Fic: Sálvame (1/5?)
Title: Sálvame
Authors: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis) and wmr (wendymr)
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness (eventually Nine/Rose/Jack)
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not ours by any stretch of the imagination. We're just having fun with them
Summary: They're going to kill him today.
Author's Notes: Written for taffimai who asked for hurt/comfort OT3, with Jack hurt, as an incentive fic in the April (yes, April!) Support Stacie auction. Wendy and me decided to write this one together as a thank you to taffimai. With many thanks to yamx and adaliazandra for BR services.
Sálvame
By Gillian Taylor and WMR
Chapter 1: Better Off Dead
They're going to kill him today.
That's the threat that's been hanging over his head for the past two weeks. Death would be welcome now. It's not like he's getting out of this one through flashing a cocky smile and a come-hither glance. They're immune to that sort of thing here.
They relish pain. His pain. There are no questions now. Everything's been asked before. This is torture - or interrogation, as they prefer to call it - for the sake of torture. They get off on his pain. He's not going to give them the pleasure of knowing how much he's hurting, how much the sight of dried blood caked on his skin and on the floor bothers him. They won't know that he hates feeling as though his arms are going to come out of their sockets. They won't know about the pain he feels each time he tries to shift to find some more comfortable - though there is no such thing - position. He's going to close his eyes and think of England. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when something like this happens?
But instead of England, all he's thinking about is the TARDIS, and its two occupants. Will they come for him? Do they even care? It's been weeks.
No. He can't afford to dwell on the past. That was then, this is now. His life is now a sequence of pain-filled sleep and agonising consciousness. They're not coming.
He's alone.
"Do your worst," he whispers through cracked lips. He doesn't remember what water tastes like, what it feels like to have a full belly and a warm, willing body beside him.
Franklin Hynes smiles. He remembers that smile from his days at the Agency, after they stole his memories. There is no sympathy there, no compassion. This is the smile of a man who is relishing the chance to get intimately acquainted with his body, and not in any way that he'd prefer. "Believe me, Captain," he says and reaches for something beside him. Though Jack can't see what it is, he hears the clank of metal against metal. "I will."
Two Weeks Earlier:
A wash of sounds - people haggling, things being moved, objects clanging together, and the low-pitched hum of what can only be engines - combine into a joyful cacophony that almost deafens her the instant she opens the double doors of the TARDIS. Jack called this place Ternifin or something like that. “Best view in this galaxy,” he claimed.
He's right. Just beyond the mass of people, she can see windows. No, not windows. Viewports. And just beyond that protective glass there're flashes of colour and light. Always moving, never in one spot for long. It almost looks alive, if that's possible.
"Go on, then," the Doctor says, giving her a gentle shove so she actually steps out of the TARDIS. "No gawking. Least not until you actually get to the viewports."
"Sorry," she murmurs and steps outside, letting the Doctor and Jack follow her out. It always amazes her that despite the number of people confined into such a small space - this room has to be about the size of a small church - no-one gives them a second glance. It's got to be something about the Doctor. He blends in, even when he shouldn't, and, somehow, that same gift has been passed on to her.
She can see what look like little shops lining two sides of the room and, when she turns to look at the Doctor, just behind him a hallway stretches into the distance. She gets jostled slightly by the throng of people and she tries her best to stay close to her friends. Good thing she's not claustrophobic. It'd be unbearable if she were.
The Doctor's hand wraps around her own, securing her firmly against his side. "C'mon," he says, tugging her with him. "You can't miss this."
"The Terniflan Cascade is one of the wonders of this galaxy," Jack tells her, somehow managing to remain by her side despite the jostling. "Surprised you've not been here before."
"Yeah, well, the first time he took me to a space station, I saw the Earth get blown up. This is a bit too tame for him," she says, bumping the Doctor's shoulder with her own.
"Oi! Nothing wrong with-" he begins.
"-almost getting killed?" she completes. She doesn't mind it - course she doesn't - but that doesn't mean he gets to say that there's nothing wrong with it. "Admittedly, seems to happen a lot. An' don't forget the bitchy trampoline."
"You complainin'?" the Doctor asks.
She shakes her head. "Nah. Love it. Almost getting killed, bitchy trampolines and all."
She's treated to one of the Doctor's wide, beaming smiles. "Good."
Together, the three of them thread their way through the crowd to reach the equally small lounge area. More people are standing rather than sitting, so she doesn't bother trying to steer the Doctor and Jack towards one of the sofas. Instead, she aims straight for the windows.
