How We Break

Observing the Doctor throughout Torchwood was like watching a random adult instruct idiot kindergarteners on how to cut paper with big kid scissors. Tosh’s computer system got a complete overhaul she was struggling to understand. The rift machine was is shambles spread out over every surface in Torchwood and draped over the Doctor’s neck. Jack was fairly sure he was doing more than just crippling it. One of the found artifacts turned out to be an instrument from the Sillion galaxy, and the Doctor sat patiently with Gwen and taught her how to play it. After Owen made a very forced effort to be nice, the Doctor let him scan him but didn’t offer much in way of explanation. Ianto was a little difficult it seemed for the Doctor to bond with, but when he quietly beckoned the Doctor to follow him down to the cells, Jack hesitantly followed.

“May I ask why we are down here?” asked the Doctor, “Oooh, a weevil! I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”

“They came through the rift, but they breed. There’s a whole army out there,” Ianto told him, “Right here.”

Ianto entered the last cell. The Doctor carefully peered around the corner in time to see him heave a large wooden chest up off the floor and onto the decrepit cot.

“I just wanted to ask,” Ianto said so quietly the Doctor had to step into the cell to hear, “Were you at the Battle of Canary-Whorf? Did… did you see Torchwood One fall?”

Breath caught in the Doctor’s chest.

Rose.

He didn’t need this, couldn’t handle it. She was the first loss, the worst of so many. His dreams were still built around her smile, and the permanent ached in his chest could always somehow be traced back to her and what they should have been together.

“Doctor?”

He yanked his unseeing vision from the wall and back to Ianto’s questioning face.

“Yes,” said the Doctor.

He cleared his throat and continued, “Yes, I was there.”

“Do you know a lot about Cybermen?”

“Yes.”

Ianto dug his fingers under the lip of the lid on the trunk and hefted it open. The wood creaked and fell back with a heavy thud on the cot. The Doctor frowned and stepped forward.

“Lucy,” said Ianto quietly, “Her name was Lucy. She was my girlfriend. I loved her…. When the Cybermen realized they had to fight Daleks, they stopped their regular conversion and started just upgrading the human body. Lucy was half through the process when the machinery stopped. I pulled her out…. She screamed the entire time…. I brought her here to Torchwood Three as soon as I got Jack to give me a job. I kept her secret for months on a cyber converter bed in the basement. I wanted to bring her back. She was still human; it was possible. But—but she started killing people. We tried to stop her, but once she could move around on her own—no respirator--nothing stopped her. She ended up killing the pizza delivery girl and switched out their brains, but she still said that she and I should be upgraded together.”

The story broke Ianto’s voice. If the Doctor had any less control it would have crushed him and sent him running for Jack again. Instead he threw himself into his curiosity. Reaching into the chest, he picked through the tarnished silver metal. Some of it had blackened chunks of flesh stuck around the edges, and all of it was spattered with blood. He pulled out a breast plate, which he’d never seen before, pieces to her feet, braces that would have coated her arms, and then he pulled out the head piece.

“I could have saved her,” Ianto sobbed, face in hands.

“No, you couldn’t have,” said the Doctor, turning the head piece in his hands, “No, Ianto, she lost her humanity the second they took a drill to her.”

“No, she—she said loved me. She was okay until we disconnected her from the oxygen pump.”

The Doctor put the metal in its chest and turned back to the other man. He set his hands on Ianto’s shoulders and spoke calmly.

“What makes a Cyberman a Cyberman is that it has no emotion. They’re inhibited because being upgraded hurts. When they switched from transplanting the brain to upgrading the body, the first thing they did was drill into the brain to remove all emotions. She wasn’t inhibited; they were cut out of her being, Ianto. She loved you, I am sure, but she was still part computer so that she could be hooked up to the cyber network. It was tactical to keep herself alive. Like you said, once she could breathe on her own, she didn’t need help. I’m sorry, but there is not a single thing you could have done to bring her back.”

