Title: Friendly Fire
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: R
Table: 2
Prompt: 7, Betrayal
Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the Producers' song "Friendly Fire." It can be found on their album "Run For Your Life."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

***

So cold tonight
The chill of the air
My frozen mind

Cold. It was so cold. He'd never be warm again; no one to hold him, no one to move close to him and remind him that he wasn't alone any more. He could feel the cold seeping deep into his bones, into the marrow of his being. A perpetual frozen winter, nothing bursting into bloom, nothing to take away the starkness, the chill that would never abate.

He should have known it would happen. Jack had promised him forever, but no one's forever would last. No one had a concept of forever, not in the way that he did. Jack was the one person who he'd thought would understand, the one person who would be prepared to give him forever. The one person who would never leave, the one who would always be there to turn to, the one who would always be there when he needed comfort.

The one who would always be there to love him. The one who'd always be there for him to love.

No. That was over. Jack had left, left like all the others. In the end, his forever had been no different from anyone else's. He'd had forever to give, unlike the rest. The Doctor could forgive them. They didn't have forever; their life spans were finite, their lives encompassed by their small accomplishments that meant so much to them.

Jack had been different. Jack had been the one who was supposed to stay with him always, the one who had professed love and meant it. He'd seen it in Jack's eyes, felt it in his touch, more so than anyone else who had ever touched him in all the long years of his life, all his different bodies. Jack had been the only one to mean what he'd said, both in words and actions.

And somehow .... it had all fallen apart. Jack was gone, the "forever" that he'd promised being nothing in the end. Nothing but another yawning chasm of emptiness, another broken promise. Only one more broken promise in a lifetime of them. He should know better than to trust promises. They didn't mean anything in the end.

Promises weren't meant to be kept, only to be broken into minute little fragments and scattered through the universe. Every promise of forever that anyone had ever given him had ended up like that; what had made him think that Jack's promises would be any different? He should know better by now. He'd heard them enough to know.

Through empty streets I walk alone
With thoughts of you
I'm feeling the pain
You put me through

He'd walked circuits around the Tardis. He'd taken his ship to a place that he'd known would be deserted, somewhere that he could be completely alone, to walk for what felt like miles until his feet ached, trying to blank out his mind. Trying to forget all the promises that Jack had made, those promises that had all come to nothing.

He had tried to forget the way Jack had looked when he'd said those words, the sincerity in his eyes, his voice, his touch. He'd tried to forget how it had felt when they'd made love, with him calling out Jack's name and clinging to the other man, praying that this wouldn't ever end, that he'd never have to say the most painful goodbye he would ever have to force out.

He had tried to forget everything, but he hadn't been able to. The more he'd attempted to push it all from his mind, to relegate Jack to some dark, shadowy corner of his memory that he didn't have to replay in living color through every waking moment, the more Jack had returned to his thoughts, front and center, commanding the stage as though he'd never left it.

The Doctor had thought that there was no pain he hadn't already experienced, nothing that he would have to withstand that could be any worse than the various physical and emotional pains he'd already lived with. No arrows that could pierce him any more deeply than he already had been, no sword that could leave deeper cuts into his soul. He'd been so wrong about that.

Jack's goodbye had been the worst pain he'd ever had to live with. He'd had to look into the immortal's eyes and know that this was a final parting -- that even if they saw each other again, it would be on a completely different footing. That Jack would put their intimacy -- and their feelings for each other -- out of his life as surely as he would put it out of his heart and mind.

It would be like those feelings had never existed.

While he, on the other hand, would have eternity -- or at least his next few regenerations -- for those intimacies to weigh on his mind, for them to sink into his memory and psyche more thoroughly than anything else ever had. He would have an eternity of long, cold, lonely nights to remind him of what he'd once had.

But was I so wrong?
To think of us lasting so long

He'd allowed himself to hope. To dream. To believe that he and Jack would last, that Jack would be the one who'd stay with him despite everything. His life wasn't an easy one for anybody to deal with -- he knew that, he'd said those words to himself over and over again, and had almost managed to convince himself that he couldn't expect anyone to stay with him because of that.

But he'd let himself fall into dreams, impossible dreams that would never come true. He'd let himself believe that Jack wanted to stay with him, that the immortal would give him forever simply because he actually had that time to give. He hadn't bargained on the fact that Jack would get tired of being with him, that he would want to let go.

He'd never thought that Jack would turn away from him. He'd let himself dream one too many dreams, let himself believe that they could become reality.

All they'd become was dust. Ashes that he couldn't hold, no matter how hard he tried.

No matter how many times he'd told himself that dreams weren't meant to come true, that promises couldn't be kept, he'd still let himself believe that this time, this time would be different. This time would be the one magical moment that the person he loved wouldn't turn their backs on him and walk away. This time would be the realization of his dreams.

