sortofaman | for Jack (Sunday)

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for Jack (Sunday)

The skies could have been dark or sunlit, the truth was that the Doctor didn't know either way and didn't care. He was looking for Jack; he was looking for Jack because he hadn't seen him, didn't know if he knew, and he didn't really know if Jack would care.

But he needed to know either way. Because part of it Rob understood and part of it Jack would understand, and the two didn't quite mix together. And Rob was busy feeding Nate, and he had a moment or two to breathe if his chest would allow it.

That was all right. As long as he could find Jack, stepping through the snow, his own figure a lost man in a dark coat swirling just against the surface.

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The sun had begun to descend and Jack and Ianto had called off their search. Saturday as soon as Ianto had found him after training until dark, and then out again Sunday, they'd both come to the conclusion that no matter how unusual a vanishing it was, it was a vanishing. Gwen was gone. Nate remained. There was nothing they could do against the whim of the island.

His yurt was warm and he intended to keep it that way. He was out front, the axe ringing through Bohemia as he chopped wood for himself--and extra for the Weasleys, Bagoas, and Maureen. With the axe raised, he saw the distinct form of the Doctor coming his way in the steel-gray gloaming. One more strike and he began to collect several pieces of wood to burn.

"Doctor," he greeted, nodding to his door. "Come on in."

The Doctor had helped build the hut, and he simply nodded, quietly opening the door and stepping inside to wait for Jack. He hadn't bothered searching, he'd had a lot of more effective things that he had to do, moving Nate's things, sorting through Gwen's things, figuring things out.

It was hard to tell from Jack's expression if he was aware or if he was doing the Buddhist thing, or what.

The wood was deposited unceremoniously into a box next to the small iron stove and Jack shoved one into the fire to keep it alive.

"How's the baby?" he asked. "He going to be okay?"

And in that question lay the answer. There wasn't much Jack didn't know when it came to the people he cared about.

"Guess it remains to be seen," the Doctor said, taking his coat off and draping it over a chair before sitting down. "He's all right, but what happens...who the hell knows."

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

"But he's a good boy, he'll probably sort life."

"Not the first kid ever to have lost his parents. You and Rob going to take care of him?" he asked as he put on some water in a beat to shit tin pot and then grabbed two cups. "Or take the issue to the new council?"

"We will," the Doctor said, "unless someone is fool enough to tell us otherwise. Rob will rip their faces off." Not only Rob, but Jack knew that already, knew how the Doctor fought.

Then he remembered Jack's story and decided not to comment on the cavalier reaction.

"Good," he nodded as he prepared tea, not bothering to ask if the Doctor wanted any. Of course tea was called for. It wasn't quite a bomb detonated in the underground, but Gwen's disappearance was just as devastating. It absolutely called for tanins and free radicals.

"...Ianto and I went looking," he said, more quietly. "Had to try."

"Rob did, early," the Doctor said, and settled his chin on his hands, watching Jack make the tea. "But...there wasn't anything for it. Just so..."

Wrenching. Terrifying. Typical--which was terrifying in itself.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. He understood, far too well. Gwen made...one hundred fifteen. Fifteen since mid-October. It was difficult to take and for the first time in a long time, Jack felt like maybe Logan had the right idea. You couldn't control it...maybe it was fate...maybe, sometimes, it was okay to float and just wait to see if you'd drown.

He sighed heavily and poured the water, just barely at a boil, then handed the Doctor his cup as it steeped.

"You're not all right," he stated. "What can I do?"

Wrapping long fingers around the mug, the Doctor shrugged, staring into the tea before he looked up at Jack. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know why this is different, maybe because she lived with us, she was family without any of that past heartache, and now she's another name on the wall. Maybe it's Nate still being here. Maybe it's the fact that she wore that dress on Mardi Gras, Jack, I don't know."

"I understand," he said softly. "There's nothing I can say but that. She makes a hundred fifteen who have come and gone...for me. I know more than that are on the wall, but just people I care about. You get used to it." Jack shrugged and picked up his cup to blow across the surface of the tea to cool it.

"That doesn't mean it gets easier. It doesn't mean you can predict it, or even that it doesn't hurt. You just...get used to it. I consider it penance. I don't think Catherine thought that was a healthy coping mechanism."

"You care about everyone," the Doctor pointed out, but his voice was barely bitter, and he clenched the mug tightly; it felt as if it would nearly burn his hand.

"I did that too," he admitted. "She told me not to anymore, but all of it comes back to that--people coming, people going, people dying. I might make a better Catholic than Rob, really, were it not for the fact that no one can be truly omnipotent, be outside the universe."

"Knowing Eostre and Del, I question that," he replied. "And I don't care about everyone. If I did, I'd never be sober." Perhaps it was ironic that he was stone sober now, but then, he'd only just gotten home.

"Of this world but not part of it," the Doctor quoted, and downed some of the tea, which was just this side of painfully hot. "I'm just looking for a minute or two where I don't have to be strong anymore, Jack. The pretending gets harder every goddamned day, every second that the memory of the universe slips away."

Jack looked around his hut, then sat his cup down and leaned forward. "You're safe in here," he said quietly. "I won't say anything. Everyone needs to be able to break sometimes."

"I'm not going to burst into tears, if that's what you're saying," the Doctor said, and sipped from the mug, feeling the heat of the drink go down his throat before he reached over and caught Jack's wrist.

"I'm not saying anything," Jack replied as he twisted in the Doctor's grip so he could hold on in return. "Just that you don't have to be anything in here. Just that we're partners, so don't think you have to put on anything to keep me happy."