One, two, three stumbled steps backwards, Ianto slid down the stone wall to the floor and wrapped his arms around his legs. The Doctor should have gone to him, should have offered some form of comfort. Why didn’t he? Instead he just stood there and watched him for how long, the Doctor had no clue. His body began to move, but his eyes did not. Whatever passed in front of him as he walked didn’t imprint on memory or thought.

Was that what he looked like? When he stopped being able to prance around like a child, was that how he ended up? No, he hadn’t curled up in pain when he lost Rose; he’d just slowly tearstained his pillow every time he laid down. And when it seemed like breathing was easier, he lost Donna in perhaps the worst way possible. She became just another hole in his chest that convulsed around nothing.

He was dizzy. There was certainly no way he was walking straight anymore. His left hand rubbed on the brick wall. Nausea grew in him like a ball pushing outwards at every angle until it bent him over. He heaved and gagged but produced nothing. He couldn’t remember how long ago he’d eaten anything more than the coffee this morning. Refusing to sink to the floor, he braced himself on the wall and eventually it passed. He continued down through the hall, stumbling perhaps a little less than before. He heard steps. A shadow grew on the wall.

It was Tosh. She frowned at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, but Ianto could probably use someone.”

She nodded, but asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’m okay.”

She hurried past him. Several feet later through the tunnel, Gwen came rushing down.

“How are you doing?” she asked, slowing her pace.

“I’m okay,” he told her and gestured for her to move on to Ianto.

She nodded and scurried away.

The Doctor again continued. Were they being extra cautious of him because of the state he arrived in, or did he really just look that terrible? He had left a grieving man alone. Gods be damned. He rubbed his hands over his face and struggled to move forward. How long had this hall been on his way down?

Finally there were the steps. He mounted the first one and nearly lost his breath with the effort. The second one--his right leg barely lifted him up onto it. He tried a third. His hand pressed flat against the wall. He used it to help push himself up, but his left leg trembled so violently, it was all he could do to keep upright. Heaving again, still nothing came out. He doubled over and gagged. His hand slid down the wall as he gave up and sat on the third step instead, choking on the back of his throat.

What was wrong with him?

He rested his forehead on the wall. It was cool; it was like the cloth.

One heavy, muted footstep touched the steps behind him, then another and several more until boots appeared on the step next to his own feet. Jack sat beside him. Torchwood had never been so silent. Even the weevil wasn’t making a sound. Gradually the Doctor’s breathing evened out. He swallowed, his throat thick and swollen from heaving, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Pushing away from the brick, the Doctor picked up his head and stared at the floor.

“I’m not okay,” he said hoarsely.

He leaned the other direction and let his weight fall into Jack’s shoulder. Jack tucked an arm around him and rested his chin on top of the Doctor’s head.

“I know,” he breathed.

~

It was a question, just a question. Of course Jack knew there was a strong possibility it might be a difficult one, given that it came from the Doctor’s mumblings in his sleep, but he assumed given the new regeneration it would be long in the past. He still didn’t really know if it was or not. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the noises coming from his friend. All he could think to do was hold him and wait for an answer to surface.

Who was Donna?

The Doctor had dissolved. Jack was thankful he had at least waited until the others went home or they would have heard his friend through the closed office door. The two of them were sitting on the floor, Jack’s back against the black sofa. The Doctor wasn’t so much curled up with Jack as he was forced there by the strength in Jack’s arms. He couldn’t have gotten away if he tried.

Eventually the Doctor spoke and when he did, the words would not stop. Martha and Miki, Jack and his Torchwood team, Rose and the meta-crisis, Donna, the Master (twice it seemed), a young girl named Jenny, his regeneration, and Amy and Rory. He said how he tried to leave Amy and Rory beforehand but was too weak. He kept going back to get them, to be with them, and then like all the others, he lost them. He spoke of a woman called River, who Jack gathered was quite significant in his life, but after a couple days, she ran off to a call by who knows, and left him. He paced around the TARDIS for what amounted to a week, but she didn’t come back, and he hadn’t known what to do.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” the Doctor gasped, “I’m sorry. I know you’re busy, but I thought—I thought maybe I could be of some use… maybe you could need help.”

