Day 30
Who: The Tenth Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness
When: Day 30, mid-morning
Where: The Barn
Rating: PG, generally
Status: Active



It probably wouldn't come as much a surprise to anyone that the Doctor had spent the entire morning walking around Vas Captio like a ghost and kicking the tires of the place. He was looking to see what had changed beyond a few broken cages and the destroyed plankings on the windows of the pharmacy that he'd formerly been interred in. The man with the untamable hair wanted nothing more than to break out of every single prison cell this place put him in - and so far he was coming up short at every opportunity. On top of that, the only plan he'd managed to make any progress on had been stripped to bits. Or, rather the bits he'd stripped and put together like a very ornate puzzle had been put back to where he'd stipped them from. This was the second time this had happened.

Finally, the man who'd tried to pawn himself off as John Smith found himself walking into the barn and settling himself down on one of the ratty couches. He'd pulled out his journal and tried to take stock of all the damage. He watched for familiar writing and so far conspicuously absent were Shannon and Sam. His fingers traced the pages and he tried to take it lightly - they'd turn up, they always did.

Ankle settled on kneecap as words turned to conversations on those quirky journal pages. He'd tap his pen against the blank bits, urging whomever he was going back and forth with to write more quickly. He needed to know if everyone was alright. If anyone else had befallen anything as horrible as what he'd put Ianto through. As what he'd put Jack through. Make no mistake about it, the tenth incarnation of the Doctor was intimately aware that his actions had probably broken something between Jack and he. Certainly not something he couldn't manage to fix - but, it had chipped off an important part. Some part that he needed to repair.

Slouched in that couch he'd look at the rusted chains that wrapped around the old, warped beams that served as the barn's rafters. He never spent much time looking at the ceiling when he'd lived here with Remy. Usually, he spent his nights with an arm tucked under a pillow and that other man holding on tightly to his middle as if refusing to let go. Typical.

"Come on, Jack," came an impatient voice. Jack said he'd come. Said he'd bring berries. That was typical, too.

Leaning over thin fingers would find one of the tea cups he'd taken for his own and leaning a little further he'd manage to pour more of the steaming liquid into his cup. At least the tea was somewhat of a comfort and the Doctor knew he had to take what he could while he still had it at his fingertips.