Title: Dark Dreams
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 22, Dream
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.

***

The Doctor sighed, turning over in bed and resting his cheek against the pillow. After a few moments, he sat up, resisting the urge to throw the pillow aside, to heave it against the wall like a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum.

Changing sides had done no good. The pillow was still hot under his cheek, and sleep was as far away as it had been when he'd first slipped under the bedcovers.

He'd been having such disquieting dreams lately that he couldn't make himself go to sleep when he needed to. He didn't get tired in the way humans did, but he did need to rest, and he knew that he was hovering dangerously close to exhaustion.

But try as he might, he couldn't force sleep to come. Not after the dreams he'd been having of Jack, dreams that told him the immortal was in danger, that even though he hadn't contacted the Doctor, he needed the Time Lord's help.

The thought made him grind his teeth together in frustation, sitting up in bed to wrap his arms around his legs and rest his chin on his knees. What was keeping Jack from calling to him? Why wouldn't the other man ask for his help if it was needed?

Or were these dreams just taunting him with visions of what could happen if he didn't see Jack again? Was it himself that was in a danger of a very different kind?

Not any danger to his body, but to his heart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to push that thought away from him, but reluctantly turning it over in his mind, examining it as closely as he dared. He didn't want to open his mind to that idea. It hurt too much to remember the recent past.

The argument with Jack that had sent him storming out of the Hub, fists clenched, angry words still forming in his mind even as he'd held himself silent. The hope that still flared in the back of his mind that Jack would come after him, that the immortal would apologize.

But he didn't. The Doctor had gone to the Tardis, entered his ship, and left Earth. It had been over a week now, and he hadn't been back. He'd told himself time and time against that he wasn't going to go back, that Jack didn't want him there. And that he didn't want to be there.

Oh, he knew that was a lie. He wanted to be there, by Jack's side. He wanted Jack in his life, and he wanted to be just as important to the other man as the immortal was to him.

He couldn't admit that to Jack. It was hard enough to admit the fact to himself.

The dreams weren't clear; he didn't know exactly what was going to happen. They weren't some kind of prophecy. The Doctor almost snorted in derision at the idea that he could be some kind of clairvoyant.

But there had been a distinct feeling of menace -- and that menace was directed at Jack. He could feel it, as surely as if someone had spoken words damning the immortal. Something was going to happen, and he felt helpless to stop it.

He had to stop it. In any way he could.

The Doctor threw back the covers, swinging his long legs out of bed and getting to his feet. He pulled on his robe, ignoring the fact that he had on no slippers and that he was naked under the soft fabric as he headed towards the control room of the Tardis.

He was going to Earth. He was going to find Jack, and he was going to prevent whatever his dreams portended was going to happen.

He'd been a fool to lie in bed, wondering what the dreams could mean, night after night of musing over them. He should have already taken action, gone to Jack and done anything he could to make the other man believe that those dreams were some kind of foreshadowing of the future.

Jack probably wouldn't believe him. He didn't believe in prophecies or anything of the sort. Well, then, he would just have to convince the other man in any way he could.

He bent over the console of the Tardis, pressing a button and feeling the slight shift in time and space, the displacement that meant she was heading to wherever he told her to go. A wave of relief swept over him, making him slump against the console.

Whatever happened, he knew that he was doing the right thing.

***