He raked in a harsh sob, but Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him one rough shake. The shock of it startled him out of tears.

“Listen up,” said Jack sternly, “You don’t need a reason or excuse or to be of use to me to be here. You are my friend. I trust you more than anyone in the universe. Yes, I have other friends here, and they need me, like so many people need you, but don’t you think for a second, don’t you dare think I don’t care for you, that I wouldn’t drop everything if you needed me. In the end, Doctor, when it comes down to it, it will always be you and me. The Time Lord and the Immortal.”

The Doctor stared at him in shocked silence, completely at a loss for what to say. He sat back against the couch and stared at his browned socks.

“Hungry?” asked Jack.

Automatically, the Doctor shook his head, making his hair flop back and forth.

“I’ll ask again, hungry?”

The Doctor looked up at Jack and blinked. He tried to open his mouth, but he was so gummy and swollen, not even a croak came out.

“I’ll take that as a yes and call for pizza. I think Jubilee’s still delivers at this time.”

~

His face was stuck. It took great care to peel his cheek from the leather of the couch, and when his face was free, he regretted not just letting the couch eat him. Pain thundered through his head. He dropped himself back down face first into the cushion, sharply crunching his nose. He groaned, debating whether or not the day could possibly be worth it.

His eyelids needed to be physically pushed open and rubbed before he could see, and even then his vision was clouded. Blinking just made the blurry spots shift.

Down on the floor was Jack’s long coat and some wadded up laundry. A thread of guilt spun through the Doctor as he realized Jack had slept on the floor. Two pizza boxes were thrown to the side, one empty, the other he suspected still had food in it because he doubted Jack would have eaten both pizzas. He practically shoved a slice down the Doctor’s throat and put a second one in his hand. That piece made its way back to the pie, and Jack didn’t try to get him into any more of it.

Groggily, the Doctor forced himself up into a sitting position, and when his head stopped spinning and trying to beat him back down, he stood and fumbled his way out of the office. He took a few steps and leaned his forearms on the railing that Jack and Gwen had threatened him from only a few days ago. Down below Gwen and Ianto squabbled over something he couldn’t hear.

“You look like hell,” said Owen.

He walked from the coffee machine over to the Doctor with a frown, eyeing him up and down.

“Really,” he continued, “If your clothes weren’t so wrinkled and stretched, I’d say Jack spent all night working you over. I can hook you up if you’d like—fluids and maybe some narcotics.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Jack’s sharp tone cut across them as he climbed the stairs to his office.

“No, Owen. Never, ever give him any kind of pain medication. It doesn’t work right with his body. Some of them will kill him…. Do you offer to drug all our guests?”

“No,” drawled Owen, “Just the ones that look like it would be an improvement for.”

Before Jack could cuff him in the back of the head, Owen ducked out and returned to the medical bay.

“Bathroom?” asked Jack.

“Yeah,” croaked the Doctor.

This time Jack went straight for a cloth. The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He didn’t mean to be expectant, didn’t want to be, but he stood and waited. The tap turned on and off. Calloused fingers cupped one side of his chin, and the chill of the cloth pressed over his opposite eyelid. It was gloriously soothing. His lips parted, and he tilted his head forward. After a few minutes, Jack withdrew and ran fresh water. He switched hands, and the Doctor felt Jack’s fingers on the other side of his face. When the coolness touched him again, his hands came out from behind him almost by themselves and rested on Jack’s wrists.

“I’ve got you, Doc,” Jack told him gently.

It took a while before the Doctor opened his eyes, and only then was Jack satisfied. He kissed the Doctor’s forehead and tossed the rag at the sink.

“Breakfast,” he said, “In the meeting room. I’ll come get you if you’re not there.”

~

When the Doctor got to the meeting room, Jack wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the other four members of his team were eating and chatting. They greeted him enthusiastically, and Tosh gestured at a chair with a plate in front of it.