It's beautiful. Breathtaking, even. She's never seen so many colours all in one spot before. And the colours are all swirling, like some giant has dipped a finger into the mix and is stirring it slowly. Every once in a while, a bright flash of light appears - "Solar flares," Jack says.
"Wow," she murmurs.
"Thought you'd like it." Jack seems rather proud of himself. But he deserves to be. This is a wonderful spot.
"So this station's jus' here because of the cascade?" she asks.
"Nope. There's a market on the other side of the station. Got some rare parts there, too. Might take a look around, see if there's something that might be useful," the Doctor replies. He's pointedly not implying that the TARDIS is broken again, which is somewhat reassuring. Then again, this is the bloke who insists that there's nothing wrong with the ship when they land rather roughly and she ends up on the floor. He insists that she doesn't know how to balance properly.
She knows the truth.
"The market’s got a good restaurant too. And while we’re here, there's another part of the market I'd like to look at. Need to pick up some replacement parts of my own," Jack says.
A faint look of distaste flickers across the Doctor's face and she realises what Jack's talking about. He needs parts for his weapons. "Meet in an hour, then, for lunch?" she asks.
With a verbal agreement, they wander towards the market. Once she's shown where the restaurant is, she wanders off herself, but not too far away from the Doctor. She knows better than to risk getting herself lost. Bad things tend to happen when she does.
Perfect. It’s worked like a dream so far. Plenty of brownie points earned with Rose for suggesting Terniflan, which is definitely a good thing and might also even earn him a point or two with the Doctor - and, even better, a chance to pick up the parts he needs to rebuild his compact laser deluxe. If he’s very, very lucky, the trader at that little stall that only those in the know are able to find might even have a spare battery for his sonic blaster. It’ll cost, but it’s worth it.
Half an hour later, he’s even more pleased with himself. He’s managed to locate every single part he was after except for the battery, and that’s just a matter of persuading Treceor to let him have it. The guy’s denying he’s got one, but Jack knows a lie when he hears one. The trader’s no doubt promised it to someone else and he reckons he’ll get a better price for it, or more repeat trade.
He leans lazily against the wall and smiles at Treceor. “You can name your own price. And I’m not averse to non-monetary terms, just so you know.”
Treceor rolls his eyes. “You freelancers are all the same. Want whatever you want now and think I’ll jump at the chance to sell it to you,” he drawls, sounding scathing. Jack’s not fooled, though. The guy’s only looked him over at least four times, and right now he’s not looking higher than Jack’s crotch. The battery’s as good as his.
A conversation from somewhere nearby catches his attention. That voice... The hairs on the back of his neck are suddenly standing on end.
Slowly, doing his best not to attract attention, he glances around. A cold chill runs through him.
Mercenaries. Three of the most highly-focused bastards in the business - part of a team the Agency used all the time whenever they wanted serious results with plausible deniability. He’s met these guys before, several times. And, beyond any doubt, they’ll know about his little bust-up with the Agency.
Shit!
He’s at the end of the hallway; the only way out is back the way he came. Past Gallax and his comrades. There’s no escape - not even an emergency exit. He’d hide behind Treceor’s stall, but he can see there just isn’t room. Too many boxes and crates.
And, of course, his Vortex manipulator is still burnt out from that time he had to use it and the teleport together to jump four centuries and six planets. That’s something else he was going to get parts for today. Damn. Damn it anyway!
Time to think fast, and prepare for the worst. It’s three against one, and while those are odds he’s beaten before he doesn’t have a working weapon. No question at all that these guys do - and that they’ll have no compunction about using them even in this busy area with lots of civilians around. If Gallax captures him, it’ll be next stop the Time Agency.
With another cautious glance over his shoulder, he strips off his Vortex manipulator. That’s the one thing the Agency would give anything to get back from him - and the one thing he’ll do anything to stop them getting their hands on. He’ll bet his Agency medals, too, that Gallax and his boys know that, and if they fail to take him prisoner they’ll gladly take his manipulator instead. With or without attached hand.
He leans forward over the stall, towards Treceor. “Look after this for me. I’ll be back for it.” A minute hesitation, then he adds, just in case, “If I’m not back within twenty minutes, give it to a tall guy with a buzz-cut wearing a leather jacket. Calls himself the Doctor. Okay?”
