"So what do you want me to do, if I'm you?" he hissed at the Doctor as the townspeople led them through the village.

"This colony has gone rogue," the Doctor said in a low voice. "It's broken away from the home planet in all but name. We're going to help the opposition."

"How?"

"Oh, that's your job! You're the Doctor."

He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, fine, I'll think of something."

"Lovely," said the Doctor happily, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't want you to muck up my reputation."

"What about mine?" he shot back.

"Yours? I thought you didn't want to be Jack anymore. Doesn't matter what I do, does it?"

He increased the length of his strides but the Doctor caught up with him. He was expecting to be berated again, but instead, the Doctor just launched into what he'd learned about the planet so far.

"When the mining colony was established, the crime levels were too much for the authorities to control." The way the Doctor explained all this, in a low, conspiratorial voice stirred something inside him, reminding him of the old days. He could feel his heart begin to pound a little faster. He shook his head to clear it. No. Those days were over. He tried to focus on what the Doctor was saying.

"The government became more and more oppressive. It was a democracy but the administration was controlling the crime level, so they were afraid to be voted out." He sighed. "It worked–crime was down–but that was because they were executing half the prisoners. Anyone they could be sure was guilty, really. There's been a political opposition forming, but they've had trouble getting off the ground." He pursed his lips. "They said their leader's been taken prisoner on trumped-up charges. That's Rachel's father." He sighed. "Everyone's so paranoid."

He frowned. He wasn't used to this–lately, he'd become pretty sure he was incapable of saving people. With his luck, the village would probably blow up.

The opposition was meeting in Rachel's basement. In her father's absence, she had been running the meetings.

"This is it?" He glanced around the room. There were about twenty people–mostly young men and women.

"People have been afraid to come," said Rachel apologetically, "since Dad."

The Doctor nodded. "Well, then, we'll have to work with what we've got, won't we?"

He nodded. "Right."

"We knew you could help us, Doctor," said Rachel earnestly, grabbing his hands. The look she gave him was unnerving. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with such unwavering trust, needing his help and believing he would give it. He was reminded very suddenly of Rose.

He took a couple of steps back and glanced over Rachel's head at the Doctor, whose expression remained impassive. He had no idea how the Doctor's reputation preceded him.

Suddenly, the door banged open and a young boy tore in.

"Jimmy!" cried Rachel, scandalized. "What have I told you about coming in the basement when we're down here?"

Jimmy was in tears. "They're gonna kill him! Dad, they're gonna kill him!"

"What?" cried Rachel in shock. There was an uproar among the assembled members of the opposition.

"They said they had a prisoner escape this morning; they said he must have been one of ours. He wasn't using his real name and they have no record of the man who came claiming to transfer him. Sis, they know about the shipment! They think the man who escaped was guarding it."

Oh God. He felt his stomach drop. This was his fault. It was him. The man who'd escaped, the man they'd thought was guarding the opposition's shipment, whatever that was. His mind whirled and he felt bile rise in his throat. He would be responsible for the death of yet another person.

"When?" the Doctor asked insistently. "Did they say when?"

"Tomorrow," said Jimmy shakily. His sister dropped to her knees and pulled him close. "They're going to do it tomorrow at noon because that man escaped."

It was all his fault. He felt his knees buckle and he sat down hard in a nearby chair.

"Doctor?" said someone. "Are you all right?"

He pressed his face into his hands.

"He's fine," he heard the Doctor's voice say. There was a rush of air beside him as the Doctor sat on the arm of the chair. "He's very easily affected by other peoples' pain."

"But, Mr. Harkness..."

"Give us a minute," said the Doctor, herding everyone to the stairs. "And that's Captain."

He listened as everyone else left and then he felt the Doctor kneel on the floor in front of him. "Are you all right?"

He looked up. The Doctor looked concerned.

"I'm fine," he murmured, his mouth dry.

"It'll be all right," the Doctor said softly. "They're counting on you."

"I can't figure how."

"Because they think you're me."

"Then they'll be disappointed," he spat.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said the Doctor. "I've failed." He swallowed hard. "Just as much as you have. I've lost people, like you have. What's the difference between us, hm?"

He didn't know how to respond to this. He looked down at his hands which were fisting his trousers.

The Doctor didn't wait for him to say anything. "There's not much, is there? They believed you were me and I was you." He laughed. "I don't know if I should be offended."

He didn't say anything. The Doctor stood and turned. "Oh, Jack, where's the fight in you gone?"

He bristled. "Don't call me that."

"That's your name," cried the Doctor, matching his tone.

He looked up. He'd never seen that expression on the Doctor's face before. At least not in that body.

"It's not my name," he said tersely.

"And the Doctor's not mine. It doesn't matter what you're called; call yourself Mary Sue for all I care–you're still the same man." He looked at him critically. "Or are you?"

"That man died."

"You're immortal, Jack. You didn't die. Something in you did and someone close to you did but Captain Jack Harkness is still alive."

He wiped his eyes. He couldn't believe there were still any tears. "The only worthy part of me died."

"What would Ianto say?" asked the Doctor plainly. "To see you acting like such an idiot?"

"Shut up," he said harshly. The Doctor's expression remained frustratingly unchanged.

"He wouldn't even recognize you," said the Doctor darkly.

"I don't want forget him," he murmured. "I'm so afraid I'm going to forget him."

The Doctor blinked. "How could you possibly forget him?"

He opened his mouth to say something and realized he didn't know what.