“Owen ate the last of the eggs,” Gwen told him, “And Jack made you that coffee, God help you.”

The Doctor smiled and pulled out his chair. He assumed that this coffee would be as… striking as the cups he had before, but that was okay. He could choke it down. As he sat, Ianto caught his eye and nodded with a small smile. The Doctor grinned back, unexpectedly relieved that this man didn’t hate him or hold him responsible for anything. The grin fell off his face instantly when he looked down at his plate. He pressed himself into the back of his chair, eyes wide.

Bacon and toast.

Nope.

His brain worked furiously on how to get him away from the table without having to eat anything. Now that he was looking at it, he could smell the bacon, and it made his stomach roll. He slid his hand through the handle of the coffee mug and quickly stood completely straight. Owen and Gwen both frowned at him.

“Gwen, I haven’t asked,” he said brightly, hoping to distract, “Is that a wedding ring or an engagement ring?”

She smiled and twisted the ring on her finger, answering, “Engagement. His name’s Reece. Getting married next month.”

“Congratulations,” said the Doctor with a little bounce.

He took a sip of the coffee, and it was relieving after the bacon smell, probably the only time that particular coffee had been described as such. He smiled at the rim of the cup as he pulled it down.

“Hey.”

They all turned at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was in his long coat, and the Doctor wondered where he could have got to in the twenty-five minutes since they’d last seen each other.

“Here, got something for you,” said Jack.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a small black box with no seams and a thick, metal stick with a green light at the end.

“My sonic!” the Doctor exclaimed, snatching from Jack immediately, “Thank you, thank you so much.” He kissed it. “Oh, I have missed you.” He wheeled around, eager to show it off. “Tosh, have a look at this.”

As the two chatted, Jack stepped to the side and looked around them. He leaned over to Gwen and Ianto, and asked, “Did he eat anything?”

Gwen shook her head.

Jack removed his coat, folded it in half, and draped it over the back of the chair. He approached them and reached out, letting his hand rest on the Doctor’s side. The Doctor stiffened in surprise but didn’t stall in what he was saying.

“Tosh,” Jack cut in, “Can I steal him? Here.”

“Hey!”

Jack plucked the sonic screwdriver form the Doctor’s grip and handed it over to her. He guided a now very grumpy looking Doctor back over to his chair and pointed to the plate.

“You have to eat.”

The Doctor looked at the plate and leaned away as if he were seeing an execution warrant with his name on it. He put both his hands around the cooling mug and looked at Jack.

“I appreciate that you are including me, and I also appreciate that you are trying to take care of me, but if I’m being perfectly honest, I would rather lick the floor.”

Jack raised his eye brows.

“Okay,” he said, “What would you like to eat instead?”

The Doctor shrugged and sipped his coffee, fighting back a cringe.

“What do you want?”

“You wouldn’t have anything I like on hand here anyway.”

“Then I’ll make a special trip. Not a big deal.”

Just outside the meeting room, Ianto picked up his own empty mug with the intention of refilling it, but through the glass, he saw the Doctor carefully drinking and smirked. He turned back around and entered the meeting room in time to hear a baffled and bemused Jack say, “So you want me to get fish sticks… and a carton of custard filling… so you can dip them…?”

“If you’re insisting on getting something, yes, but I know it’s a strange request.”

Jack put his hands up as if in defense and said, “No, if you will eat it, I’ll go get it right now. Anything else?”

The Doctor shook his head. Jack scooped his coat off the chair and shrugged it back on, saying that he’d be back soon and muttering something to Gwen about keeping an eye on him.

“You must really like Jack,” Ianto said.

The Doctor turned to him with traces of a frown.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“No, I mean you really like him. He’s important.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Ianto pointed with both fingers at the mug between the Doctor’s hands, and told him, “You are drinking Jack’s coffee. You have a few times now. You must like him.”

The Doctor gave his cup an affectionate look and shrugged.

“If he’s going to make it for me, I’ll drink it.”

