Title: Sleep Alone
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 32, Bed
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 rolled over in bed, staring up wide-eyed at the ceiling. Why was it so hard for him to fall asleep? He'd been like this before, many times, but sleep had never seemed so elusive as it had for the past few nights.

Maybe that was because he was sleeping alone now.

His bed seemed so empty since Jack had left the Tardis. It had once felt like a place of comfort, a place where he could let his guard down and enjoy himself with the man he loved. Now, it was just a place for him to sleep -- when he could.

He'd always felt that Jack would leave him sooner or later. Even when they'd been as close as they could possibly get, the fear had always been there, hidden away in the back of his mind. And now that it had finally happened, it still hadn't quite sunk in.

Oh, it had happened. He could replay every moment of their last conversation over and over in his mind, in living color. But it still didn't feel real.

When had he stopped believing that Jack would leave? Maybe it had been the first time the other man had told the Doctor that he loved him. Those three little words, words that he'd never believed from anyone else, had seemed so sincere coming from Jack.

He knew what kind of a man Jack was. He knew that the immortal flirted, that he was attracted to many different people. But he also knew that when Jack gave his heart, it was a commitment that he didn't take lightly.

Why had what they had come to such a sudden, abrupt end? The Doctor still couldn't understand just why Jack had decided to leave. Had he backed away because of something the Time Lord had said or done? It was .... unfathomable.

He'd turned that conversation over and over again in his mind, but he couldn't find a reason other than the ones Jack had given. All perfectly logical reasons, of course -- except that the Doctor had sensed that there was something else underlying them all.

It just didn't feel right to him. There was something patently false about Jack's explanations, his words about why he felt he couldn't stay with the Doctor any longer.

Jack wasn't the sort of man to lie. He never had been. If he felt something, he wouldn't keep it bottled up; no, he would let it out, though he'd do so in a compassionate way. He wouldn't seek to deliberately hurt anyone.

The pain he was feeling now hadn't been caused intentionally. The Doctor knew that; as much as he might want to believe that Jack was somehow getting back at him for some of the things he'd said in the past, he had to admit that wasn't true.

But that didn't make the pain any less acute. And it didn't change the fact that he was sleeping in an empty bed -- or that he felt empty inside. He'd never felt this way when he'd lost a companion before, but then, Jack was no mere companion.

Would it be worth his while to go back to Earth, to see Jack again, to plead with the other man to give them another chance?

Sighing, he turned over again, propping himself up on his elbows and looking over at the empty pillow on the other side of his bed. The pillow that he still thought of as Jack's. He couldn't get used to seeing that empty space.

It taunted him, that empty place on Jack's pillow; it was almost as though he could hear his former lover's voice whispering in his ear, telling him that the two of them weren't over, that he only had to be convinced and that the Doctor had always been very convincing.

Could he be that convincing? Could he go to Jack and plead his case? Could he make the other man feel that he'd made a mistake, and that the two of them belonged together?

He had no choice in the matter, really. Not if he wanted to maintain his sanity, and set his mind at rest on the question of whether or not he and Jack could have a second chance. He had to see the immortal again. They had to talk.

The Doctor sat up, flinging the covers back and getting out of bed. He padded on bare feet to the doorway of his bedroom, debating on whether to get dressed before he set the coordinates of the Tardis for 21st-century Cardiff.

What did it matter? He'd have to be dressed before he left his ship, of course, but for some reason, thoughts of Jack always seemed to come to him when he was dressed for bed. The thought made him smile. Perhaps that was because they'd spent so much of their time there ....

And hopefully, they would again, the Doctor thought to himself as he hurried towards the control room, suddenly feeling more eager than ever to get back to Earth.

***