Without waiting for a response, he just shoves the wristband into Treceor’s hand and then turns, hoping for an opportunity to melt into the crowd.
He almost succeeds. Another two seconds and he’d have been past them. But right at the wrong second he feels malevolent eyes on him. Croal, Gallax’s more vicious sidekick, is staring right at him.
He breaks into a run. They’re after him, though, and firing. Stun setting is his guess; they’ll want to take him alive. Not if he can help it - dodging and weaving through the other browsers, he uses every trick he knows to evade capture.
Until he feels a burning pain in his back and the ground disappears from under him.
So the Captain’s got one or two good ideas. Doesn’t mean he’s not a waste of space.
Well, all right, he’s been on his best behaviour since the other night, when his ship blew up. Not flirting every second, and not obviously inventorying the TARDIS to see what he can steal. Still. Early days.
Good market, this. Strange, really, that he hasn’t been here in so long. In forty-five minutes, he’s managed to pick up some rare crystal power-cells, along with non-standard cabling and even a replacement power converter.
He needs to stop dawdling. It’s time to meet Rose and Jack at the restaurant. With reluctance, he heads in that direction, past stalls he hasn’t had a chance to examine yet. After lunch, maybe. Give Rose a few more credits and point her in the direction of the spa; that’ll keep her content for a few hours. The Captain’ll be fine; looks like Jack’s as happy as he is poking around this sort of place. Mind, does the bloke even have any money? Not as if he had the chance to rescue anything from his ship.
He shakes his head. Jack’s well able to look after himself. Probably had credits and coins from all over the universe tucked in pockets in that RAF uniform of his, and access codes for bank accounts in every tax haven stored in his wrist-computer.
Rose is waiting at the restaurant entrance, looking around her, obviously searching for the two of them. Her eyes light up when she sees him, but she continues glancing around. “Captain not here yet, then?”
“No. Haven’t seen him.” Her expression clouds over for an instant, but then she smiles. “If he’s anything like you, he’s probably haggling over some useless, broken bit of metal nobody else wants.”
“Oi! Nothin’ I buy’s useless!”
“Yeah, right. That’d be why the cupboards in the console room are so full of junk stuff falls out every time you open them.”
He shakes his head. “Humans. Don’t have a clue, you don’t.”
“You’re as bad as Mickey,” she continues. “His flat’s full of oily, rusted bits of engines he swears will come in handy some day. Haven’t seen him use one of them yet.”
Oh, now he’s being compared to Ricky the Idiot? “What’s keepin’ Jack? ’Bout time he got his arse back here.”
“Hope nothing’s happened to him.” Rose is frowning now.
“It’s only fifteen minutes. Like you said, he’s probably distracted. Probably found someone to flirt with, knowing him.” Someone to shag, even more likely. He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Come on. I’m not waitin’ for him any longer. If he gets here in time, he can join us. If not, he’ll just have to do without lunch.”
More than half an hour later, though, he and Rose have almost finished eating and there’s still no sign of Jack. Bloody inconsiderate of the bloke. If the Captain wants to spend the day shagging, it’s no skin off his nose. It’s not like he cares what Jack gets up to when they’re outside the TARDIS, but he should have some consideration for Rose. She doesn’t need to know what their latest acquisition is getting up to, and this is just going to make her ask questions.
“We should look for him,” she says, worry-lines over her eyes, as they leave the restaurant.
“Rose, he’s a big boy. He doesn’t need babysittin’. As long as he’s back at the TARDIS by the time we’re ready to leave, that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, but he was supposed to meet us.” She’s looking up at him, concern in her eyes. “He wouldn’t just not have turned up.”
“How d’you know? Rose, we barely know the bloke, an’ what we do know is he’s a conman.”
“Ex-conman.” Her voice is firm. “He told us. Yesterday at breakfast, remember? Said he was never doing anything like that again, not after what happened.”
He shrugs. Danger and near-death situations make people do all sorts of things, make all sorts of promises. Doesn’t mean they don’t forget all about it again once memories fade. “We barely know him,” he repeats.
“I don’t care.” She glares at him. “You do what you want, Doctor. I’m goin’ to look for Jack.”
He knows when he’s backed into a corner, all right. With a heavy sigh, he takes her hand and leads the way towards the weaponry market.
Jack’s got to be in some sort of trouble, she’s sure of it. He wouldn’t just not appear, whatever the Doctor thinks.