"The only way not to," said the Doctor simply, "is to be the man Ianto Jones would be proud of. Be Captain Jack Harkness."

There were a few moments of silence. "I can't," he finally said.

"Suit yourself," said the Doctor. "I've been Captain Jack Harkness for forty-two minutes and I love it."

He got to his feet and turned, coat snapping. "What do you suggest we do?"

The Doctor tugged on his ear. "We should probably go save that man. I imagine you don't need another death on your conscience." He opened the door and trotted up the stairs out of the basement.

**

They said little to each other as they walked back to the TARDIS, the Doctor having informed the crowd that they would be back in the morning, ready to go rescue Rachel's father.

He resented that the Doctor would likely expect him to come up with a plan and that it would likely fail. Another death on his conscience, that's what he'd said. If Rachel's father died, it would be all his fault.

"Can you tell me a bit about your plan, Doctor?" asked Rachel nervously, as she walked beside him. For a moment, he waited for the Doctor to respond before he remembered that she must mean him.

"Yeah," he said absently.

"What is it?"

He blinked. He looked over at the Doctor who was walking briskly on his other side. The Time Lord did not meet his eyes.

"I'll give myself up in his place."

"What?" exclaimed Rachel. "But you can't!"

"No," he said determinedly. "I can and I will."

If the Doctor heard him, he gave no sign of reaction.

He kept talking, making up the plan as he went along. "In the morning, I'll go to the prison. I'll tell them I was the man who escaped today and I'll convince them to take me instead."

"They'll never do that," said Rachel. "They'd kill both of you."

"What about that shipment?" asked the Doctor suddenly. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know," said Rachel. "I assume they've taken it."

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what kind of weapons they were. Maybe he could teleport into where it was being held...

"Weapons?" asked Rachel in confusion when he asked her. "It's not weapons. We're a non-violent movement; it wouldn't be weapons."

"Great," he muttered under his breath. "No weapons, either."

"The Doctor will think of something," said the Doctor reassuringly. "Call it a hunch."

**

"There's something we should be doing now, I imagine," said the Doctor. "I'm just not sure of what." He was leaning on the console, his head down in concentration.

He grunted. He was sitting on the floor by the door, looking at Ianto's picture again. Was the Doctor right that he could be a man Ianto would be proud of? He didn't think he'd ever deserved anyone's pride.

"Jack?"

He ignored this. When would the Doctor learn that wasn't his name?

The Doctor heaved a sigh. "I can't believe you're technically older than me; you're acting like a toddler." He paused. "Elmo. I've decided. Your new name is Elmo."

He grunted again.

The Doctor sighed. "You were supposed to object to Elmo. A sane person would object to Elmo."

"Plan," he said abruptly after a moment, stowing Ianto once more in his wallet.

"Yes, Elmo, we need a plan."

"We need to find out what was in that shipment." It was easier this way, to just let the adrenaline take over and ignore the Doctor. "Maybe it is weapons after all."

"All right," said the Doctor. "Let's see if I can move the TARDIS any closer." He sprang around the console, hitting buttons and flipping switches.

He realized he'd never really studied the way this version of the Doctor piloted the TARDIS. It was very different to his first Doctor's style, though not altogether unpleasant to watch.

The Doctor rematerialized the TARDIS in an evidence room in the basement of the prison. They crept out cautiously, unsure of what might be on the other side of the doors.

"I was down here earlier," said the Doctor, recognition dawning on him. "They brought me down here to give me back your things."

"Did you go all the way back there?" He pointed past the guard's desk, deserted for the night to the rows and rows of shelves full of evidence on the other side.

"No," said the Doctor. "They gave me your name and number upstairs."

He blinked. "If they think that was my stuff, wouldn't they have entered it into evidence under my number?"

"Quite possibly," the Doctor allowed. "Come on." He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and unlocked the gate.

It swung shut ominously behind them, reminding him unsettlingly of being back in the cell. Suddenly, he felt the Doctor's hand on his shoulder.

"It would be in big crates, wouldn't it? Did you notice anything in the cargo hold of that ship?"

He shook his head. "I didn't pay attention the other boxes. I thought they were all mining equipment..." He turned slowly. "Of course! It would be disguised as mining equipment. Come on." Without thinking about it, he grabbed the Doctor's wrist and dragged him down the rows, counting off numerically as he tried to remember the number from the front of his uniform. "There," he said finally. "This has to be it."

The Doctor took in the two large crates before them. Indeed, the large sheets of paper tacked to the front of them read 68197/Smith.

The Doctor ran the sonic screwdriver along the seam of the first crate.

He ran in to catch the front when it fell forward. "It's recording equipment," he said in surprise.

The Doctor peered over his shoulder. "What would the opposition want with recording equipment?"

He felt his mouth go dry. "I think I know," he said in a hollow voice. He took several steps back and the front of the crate fell to the floor with a thunk.

"Jack?" He heard the Doctor's voice, but it was very far away. "Are you all right?"

He realized his breath was coming in shallow spurts. "It's just like last time," he whispered.

"What is?" The Doctor's expression was genuinely concerned. "Jack?"

He didn't even twitch at the name.

"Jack, come on, look at me."

"They'll kill them anyway," he whispered. "They won't care that they recorded it all."

"Oh, Jack." The Doctor placed both his hands squarely on his shoulders. "Come on. Snap out of it."

His breath hitched. "I don't want to be responsible for another death."

"Then don't be. Come on." The Doctor patted Jack's cheek. "Let's go."

The gesture was jarring and he blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go."