The Doctor set his mug down, stood up and tugged on Jack's wrist as he did, still holding on. His brow furrowed deeper as he tried to pull him up to standing.

It was a pity Jack was sober--he could have used a contact high like that, but it was the last thing he really needed.

He stood and stepped close, his other hand rising to cradle the Doctor's jaw. There was a moment, only seconds that seemed to drag on forever, and then his hand moved to the back of his neck and Jack pulled the Doctor to his shoulder and held on.

The Doctor's arms wrapped around Jack, clinging like Nate had, refusing to let go. His hearts were pounding (for no good reason at all, considering that it wasn't fear or anger or sex), and he simply held on tight, not crying, not railing, just breathing hard.

A few minutes passed, and then he said, "I don't know what to do."

"You breathe in and out, sleep and wake up, do what you do every day, and you fake it until you're okay again," Jack said softly. "Take care of your husband and Nate. Talk about it if you want. Get drunk if you don't. And you just keep going, Doctor. You don't have any choice."

"Oh, I know. Funny," the Doctor said, "it's a lot easier to do it than it is to think about doing it. Stupid therapy texts talking about visualisation rubbish." He rested his forehead against Jack's shoulder.

"I didn't get that from a book. I got it from being here. I got it from trial and error, Doctor," he replied, his fingers working into the man's unruly hair. "Stop thinking."

"Harder than you'd imagine," retorted the Doctor, "for someone used to thinking everything through on multiple levels." He let out a long sigh and cleared his throat before easing back a little.

Jack snorted and when the Doctor pulled away he was greeted with a tender smile. "I know how hard it is to stop thinking. I generally need...help."

Booze, pot, sex, a fight, or time off on his own to rage at the universe and then pull himself back together was Jack's typical way. He'd found that he was doing any and all of them less and less. He wasn't sure why; he knew nothing had gotten easier. Maybe he'd just grown up a little. Maybe he'd let go a bit. It wasn't likely, but when John vanished from his arms, something had definitely changed.

The Doctor was well aware of Jack's coping skills. "I know," he said. "But there's Nate to take care of." Nate to take care of, Rob to sort out, Will to reassure...

He should never have slagged being domestic; it came with a pile of responsibilities and difficulties.

"You don't have to do it alone," Jack pointed out. "I can take him Thursdays. You've got Tosh and Ianto. Rob will be okay, I'm sure. Didn't the two of you talk about having a baby a while ago?"

"I'm not all that worried about that, it's just a change," the Doctor said. "Though maybe I should be worried, I don't know. And yeah, we did, just...we didn't expect...didn't think we were ready for that business."

"Biggest adventure of your life," he said. "And you used to thrive on change, Doctor. This will just have less running and explosions." He paused, then flashed a smile bright as a supernova. "Hopefully."

"The running and explosions were the best bit," the Doctor noted, giving Jack a slow smirk. Not quite up to full power, mind, just low wattage. It wasn't true, but it was a start to a comeback, anyway.

"He's a little young for it, but if you want to teach him about Nitro Nine, I think I've got a couple of Ace's cans around here," he offered, pleased to see at least that much of an improvement.

The Doctor actually managed to laugh, briefly. "I'll keep that in mind. Rob would probably kill me, though, if the experimental usage of Ace's Nitro didn't kill me first."

Chase when angry about the Doctor doing something stupid? Fairly terrifying.

"True. I'll just hang onto it for the next time we have a squid attack or the dinosaurs get out," Jack said. "How's Rob taking all this?"

"Like when the others have gone," the Doctor said, trying not to panic at the idea of protecting Nate from dinosaurs. "Certain I'll be next, or House, or someone else he cares about, not sure how we can all live like this."

"Logan just told me on Christmas that he figured he'd be the next one I lost. Good thing we didn't make a bet on it. He'd be my bitch for another day, and this time I would make him run," Jack said, almost sedate as he spoke about the most unsettling things that normally took his legs out from beneath him.

"Happy Christmas, let's be morbid?" The Doctor looked somewhat less than impressed. "I don't even want to know. You always do end up with the most positive people, Cap'n."

"He was trying to convince me that there's such a thing as fate. And destiny." Jack ducked his chin and licked his lips, debating what more to say. "It wasn't that morbid. Just proving a point. Maybe he's right. I haven't decided."

"Maybe there is, but if so, what the hell do we think we can do about it?" the Doctor pointed out. "Free will or not, you live your life. At the least we think we're thinking independently. Knowing better doesn't do anything but make you never do anything at all."

Jack simply shrugged. "He thinks there's got to be a reason for things. He's got faith in something...bigger than himself." He gave the Doctor a pointed look, the man before him being a point of reference for understanding Logan's thoughts. Jack had faith in so few things in the universe, but the things and people he believed in, he believed in with the whole of his being.

The Doctor gave Jack a bit of a look in reply. Being human meant he was even more uncomfortable with being anyone's touchstone, anyone's god, or point of reference. "So do I, but that doesn't mean there's always a reason on a definitive level. Merely players who go in and out at turns, Jack."

"Are you calling me a player?" he quipped, a teasing twist to his grin that didn't quite gel with the light in his eyes. He was perfectly aware of what the Doctor thought and felt about the adherence Jack felt, but he couldn't, and wouldn't, change. He never doubted the Doctor, and he never would.

"If you are, so am I," the Doctor replied, looking back at him and resting his forehead against his. "So there."

He felt better, Sort of.

"So there," Jack replied gently, his hand coming to rest on the Doctor's shoulder. The man had told him once that he couldn't be everything to everyone. Maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't, but Jack could be this for him right now. A stone in the ocean, or something like that.

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for Jack (Sunday)

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