Who?

Jack almost laughed at the sight of Owen. His posture was tired but stiff, his pace sluggish but urgent, and his expression of 'why me?' mixed with professionalism was priceless.

Owen spotted his smirk, "Shut up."

But it just made Jack's smile grow bigger, "I didn't say anything."

His eyes narrowed, "Well I'm here; where's he?"

"Med bay," Jack pointed.

Owen sighed, nodded, and headed in that direction, Jack on his heels. "So who is he?"

"Umm, about that. Don't tell him I said this, but he's actually kind of a 'what'."

Owen stopped dead and stared at him. "So he's an alien?"

"Yeah. Though we technically are too, I guess, so be sure to say who."

"Riiight. Okay... I'll ask again: Who is he?"

"He's called the Doctor."

"The Doctor. You mean the-whole-reason-Torchwood-was-founded Doctor?"

Jack scoffed, partly at the ridiculousness of the claim and partly because Owen was the last person he'd expect to know the history of Torchwood. "Um, yeah, that one."

"Then why are we—"

"He's not a threat to the planet, Owen. Really, he's not. Especially now."

Owen looked like he was going to say something else—or argue what the definition of "threat" actually is—though argumentative is his normal facial expression—but settled with a tired, "Okay." Jack followed him down to his lab, watched Owen's brief double-take of the Doctor looking human, then his hesitance of checking him over. He watched his shoulders sag and his jaw tighten before he turned to look at Jack—Jack had been waiting for it.

"Jack... I'm sorry, really, but he's—"

"I don't think he is." Owen looked at him with pity. "Don't give me that look. He can't be dead—I mean, he would have regenerated."

"What?"

"Regeneration. He would have—you know he can change his face, right?"

"How would I know that? Why would you think I know anything about his species?"

"Hell, nobody alive knows everything about his species, though Torchwood kept some files. I thought you read the Torchwood charter? There's not a lot of information there, but how else would you know Torchwood was founded because of the Doctor?"

He shrugged, "Ianto told me."

"Oh... Okay, I guess that does make more sense."

"Yeah. So, why don't you think he's dead?"

"Time Lords have a way to cheat death; and, after everything, I can't believe he would give up now. Not after he asked for help."

"So what do we do?"

"I... Don't know. I mean, since he's unconscious, maybe it would be better to operate now? Best painkiller there is is sleep—in my experience."

Owen scoffed at the idea, "Um, yeah, okay. Why don't you clean his head wound, then. We can start there."

"Not the shard and shrapnel in his stomach?" Jack deadpanned.

Owen made a face at him, "It's not bleeding; and I'm more worried about his head if he is only 'sleeping.'"

"Fair enough." Jack grabbed the wet cloth Owen offered him and walked to the head of the table.

He's dead—no. He only looks dead. That's how it works, Jack thought. He only plays dead. But what if he is? No. He's alive. He can't be dead; he really can't be. Are you positive?

The more blood Jack cleaned off, the more unsure he was. With the stains on the towel growing bigger, the more he thought he was wrong. But they had to try. If they cleaned and stitched and mended everything maybe he could do the rest. Maybe he would wake up on his own, and maybe together they would be able to fix the TARDIS. Maybe.

"That's all the blood I can clean off; you ready with whatever you have to do?"

"Yeah, think so. After I dig out the splinters of metal around the wound, I just have to stitch it closed."

"Do you need me?"

"Not unless something goes wrong."

"Reassuring," he said sarcastically. "Then I'll be in my office if something happens." Jack was just hoping he wouldn't be too wasted yet if something did.

Owen started fidgeting again as soon as Jack was gone. If the Doctor was alive, then he would feel it. He should give him some kind of actual anesthetic—but what if Owen gave him something that could kill him? What are you talking about? He's dead. This is pointless. But he may not me. He. Has. No. Pulse. Does Jack really expect him to be all better with a couple of stitches? Might as well. He'd only be angrier if Owen did nothing. He sighed. "Well, if you are alive, I apologize in advance."

Jack didn't even get to finish his second drink before the Doctor was yelling for him. Wait. The Doctor. Was yelling for him. Shit. He was down in the lab and by the Time Lord's side within the minute, trying to hold him down in as calming a manner as he could.

