Title: Something. Also posted here
Author: becky_h
Pairing: Nine and Jack.
Word Count: 1600-ish
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Minor ones for Empty Child/Doctor Dances.
Warnings Telepathy-fic, Hurt/Comfort.
Beta: Thanks to matsujo9 for keeping me in line, and miss_zedem and smithy161 for keeping the Doctor british.
Summary: If he was going to be here, they had to know. If they were going to trust him, they had to know. If he was going to trust himself with them, he had to know.
Author's Notes: Written 10_cliche_fics prompt 2-Prove It, and my own h/c challenge.


"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

They'd been working on this for weeks. That's how long it had been since Jack had woken - the first time - tangled in sweat-soaked sheets with a scream locked behind his teeth and no memory of the nightmare that had chased him from sleep.

Twenty six nights and twenty six nightmares since Jack had staggered into the control room, sick and haggard, to find the Doctor already there.

Weeks of nights just like tonight.

Jack sat facing the Doctor in the console room. The thrum of the TARDIS around him was warm, the Doctor's fingers against the side of his face and at the back of his neck were cool.

Jack's mind was a mine-field. False paths, dead ends and traps were all tangled up with Jack's physiological functions and reflex actions. It had taken them this long, working silently, to clear the path to the blank wall of his missing memories.

Jack could feel the Doctor there, now. Right against the black, reflective wall with his mind, not pushing but present.

"You sure about this?"

They had to know. For the sake and safety of all three of them, they had to know. There was no telling what the Agency had left buried in his mind, blocked and beyond his knowing. What kind of action he might take, what they might come looking for. If he was going to be here, they had to know. If they were going to trust him, they had to know.

If he was going to trust himself with them, he had to know.

"Do it."

The Doctor did.

Jack closed his eyes against the building pressure and tried to breathe through and not fight the Doctor - physically or psychically. As the pressure continued to mount, Jack realized that he was fighting himself, instead. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched and his breathing became harsh.

The pressure kept building, kept pushing, while Jack's breathing grew steadily more labored, his pulse raced and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

He couldn't. Jack brought his arms up to push the Doctor away.

"I changed my mind." He was trying to joke but his voice was strained.

"Too late."

The Doctor's voice barely registered above the splintering crack of the wall coming down.

It didn't fall - it shattered - and Jack fell through.

Fragments of memory caught in smoky glass with sharp edges. Burning cold, dark light and cutting softness. Sound and sight became transposed with memory and dreams blurred. There was no thought because there was no order and no sense of who he was. There was just chaos, dark, and a thousand bloodless cuts.

Jack was only dimly aware of the sudden tension in his body that made his fall literal. He felt the impact of his head against the metal floor of the TARDIS, the weight of another body over his and tasted blood, but the sensations were disconnected. He heard his name and knew there were hands in his hair, touching his face, but they meant nothing to him. None of it meant anything.

The Doctor pressed back into Jack's mind. Jack had never realized he’d been gone, but he couldn’t miss his return. The Doctor's presence was like tarnished gold - beautiful, a little dark, but lit from within. It should have been - could have been - a beacon, but it hurt. Christ, it hurt.

It drove all those jagged shards of thought and memory into his mind like glass into torn and bloodied flesh. Disembodied faces, snatches of conversation, the smell of smoke and roses. Pain and helpless rage, the taste of bile and the numbing cold of death. All of them shot through with flashes of blue light and the sound of screams.

Jack recoiled and tried to gasp.

That's it. Breathe, Captain.

Not Jack. Not a name he'd taken or an identity he'd assumed. Nothing false, here. Just who he was. Just the truth.

Breathe.

It wasn't a voice; it was a chorus of voices. He'd only ever heard one of them but he knew them all. They were all making the same demand.

Breathe!

Jack gasped again. In the face of the powerful command he was helpless to do anything but obey. He choked, he coughed, but he was breathing.

His body's struggle for air oriented Jack. Not a lot, but enough. His breathing deepened and become more regular. The tight arch of his spine relaxed and he fell heavily against the floor. He became aware that there was a floor.

