawns on me that it might be locked but at this point I just have to hope for the best. As I approach it, or rather her, the doors fly open of their own accord, the bright light within shining like a beacon. I want to fall on my knees in thanksgiving, but I am now confronted with the abrupt and perfect knowledge that I need to get Jack inside. And quickly.

I've not been in the TARDIS before. Jack has told me about her, of course, but nothing can prepare you for the extreme sense of disconnect you experience walking through her doors for the first time. The room is cavernous and you're instantly accosted with the mind-boggling understanding of just how absolutely mammoth the ship really is. And how powerful she is. And how intelligent she is. And how ancient she is. I'm overtaken with astonishment at the flood of revelations washing over me. I'm not even sure where all this awareness is coming from, but I have no doubt it is true.

I'm also suddenly overtaken with Jack. The TARDIS interior has gravity and in her non-weightless environment Jack has become very heavy indeed. I carry him up the ramp and gently as possible place him on the floor.

There's just enough time for me to remove my helmet – don't ask me how I know it is safe to do this, I just do! – when I hear Jack utter a sound that, to be honest, I never want to hear again. It is a harsh, raspy scream that implies just one thing: terrible agony.

At the same time I perceive that my own pain is rapidly dissipating. It goes away so fast and so dramatically it feels exactly like I'm waking up from a bad dream. It is that pronounced a change. And I know intuitively this is not the drugs. This is not the suit. This is the TARDIS. She is not only mammoth, powerful, intelligent and ancient. She is also devoted, loyal, affectionate and caring.

I quickly peel off my gloves, kneel down by Jack's side and lightly touch his face.

"Jack… Jack… It's okay. You're okay. You're home. You're safe." I say this to him over and over in a half-whisper while I stroke his temple.

And now I can tell you: maybe for Jack the reviving is more painful than the actual dying, but for me – gods! – I am beyond ecstatic as I watch him gasp for breath and open his eyes. His eyes at first are strange, unfocused, glassy. Yet a living Jack Harkness is a wondrous vision to behold. It is a miracle. He reaches for my hand and grabs it tightly.

"John!" He wheezes, "Where's The Doctor?"

So much for gratitude.