clarasmelody-deactivated2013061:
The Doctor cares.
This has given me an inexplicable need for a companion to carry the Doctor like this.
#and with that I’ve got the sudden image in my head of Jack carrying Nine like this
I… I might have… oh shit.
***
“C’mon, Doc. You’ve got to get up.” Jack took a deep breath, fighting the darkness that threatened to take him again. The Doctor stirred but didn’t wake, moaning softly.
“No… no, please.. not them, not my family..” Jack grimaced, coughing into his elbow. The gas filling the room was commonly called Nightmare Gas, forcing one’s enemies to relive their worst moments as they died.
Jack fought off another wave of memories- Stephen, screaming as his ears burst- the Daleks, killing people as he fought to give the Doctor more time- his brother was gone, he couldn’t save him, couldn’t keep him safe– and bit the inside of his cheek till it bled. Now was not the time for flashbacks. Groaning, he swallowed the scream that built with the remembered pain of his numerous deaths, and pushed himself up onto all fours, dragging himself over to the Doctor’s limp form.
“Come on, Doc,” he murmured again, and scooped the Time Lord into his arms, cradling him against his chest as he pushed to his feet. The man looked so small in his pin-striped suit, face pale, sweat shining on his forehead, eyes shifting restlessly behind their lids.
Jack held him closer and began the slow and torturous journey towards the door. At one point, his legs buckled, remembering being crucified, and he nearly collapsed against the wall when a sudden stabbing pain in his side brought to fore his first death- electricity stabbing through him, frying his brain, exploding his cells.
Only long experience kept him alive till he reached the door, and with the last of his strength he managed to yank it open. Jack took a deep breath of the untainted air that poured in, then stumbled the last few steps to the door of the TARDIS.
He hardly remembered the doors opening, hands dragging them both inside. He certainly didn’t remember the lurch as the ship set herself into the Time Vortex.
***
“Jack? You alright?” Cool hands cupped his face, though they quickly left again when he rolled sideways to vomit over the side of the bed. He took a minute to breathe before opening one eye to peer up at his caregiver.
“Owen. How is- how’s-” Gentle hands pushed him onto his back, held a cup of water to his lips.
“Calm down, Jack. Your friend’s just fine, recuperating. Hasn’t woken up yet, but that may be because of the alien gas.” Jack let his eyes fall closed as a blood pressure cuff closed around his arm, a thermometer nudged up under his tongue, and breathed, trying to gather himself.
“Never get sick,” he muttered when the thermometer was gone. He could hear Owen chuckle quietly to himself as he put his things away, scribbled something on a piece of paper beside him.
“Shut up, Jack. Invincible you might be, but even you get sick.” A pat on the shoulder, and Owen was gone. Jack considered getting up to find the Doctor, but his stomach lurched and he decided against it before drifting off again.
Someone art this, please?