"You're going to have to trust me."

Jack knew the statement was spoken out loud because it lacked the harmonics of the earlier demand, but the intent was echoed in his mind; seared there against a ragged backdrop of exhaustion and shattered thought.

Jack tried to respond and found he couldn't. He wanted to reply and knew he should but he couldn't pull his mind together even enough to think his answer. The best he could manage was a sort of weary acceptance. Feeling and emotion without coherence.

"I don't know how you lot ever managed to crawl out of the primordial soup," the Doctor grumbled. "Incredible you didn't all become extinct before you lost your tails."

In Jack's mind, the Doctor's presence was rough and warm with affection, concern, a hint of irritation and the beginnings of something that might be reluctant respect. That last feeling made Jack struggle against the broken glass of his mind to cooperate.

"Good lad." A mental caress accompanied the words, approving and so very careful. Like a calloused hand moving tenderly over bruised skin.

The presence pulled back, gathered itself and burned brighter. Before Jack had time to anticipate or begin to understand the intent, he was pushed back. Back past the cutting edges of broken thought, past memory, past awareness to a place where there was only the soft hum of the TARDIS to keep him company in the dark.

___


Jack came around, still lying on his back on the floor of the TARDIS, without any idea how much time had passed, something cold and wet on his face and the Doctor crouched over him, looking worried. He lifted his eyebrow wearily and raised a heavy hand to wipe at his lip.

The Doctor intercepted the hand and pulled Jack to sitting. "You had a nose bleed, don't go smearing it around."

Jack leaned back against the chair he'd fallen out of and closed his eyes against the light. He let his hand fall into his lap with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Open your eyes, Jack."

Jack opened one and found the Doctor still staring into his face. He glared weakly. "The light hurts, and there's blood all over my face."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "You can get cleaned up in a bit. How much do you remember?"

Jack frowned and tried to remember. It was like using an over-strained muscle - deep, burning ache - but he tried. The wall was gone but in its place there was dense fog. It obscured most things entirely, but in places it thinned almost enough for him to catch a glimpse of … something.

"I don't know." Jack finally shook his head. "Almost nothing."

The Doctor smiled.

"Good."

Jack's disbelief, disappointment, frustration, anger must have shown on his face because the Doctor stopped smiling and went on before Jack could interrupt. "Bringing that wall down very nearly killed you. Do you trust me, Captain?"

Jack couldn't help but respond to the seriousness of the tone, the way the Doctor was looking at him. Simply being called “captain”. He nodded slowly. "Of course." If he hadn't before, he certainly did now; he wouldn't have let the Doctor that far into his head if he hadn't in the first place.

"Then trust me with this. There's nothing you need to know. You're not a danger to us. The wall's down and you'll remember when you get there."

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but when the Doctor pinned him with an annoyed look, he sighed instead. "Yes, sir."

"Good!" The Doctor pushed himself up to stand and looked down at Jack. "Can you stand or do you need to be carried?"

"I can stand!" Jack reached back, put his hands on the seat of the chair and used it to climb to his feet. He staggered a bit once he was up but his look dared the Doctor to comment.

"Right, then. I'll just walk behind you in case you suddenly change your mind about that." He gestured to the door. "March, before Rose comes in and thinks I finally belted you."

"She wouldn't be wrong, would she? Strictly speaking." Jack headed for the door slowly and carefully; he didn't trust his balance.

"Strictly speaking I don't think your mind is what Rose is interested in." The Doctor followed as Jack left the control room and stayed close enough to touch, but didn't.

"You know that's not fair to anyone." Jack stopped and turned to look at the Doctor.

The Doctor returned the look with a fast grin. "I know. Go." He pointed down the hall.

Jack started walking toward his room again, content with the knowledge that if he fell, the Doctor would catch him before he could hit the ground.

As Jack walked, he remembered that hint of grudging respect he’d felt in his mind and decided they might not have found what they were looking for, but they'd found something.

Maybe.

If either one of them could figure out what to do with it.