Title: Bitter Tears
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: past Jack/Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: Buffet 1, fc_smorgasbord
Prompt: 31, Bitter
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.***
The Doctor strolled down the sidewalk, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He was watching each foot as he placed one after the other in front of him, making his way along the street without looking at any of the people around him.
A man watching himself walk wasn't an unusual sight in London; he'd noticed that quite a few of the people here went about with heads down, not making eye contact with anyone around them. That suited him just fine; he wasn't in the mood for smiling and being friendly.
He shouldn't feel this bitter, he told himself reproachfully; finding himself alone without anyone to talk with or to share adventures with, shouldn't matter so much. His companions left as a matter of course; he should be used to it by now.
But this had been different. This had been Jack who had left him, the man who had said he would stay forever. This loss had been not only that of a companion, someone he shared his life with, but a lover -- and that made a huge difference.
Jack had been the one person who had said that he would stay forever -- and had the means to do it. Whenever a human made that declaration, the Doctor took what they said with a grain of salt. After all, they were human. They would age and die. It was inevitable.
But Jack .... Jack was immortal. He could give the Doctor forever. He would always be there by the Time Lord's side, through all the long years of his life -- even if he regenerated into another body. That had been Jack's promise when they had first become involved.
That promise had been broken -- and for no reason that the TIme Lord could see. Jack had wanted to go back to Earth, back to Torchwood. There was a part of him that could understand why -- but a larger part that cried out in protest.
What good could Jack do on Earth? There were other people who could work for Torchwood, humans who could understand just as much of what it was about as Jack could. Torchwood didn't need him. The Doctor, however, did.
Jack had said that he was sorry to break his promise, and that he knew he was hurting the Doctor -- but that hadn't stopped him from doing it. It was obvious that he regretted his actions, but he had still turned his back and walked away.
The Doctor hadn't cried. He hadn't shown Jack just how hurt he'd been, how that final act of leaving had cut him to the bone. He'd simply put forth a few arguments, and when Jack had remained solid in his wish to go, he'd acquiesced with good grace.
At least, that was how it had looked on the outside. On the inside, he'd been shattered into tiny shards, broken into so many pieces that he didn't think it would ever be possible to find them all and begin the arduous task of putting himself back together again.
He was still working on that. And it was still just as hard as it had been at the beginning, on the day that Jack had walked out and he'd felt his world crumble around him. It hadn't gotten any easier; he'd only gotten more bitter and resentful.
Oh, he didn't resent humans. It wasn't their fault that Jack felt he had to be here on Earth to protect them. They were a strong race; the Doctor had always thought that. But they did need a great deal of protection at times, more than he himself could give.
No, he resented Jack's idea that he should be content to take second place. And he wasn't entirely sure that the other man's decision had come about simply because he wanted to be here on Earth to help this planet. He had the sneaking suspicion that there were other reasons.
Jack wasn't the kind of man to be faithful. The Doctor had always known that, even though he hadn't agreed with the way that the immortal looked at relationships. Still, he'd tried to keep back his jealousy and anger when Jack had flirted with anyone on the numerous planets they'd been to.
He'd kept back his anger when Jack had disappeared for hours -- and sometimes days -- at a time, knowing where his lover was. He'd known that Jack was bedding his latest conquest; he'd also known that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
He had pushed his resentment aside, told himself that it was the way Jack was made. It didn't matter; Jack would forget those little entanglements as soon as they were away from whatever planet they were on. After all, Jack was with him on a permanent basis.
Jack loved him. He had no doubt of that. The problem was that the immortal had a different view of love from most people; he gave his heart, but he also gave freely of his body. He didn't believe in physical fidelity -- and sometimes not emotional fidelity, either.
That had only increased his bitterness during the time they'd been together; he hated to admit it, but there had been times when he'd withheld himself from Jack after his lover had come back from one of those little adventures, out of anger and resentment.
How many bitter tears had he cried when he knew that Jack was with someone else, sharing his body if not his heart? That had hurt more than he could put into words; it was the worm in the core of the shiny apple that he had thought his relationship with Jack would be.
Even with that hurt snapping at his heels, he had wanted Jack to stay with him. He had loved the other man enough to overlook those indiscretions; he had wanted Jack by his side, loving him, sharing a life with him. He'd thought that was the way it would be.
But Jack had walked away from him, with regret on his face and in his voice. Jack had left him behind for another life, a life that didn't include being faithful to him. They were still in each other's lives, but their relationship had changed dramatically.
Could they go back? The Doctor didn't think so. From the vantage point of time, looking back at what they had shared, it had obviously meant something very different to each of them. And he didn't want to put himself through that again.
That was why he was here in London, rather than in Cardiff. He didn't want to see Jack again; it was too much for him to be polite and distant, to be merely a friend rather than someone closer. And it would be impossible not to let his bitterness show on his face and in his voice.
No, he wasn't going back to Cardiff. He would have to, at some point, to refuel the Tardis from the Rift. And he would have to see Jack. He only hoped that he would be able to do so without letting the other man see how bitter and distant he'd become.
When they met again, he would be polite and friendly. He would shake Jack's hand, smile, talk to him. He would put on a cheerful face, the mask that he always wore when his emotions were running at their highest. He'd gotten very good at that over the centuries.
And then he would go back to the Tardis, back into space and time, and cry those bitter tears that he knew would never end. Whenever he saw Jack, they would always rise, coming back stronger than ever no matter how hard he worked to hold them back.
Sighing heavily, the Doctor turned to retrace his steps back to the Tardis. He had no reason to be in Cardiff, or to be here. It was past time for him to go back out into time and space, on his own -- and to let go of his bitterness over what might have been.***
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