It’s been two hours now, though, and they’ve combed every inch of the weapons section. No sign of him anywhere. She’s asked lots of the stallholders, too, describing Jack to them, but they all said they don’t remember him. “Been busy today, lady. How’d you expect me to remember one guy out of hundreds?”
“Rose.” The Doctor’s voice is sharp, calling her back to him.
“What?”
“Look, he’s gone, right? You have to accept that. Come back to the TARDIS - time we went.”
“What d’you mean, gone? An’ no way! I’m not goin’ anywhere, not until we’ve found Jack.”
“I mean gone. This place is a space station, right? Ships are comin’ in an’ out of here all the time. Our so-called captain’s caught himself a lift on one of them, that’s all.”
No. She doesn’t believe it. “He wouldn’t do that,” she tells him flatly. “Jack wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying goodbye.”
She knows the Doctor’s rolling his eyes, but she refuses to look at him. She knows there’s no way Jack would just leave.
“Rose, we’ve looked all over. Nobody’s seen him. An’ that’s because as soon as he left us he went straight to the docking station and blagged his way onto a ship. Simple as that.”
“I don’t believe it.” Arms folded, she glares at him.
“Won’t believe it, you mean.” The Doctor huffs. “Why you have to be so stubborn, Rose Tyler...”
Ignoring him, she surveys the area again. Still no sign of a tall, handsome bloke in jeans and a T-shirt. And the Doctor’s right: there’s nowhere they haven’t searched yet.
Though, wait... “What’s that? Over there? See where those two blokes are just coming from!”
She thought it was just a dead end, but it looks like there’s another corridor. Immediately, she sets off at a jog, and it’s not lost on her that the Doctor’s following.
There is a hallway, and it leads to a part of the station they haven’t been before. But it’s a dead end. Just a short corridor, and at the end yet another stall, with a couple of customers browsing.
This time, the Doctor’s the one who goes up to the stallholder. “Excuse me, you seen a tall bloke, ‘bout my height? He was probably lookin’ for weapons parts.”
The stallholder’s eyes narrow. Then he leans closer. “You called the Doctor, by any chance?”
Her heart leaps. Jack’s been here! Has to have been. Who else could’ve mentioned the Doctor here?
“Might be,” the Doctor answers. “Depends who’s askin’. An’ why.”
“Look, it’s no skin off my nose,” the stallholder says, scowling. “There was a guy here, yeah. He was looking for a battery for a Villengard-manufactured blaster. We were just getting into negotiations when he freaked about something. No idea what, but he gave me something and told me to hold onto it until he came back - or if he didn’t come back to give it to somebody called the Doctor.”
“That’s me,” the Doctor says, and his voice is now authoritative. “I’m the Doctor. Give it me. Whatever he left with you, give it me.”
The stallholder backs away. “How do I know if you’re who you say you are?”
“Because the man you saw is called Captain Jack Harkness. This is what he looks like.” The Doctor flips open the psychic paper - she hadn’t even noticed him taking it out - and holds it out to the stallholder. “He’s travellin’ with me, an’ we’ve been looking for him for the last couple of hours. An’ if something scared him, then that means he’s in trouble, an’ if you’ve got anything that’s gonna help us find him then you better hand it over. Now.”
“All right, all right!” The stallholder reaches under his table, then hands over something she recognises instantly.
It’s Jack’s wristband. The one she's rather certain he never even takes off when he sleeps, since he certainly is never without it in her company.
Fresh blood wells from the wounds decorating his chest and arms. He knows what's going to happen next. They've left his groin alone, probably to make him anticipate the inevitable. They know what would hurt someone most - not just because of the physical pain, but more the psychological. He can't let them know what he's feeling. How he's reacting. He can't show how much he's hurting. It'd give Franklin too much pleasure to see him break.
"Is that all you've got?" he asks between drawing in painful breaths. Something is definitely broken inside him. It shouldn't hurt this much to breathe.
"It won't help," Franklin says, almost caressing his cheek with the knife. "They're not coming. Your friends have left you. Isn't that who you're waiting for?"
He can't stop the wince at the mention of them. The Doctor. Rose. He thinks of them as his friends, but are they? Are they really? If they cared, they would've come for him by now. If they wanted him, they'd be here.
"Doesn't matter," he says and he's rather proud of himself, as his voice doesn't waver. It almost sounds strong.