“You’re gutsy, I’ll give you that. I am the drink maker around here. I’m going to make some more for us, and if you want I can rinse that out and refill it with the good stuff.”

For a couple seconds the Doctor looked torn, and then handed over the cup, saying, “Please.”

Ianto’s smile grew as he took it. He went to leave but seemed to think better of it, and said, “Thank you, you know, for yesterday. For being honest. I thought I failed her, thought if I had done one thing different, maybe she’d have…. It wasn’t my fault. Thank you.”

Ianto didn’t seem to need any affirmation from him. He walked away, gathering cups as he went. The Doctor lightly wrung his hands, unsure of what else to do with them. Tosh caught up his attention again.

~

Jack returned with the promised goods, but Torchwood didn’t have an oven. Jack felt the Doctor took far too much pleasure in running through the hub and ripping apart various equipment to construct a sufficient cooking appliance. It was certainly the most energetic he’d been since he arrived. The others were fascinated watching him. Even Owen sacrificed some of his medical devices for the cause.

Several minutes later, a bugle horn went off, and everyone in Torchwood, save the Doctor, jumped out of their skin. The Doctor however, sprang to his feet from underneath the rift machine, cheered, hands in the air, and ran to his little oven.

He and Jack took a seat up by the coffee machine, Jack setting down a rather large bowl of yellow custard. He was still a little surprised when his friend dipped and devoured his chosen meal.

“Oh,” said the Doctor with a sudden thought, “I asked you to grab this.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the seamless box. “It responds to my base code DNA.”

The Doctor stroked his thumb over the top, and it slid back easily. Inside was a small key with a circular handle.

“TARDIS key,” said the Doctor, handing it over, “For you.”

Jack paused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Take it.”

Jack did, not quite sure of what to say, but then the Doctor began ranting about something Jack didn’t catch, and he was spared looking like a fool.

~

Jammie Dodgers had been a good call. The first regeneration Jack had known of the Doctor inhaled them when they were around, and it seemed it was one thing that did not ever change. Jack was starting to get seriously concerned the Doctor would vomit if he ate any more.

“Thank you for getting my clothes washed,” said the Doctor, plucking at a button on the front of his shirt, “That shower was amazing.”

They were once again in Jack’s office, late, on the floor, backs against the front of the couch. The Doctor licked his fingers of jelly one at a time, filling somehow smeared across one of his cheeks.

“I figured it would be. Might need another one now.”

“Why?”

Jack smiled at him. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand, reached over, and wiped it off the Doctor’s face.

“Thanks.”

The Doctor pulled his knees up to his chest and tapped them awkwardly in the silence. Yes, he was tired, but no more so than every minute of the entire week. Normally he didn’t need so much sleep, but exhaustion had been so constant for so long, he was accustomed to functioning with it, and he wasn’t remotely interested in sleeping on the couch again.

“I did better today,” he finally said, “Right?”

“Yes,” agreed Jack immediately, “So much it almost concerns me.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“I’m too upset or too happy. You should pick a direction you want me to go in.”

“No, it’s not that at all,” said Jack, turning towards him, “It was sudden and quick, and I have a hard time believing you’re actually getting better and not just having mood swings of some sort.”

“I’m fine, Jack,” the Doctor said with exasperation.

He reached out, grabbed a fist full of Jack’s shirt, and used it as leverage to scoot himself closer.

“Really, I’m just fine. Thank you.”

The Doctor held the back of Jack’s neck and kissed him, but immediately Jack gently pushed him back.

“See, not fine.”

“Why won’t you do this? I’m right here. There’s nothing wrong with me, and it’s not like you haven’t had this in mind for a long time.”

Jack scratched his head, trying to find an explanation other than it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t think the Doctor would accept that as an answer, not right now, and that was how Jack knew he was not fine, but how to tell him that?

“What do you think will happen?” asked the Doctor, “It’s not like it can ruin us. Like you said, it will always just be you and me.”

The hand bunched in the front of Jack’s shirt was pulling him forward, and Jack really didn’t know how long he could keep pulling away.