This is a brief interlude to serve as a bridge to the next proper chapter. Here we get a little back story and some insight into Jack and the Doctor's new relationship.

Disclaimer: Tisn't mine.

The Doctor dreamed of crying.

He cried, and cried, and when he stopped Jack was there. It felt right, for some reason, even though Jack felt wrong. He was lying on a sofa, and Jack was arguing in the background with unfamiliar voices, and in a bend of time that let him know it was a dream, Jack was suddenly sitting on the edge of his sofa, rubbing his scalp.

"They want to arrest you," Dream Jack said softly, "and take you to Torchwood Two. To run experiments. That's supposed to be Torchwood's main objective—find and take apart the Doctor."

The Doctor blinked.

When he opened his eyes he and Jack were in the TARDIS. Dream Jack touched his shoulder.

"You can leave." He offered, voice equal parts hopeless and helpless.

In his dream, the Doctor didn't feel muggy or confused or cold. Just sad. "They'll hurt you," he pointed out gently, "and your team, and probably Martha and her family as well."

Dream Jack looked away to avoid the sight of the Doctor offering him his wrists.

"I could make them take it all out on me." Dream Jack breathed out after a long moment.

The Doctor smiled weakly. "I would never be able to live with myself."

The Doctor blinked again, and they were in Torchwood Three.

He was naked, private areas covered only by a white sheet, and a dark-haired young human was sterilizing his arm.

Dream Jack hovered over him, trying and failing to hide the miserably guilty look on his face.

"There might be another way," he begged desperately, as the young man put the first of several needles into the Doctor's arm, "we can find it. Just give me some time."

The Doctor smiled at him, this time genuinely. "No time for this Time Lord." He said quietly. "I'll be fine. What's a year, a decade, a century to me? A drop in the bucket."

Another needle. The Doctor purposefully turned off the part of his brain that isolated and examined foreign substances put into his body.

Dream Jack started rubbing his scalp.

"There shouldn't be any complications." He said, sounding distant. "We've put living people in cold storage before, to no ill effects. We've modified to the doses to fit you specifically."

Another needle. The Doctor was beginning to feel drowsy.

"It'll be just like waking up from a nap." Dream Jack continued, still massaging the Doctor's head. "And you'll be safe. I won't let them touch you. I've told them I'm running experiments."

The drugs kicked in. The Doctor's eyes slid shut.

When he woke, he didn't remember.

He noticed that he was cold, then that there were people talking, then that he was on an operating table.

He panicked.

He was cradled against a furnace hidden in flesh, soothing words breaking through his addled mind.

Real Jack didn't mind when the Doctor dozed, even after sleeping for a year, because it was easier to push the guilt away when he didn't have to look into glazed brown eyes.

As he napped, the Doctor dreamed of crying.