"Doesn't it?" Franklin asks, trailing the knife down the line of Jack's throat. "I think it does. I think you're depressed because your friends won't come for you. I think you're ready to give up."
"Do you always talk this much?" he asks. "Go on, then. Do what you want."
"Oh, I will, Captain. But I intend our time together to last." Franklin's smile isn't reassuring. If anything, it's terrifying. "I like it when my prey struggles."
***
Chapter 2: Desperately Seeking Jack
x-posted to: dark_aegis & better_with_3
Authors: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis) and wmr (wendymr)
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness (eventually Nine/Rose/Jack)
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not ours by any stretch of the imagination. We're just having fun with them
Summary: They're going to kill him today.
Author's Notes: Written for taffimai who asked for hurt/comfort OT3, with Jack hurt, as an incentive fic in the April (yes, April!) Support Stacie auction. Wendy and me decided to write this one together as a thank you to taffimai. With many thanks to yamx and adaliazandra for BR services.
Sálvame
By Gillian Taylor and WMR
Chapter 1: Better Off Dead
They're going to kill him today.
That's the threat that's been hanging over his head for the past two weeks. Death would be welcome now. It's not like he's getting out of this one through flashing a cocky smile and a come-hither glance. They're immune to that sort of thing here.
They relish pain. His pain. There are no questions now. Everything's been asked before. This is torture - or interrogation, as they prefer to call it - for the sake of torture. They get off on his pain. He's not going to give them the pleasure of knowing how much he's hurting, how much the sight of dried blood caked on his skin and on the floor bothers him. They won't know that he hates feeling as though his arms are going to come out of their sockets. They won't know about the pain he feels each time he tries to shift to find some more comfortable - though there is no such thing - position. He's going to close his eyes and think of England. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when something like this happens?
But instead of England, all he's thinking about is the TARDIS, and its two occupants. Will they come for him? Do they even care? It's been weeks.
No. He can't afford to dwell on the past. That was then, this is now. His life is now a sequence of pain-filled sleep and agonising consciousness. They're not coming.
He's alone.
"Do your worst," he whispers through cracked lips. He doesn't remember what water tastes like, what it feels like to have a full belly and a warm, willing body beside him.
Franklin Hynes smiles. He remembers that smile from his days at the Agency, after they stole his memories. There is no sympathy there, no compassion. This is the smile of a man who is relishing the chance to get intimately acquainted with his body, and not in any way that he'd prefer. "Believe me, Captain," he says and reaches for something beside him. Though Jack can't see what it is, he hears the clank of metal against metal. "I will."
Two Weeks Earlier:
A wash of sounds - people haggling, things being moved, objects clanging together, and the low-pitched hum of what can only be engines - combine into a joyful cacophony that almost deafens her the instant she opens the double doors of the TARDIS. Jack called this place Ternifin or something like that. “Best view in this galaxy,” he claimed.
He's right. Just beyond the mass of people, she can see windows. No, not windows. Viewports. And just beyond that protective glass there're flashes of colour and light. Always moving, never in one spot for long. It almost looks alive, if that's possible.
"Go on, then," the Doctor says, giving her a gentle shove so she actually steps out of the TARDIS. "No gawking. Least not until you actually get to the viewports."
"Sorry," she murmurs and steps outside, letting the Doctor and Jack follow her out. It always amazes her that despite the number of people confined into such a small space - this room has to be about the size of a small church - no-one gives them a second glance. It's got to be something about the Doctor. He blends in, even when he shouldn't, and, somehow, that same gift has been passed on to her.
She can see what look like little shops lining two sides of the room and, when she turns to look at the Doctor, just behind him a hallway stretches into the distance. She gets jostled slightly by the throng of people and she tries her best to stay close to her friends. Good thing she's not claustrophobic. It'd be unbearable if she were.
The Doctor's hand wraps around her own, securing her firmly against his side. "C'mon," he says, tugging her with him. "You can't miss this."
"The Terniflan Cascade is one of the wonders of this galaxy," Jack tells her, somehow managing to remain by her side despite the jostling. "Surprised you've not been here before."
"Yeah, well, the first time he took me to a space station, I saw the Earth get blown up. This is a bit too tame for him," she says, bumping the Doctor's shoulder with her own.
"Oi! Nothing wrong with-" he begins.
"-almost getting killed?" she completes. She doesn't mind it - course she doesn't - but that doesn't mean he gets to say that there's nothing wrong with it. "Admittedly, seems to happen a lot. An' don't forget the bitchy trampoline."