It had been stupid to let those dreams flower into hope. He should have known better. Hope was meant to be crushed -- he'd seen that often enough in his travels, hadn't he? He'd seen hope flourish, that was true. But more often than not, he'd seen it trampled underfoot as though it had never existed, as though it was good for nothing. He should have learned a lesson from that, should have told himself to be more cautious.

But he hadn't. And this was where it had gotten him. Alone, with nothing but a head full of bittersweet memories that he would more than likely be better off to forget. The forgetting would take a long time -- if he ever managed to do it. He wasn't sure that it was possible to forget, not as fiercely and as passionately as he had loved.

So wounded I lay from this fight
I am cut down
Shot from behind
To think that you were on my side
Killing me with friendly fire
You brought me down with friendly fire

He'd tried not to show Jack how devastated he was. He had, he knew, in those first few seconds after Jack had said that he had to leave. He'd just stood there, unable to speak, unable to take a breath, his hearts clutching in his chest so fiercely that he'd thought they had both stopped beating. In some ways, he wished they had.

If his hearts had stopped beating, if he'd fallen to the floor in a lifeless heap in front of Jack, then he wouldn't have to feel like this. For the rest of his life. He wouldn't have to feel as if his hearts were being ripped out of his chest and handed to him, bloody and severed and beating more and more slowly with each second, until they stopped completely.

He already felt as though his hearts had stopped. Oh, they still kept beating, pumping blood through his veins, keeping him alive. At least, he looked as though he was alive. If he was alive, he'd be able to feel, wouldn't he? He wouldn't be this empty, this dead inside. He wouldn't be so .... so numb.

Jack's words had come out of nowhere, hitting him with all the force of a direct blow to the solar plexus. One moment they'd been silent, easy in their companionship, and the next, Jack's voice had cut into his thoughts and into his heart with those words that had sounded so cold, so utterly final.

"I have to leave. It's been great, but I feel like I'm meant for something else."

He hadn't been able to speak for several long moments, tears coming to his eyes so rapidly that he'd barely had a chance to blink them back. Those words, framed differently each time, and in a different voice from a different person -- but always meaning the same. Always condemning him to a lifetime of loneliness, a lifetime of searching for what he was beginning to think he would never have, no matter how long and how hard he searched for it.

Yes, he'd finally raised his head from his supposed contemplation of what he was doing, managed a smile, a nod, a casual question about what Jack thought he'd do once he'd left. Calm, cool, and understanding. But inside, he was anything but calm, his pulse racing, his emotions running the gamut from anger, to hurt, to utter despair.

If Jack wouldn't give him forever -- then who would?

No one. That was who. No one. Ever.

In my eyes
You are a vision dressed in white
I stand as you enter the room
How easily my life is consumed

Jack had been the focus of his life from the moment they'd met. There had been an attraction that neither of them could deny, something that drew them together, an inexplicable feeling that they were meant to be with each other. The Doctor had felt it from the first time he'd laid eyes on Jack, and he was willing to bet that the immortal had felt the same.

How many times had Jack told him, while they were lying in bed together, that he would never leave, that he was exactly where he wanted to be? It must be hundreds of times by now, hundreds of times that he'd heard those very words come out of the other man's mouth. He'd believed those words, closed his eyes and relaxed in Jack's arms, sure that this was going to be the one time in his life that those words were true.

After all, Jack had eternity to give. That was what it always came down to, wasn't it? Jack's ability to give him what no one else could. And the thought that Jack wanted to stay with him, that he was made for this life, made for him.

It had all been an illusion, one that had crumbled to dust and fallen apart with only a few words. Had the numbness started when Jack had spoken those fateful words? He couldn't remember. Nothing in the past few days seemed quite real -- it was as though he'd been sleepwalking through the days, walking through syrup, unconscious of everything except his own inner pain.

He'd managed to make conversation with Jack, to bid him farewell, though he couldn't recall a word he'd said, or anything they'd talked about. Even when they'd made love, he'd detached himself, his body going through the motions and responding to Jack's kisses and caresses without a clue as to what was happening. He'd been there, but he hadn't allowed himself to feel.

He would probably regret that one day, he told himself, his inner voice sounding angry and bitter even to his own ears. He had to laugh at that; he hadn't even spoken aloud, and he was so bitter about their ending that he could hear it come through even in his own mind. If he'd said the words out loud, no doubt they would have sounded doubly so.

Would he regret not saying a proper goodbye to Jack, not being able to open his heart at the end? No, he told himself, shaking his head and clenching one small fist in his lap. If he'd left himself open to feeling more, then he wouldn't have survived it. He wouldn't have been able to watch Jack walk out of the Tardis, down that city street and out of his life. He wouldn't have been able to do it without breaking down completely.

Of course, Jack wasn't gone for good. They would more than likely still see each other occasionally, when Jack had need of him, or vice versa. But he was going to try to avoid that meeting as best he could. It would hurt too much; and he was sure that Jack wouldn't be long in finding someone to replace him. Another warm, willing body in his bed, the same as the Doctor had been. How easily replaceable a lover was.