"Jack! Jack!"

"I'm here. Doctor, relax, he's part of my team; he's just trying to help. Doc, relax."

"Jack, he was—"

"I know, Doc, I know. But I told him to. Doctor, breath. No, look at me. Doc, look at me, you have to breath." But by now he was hyperventilating, and staring at Owen like he was his executioner—Owen, who had given up on holding him down when Jack arrived and was now at the other end of the room trying to look harmless and giving them space—, and not really hearing or seeing Jack anymore. Jack cupped his hand around the Time Lord's cheek to get his attention and put as much force into his voice as he could muster, "Doctor. Look. At. Me. C'mon, Doc, don't look at Owen, I need you to look at me." Eventually his eyes focused, and his breathing slowed slightly, and his 'deer caught in the headlights' expression cleared into some semblance of coherency. "Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are?"

He frowned in concentration, then frowned deeper when it took him longer than it should have to remember something as simple as his location. "Torchwood. The TARDIS crashed and you picked me up and we went—we're in Torchwood."

"Good, that's right. Doctor, you have to relax. I promise, you're safe." He stared past Jack to the spot where Owen was still waiting, then stared back at him in disbelief. "He was only trying to help; I told him to do it. Please, Doctor, trust me, no one's going to hurt you here."

Jack's words seemed to calm him slightly and he took in deep breaths to steady himself before looking up at Owen, "Sorry."

He shook his head, "No, I am. Jack didn't think you were...dead...and even though I wanted to give you something that would definitely knock you out, I didn't know what your body could handle."

"For the best; you probably would have killed me for sure," he responded lightly. Jack looked at him unamused. "What? It's true."

Owen hesitantly started to step towards them, "So, what can you take?"

"Nothing Earth can provide."

"There has to be something," Jack insisted.

"Unlikely. Most human drugs are toxic to us too—I doubt you have anything—and I can't get into the TARDIS."

"We have the multi-species sedative," Owen whispered off to the side.

The Doctor snapped his eyes up to look at him. "What's in—never mind, do you have a sample?"

"Um... Yeah, we should." He dug around in a draw for a minute before pulling out a test tube and holding it out to the Doctor.

He took it between his index finger and thumb like it was about to explode, then brought it closer and sat up straight to examine it. He looked at it, swirled it around, smelled it, put a drop on his finger, and licked it. Then, almost immediately, thrust the tube back in Owen's direction, his breath growing shallow and his whole body stiff. Both Jack and Owen moved forward instantly to try to help. "Stop!" Both men did. "Don't—do anything."

Fortunately, it was only a couple of minutes later that the Doctor's heart rate returned to normal and he unfurled himself from on top of the counter. He looked at Jack with a 'told you so' expression, then fixed Owen with a serious, grim one. "Just get it over with," he said, laying down and turning his head in the opposite direction of Owen, fisting his hands and tensing up again. Owen swallowed, looking nervous, and Jack moved to where the Doctor was looking. "He has to do it, Jack," he stated through closed lids. "I know that, you know that, he knows that—right, Owen?" He turned his head and opened one eye just enough to glance at him for confirmation.

Owen nodded then looked at Jack, "Yeah. I know it sounds bad, but leaving it in is worse."

Jack turned his back on them, running his hands over his face, then looked at the Doctor with a hopeful expression. "Can you fall into a healing coma voluntarily? I mean, you're hurt, right? So does it work that way?"

"No, Jack. It doesn't. What I did earlier didn't do anything but start to fix my brain; and I was woken up before I could finish that." Both Jack and Owen looked at the ground guiltily. "It's not your fault—you didn't know I was doing it. I should be able to when you're done, or the metal's at least out, but you have to remove it before I can repair myself at all. I'm not going to lie, Jack, it'll hurt. We have a higher tolerance of pain than you lot, but it'll still hurt." He looked at Owen, "but you have to get it out." No matter what. "Got it?" Owen nodded mutely. "Good. If I fall unconscious at any time, don't do anything about it. Finish it like you would any other procedure, then leave me be. I should be able to fix whatever happened internally; it's the external damage that's on you." He inhaled and exhaled deeply, then closed his eyes and tried to relax his mind and body. "Do it."

TBC