For Jack, maybe. But not for him. It would be a long time before he even thought of taking on another companion, one that he was that close to in that kind of way. Yes, he could be friendly with whoever he chose to be his next companion; he could even care about them. But not in the way that he'd loved Jack, totally and wholeheartedly, with his soul as well as his body.

And no physical involvement. No more. Never again. That was over with the companions. At long last, he'd learned his lesson about that. That was a thing of the past, dead and gone with Jack, along with all his hopes of a future that wasn't replete with loneliness.

Burned by your flame
And yet you still smile
Well my Titanic life is going down

He still felt numb. Numb from the unexpected betrayal, the arrow in his heart, the wound that he was sure would never stop bleeding. But there were times when he felt scorched, burnt to a crisp, seared from the inside out. There were nights when he'd toss and turn in his empty bed, his body burning for a caress that he'd never feel again.

Those nights were the worst. He would get out of bed, wandering around the Tardis like a lost soul. And as much as he studiously tried to avoid the room that had been Jack's, he'd be drawn towards it, to stand in the doorway and look around, imagining that the empty, stark room was still filled with the presence of the man he'd loved so desperately.

The first few times, he'd simply sunk down to the floor on his knees, burying his face in his hands and trying to hold back the sobs. He'd stumbled to Jack's bed and fallen into it, curling into a ball and clutching one of the pillows to his chest, as if by holding the pillow that Jack had slept on he could somehow magically bring the immortal back into his life, back to his side. He'd spent too many nights falling asleep in that bed.

He'd finally stopped, only a few days before. Time had ceased to exist for him; he couldn't say what day it was, or exactly how long Jack had been gone. It would probably be easy to calculate the days, the hours, even the minutes. But why torture himself like that? The bottom line was, Jack was gone. He was alone.

Jack was never coming back. Never. And he'd better get used to it. This was how it was going to be, from here on out. For the rest of his life.

Even now, his traitorous body was responding to his thoughts of Jack. How many nights had he spent in his own bed since the other man had walked away from him, touching himself, imagining those were Jack's hands? How many times had he cried out Jack's name as he came, consoling himself with memories that would turn flat and lifeless once the afterglow of his orgasm was over? Too many to count.

If only he could wipe away all those memories, every thought of the past. If only that happiness had been more than just a fleeting, ephemeral thing to grasp at and hold for only a few seconds before he was forced to open his hands and let it fly away to settle wherever it might. If only it wasn't always like this.

He knew how this story ended. It was the same one, over and over again. No matter what the beginning was, how promising it looked, how much he longed for a happy ending -- it would never happen. It would always be the same, in spite of all his desperate attempts to make it change. It was like running on a treadmill to nowhere.

He could never find that again. And at this point, he didn't even want to try. It would never be the same. There would never be another Jack.

So wounded I lay from this fight
I am cut down
Shot from behind
To think that you were on my side
Killing me with friendly fire
You shot me down with friendly fire

Jack hadn't meant to hurt him. He knew that. He'd walked away as quickly and as painlessly as he could. But was it more to save the Doctor, or to save himself? He'd had some emotional stake in their relationship, too; the Doctor was sure of it. Jack had held himself upright at the end, not breaking down, not even seeming to regret what might have been.

He'd merely shaken hands, smiled, saluted, and said goodbye. Then he'd walked out of the Tardis and off to a new life, forever out of the Doctor's reach. Oh, they would still be friends when they met again. They would speak to each other in friendly, reserved tones, and keep their glances studiously away from each other.

He would never tell the other man how he ached for him at night, how his body alternately froze and burned in those long lonely hours between dusk and dawn, the hours they used to spend wrapped up in each other. He'd never let Jack know how much he was missed. How much he was needed. How much he was loved.

Jack would never know how much he wanted to fall to his knees and beg the immortal for another chance. He had too much pride for that. He would never let the immortal -- or anyone else -- have even an inkling of how much he wanted Jack back in his life, in his bed, in his hearts. It would be his secret. A secret that he would carry inside him until the end of his days.

He would have to hide his feelings, bury them so deeply that Jack would never guess how his hearts were cracking and breaking into pieces moment by moment. No, they were already broken. They kept beating insistently, but there was now a wall around each one. A wall that no one else would ever manage to breach. He would see to that.

Being shot down once was more than enough. Never again would he let someone that close to him. Never again would he give his heart away. And never again would he let anyone take it.

Love wasn't worth the price that he would eventually pay. And it was a good thing that he'd come to realise that, the Doctor told himself, stepping to the open door of the Tardis and gazing out at the beach on the coast of Cardiff as he raised a hand in a gesture of farewell.

"Goodbye," he whispered, turning and closing the door of the ship without a backward glance.

***