"You complainin'?" the Doctor asks.
She shakes her head. "Nah. Love it. Almost getting killed, bitchy trampolines and all."
She's treated to one of the Doctor's wide, beaming smiles. "Good."
Together, the three of them thread their way through the crowd to reach the equally small lounge area. More people are standing rather than sitting, so she doesn't bother trying to steer the Doctor and Jack towards one of the sofas. Instead, she aims straight for the windows.
It's beautiful. Breathtaking, even. She's never seen so many colours all in one spot before. And the colours are all swirling, like some giant has dipped a finger into the mix and is stirring it slowly. Every once in a while, a bright flash of light appears - "Solar flares," Jack says.
"Wow," she murmurs.
"Thought you'd like it." Jack seems rather proud of himself. But he deserves to be. This is a wonderful spot.
"So this station's jus' here because of the cascade?" she asks.
"Nope. There's a market on the other side of the station. Got some rare parts there, too. Might take a look around, see if there's something that might be useful," the Doctor replies. He's pointedly not implying that the TARDIS is broken again, which is somewhat reassuring. Then again, this is the bloke who insists that there's nothing wrong with the ship when they land rather roughly and she ends up on the floor. He insists that she doesn't know how to balance properly.
She knows the truth.
"The market’s got a good restaurant too. And while we’re here, there's another part of the market I'd like to look at. Need to pick up some replacement parts of my own," Jack says.
A faint look of distaste flickers across the Doctor's face and she realises what Jack's talking about. He needs parts for his weapons. "Meet in an hour, then, for lunch?" she asks.
With a verbal agreement, they wander towards the market. Once she's shown where the restaurant is, she wanders off herself, but not too far away from the Doctor. She knows better than to risk getting herself lost. Bad things tend to happen when she does.
Perfect. It’s worked like a dream so far. Plenty of brownie points earned with Rose for suggesting Terniflan, which is definitely a good thing and might also even earn him a point or two with the Doctor - and, even better, a chance to pick up the parts he needs to rebuild his compact laser deluxe. If he’s very, very lucky, the trader at that little stall that only those in the know are able to find might even have a spare battery for his sonic blaster. It’ll cost, but it’s worth it.
Half an hour later, he’s even more pleased with himself. He’s managed to locate every single part he was after except for the battery, and that’s just a matter of persuading Treceor to let him have it. The guy’s denying he’s got one, but Jack knows a lie when he hears one. The trader’s no doubt promised it to someone else and he reckons he’ll get a better price for it, or more repeat trade.
He leans lazily against the wall and smiles at Treceor. “You can name your own price. And I’m not averse to non-monetary terms, just so you know.”
Treceor rolls his eyes. “You freelancers are all the same. Want whatever you want now and think I’ll jump at the chance to sell it to you,” he drawls, sounding scathing. Jack’s not fooled, though. The guy’s only looked him over at least four times, and right now he’s not looking higher than Jack’s crotch. The battery’s as good as his.
A conversation from somewhere nearby catches his attention. That voice... The hairs on the back of his neck are suddenly standing on end.
Slowly, doing his best not to attract attention, he glances around. A cold chill runs through him.
Mercenaries. Three of the most highly-focused bastards in the business - part of a team the Agency used all the time whenever they wanted serious results with plausible deniability. He’s met these guys before, several times. And, beyond any doubt, they’ll know about his little bust-up with the Agency.
Shit!
He’s at the end of the hallway; the only way out is back the way he came. Past Gallax and his comrades. There’s no escape - not even an emergency exit. He’d hide behind Treceor’s stall, but he can see there just isn’t room. Too many boxes and crates.
And, of course, his Vortex manipulator is still burnt out from that time he had to use it and the teleport together to jump four centuries and six planets. That’s something else he was going to get parts for today. Damn. Damn it anyway!
Time to think fast, and prepare for the worst. It’s three against one, and while those are odds he’s beaten before he doesn’t have a working weapon. No question at all that these guys do - and that they’ll have no compunction about using them even in this busy area with lots of civilians around. If Gallax captures him, it’ll be next stop the Time Agency.
With another cautious glance over his shoulder, he strips off his Vortex manipulator. That’s the one thing the Agency would give anything to get back from him - and the one thing he’ll do anything to stop them getting their hands on. He’ll bet his Agency medals, too, that Gallax and his boys know that, and if they fail to take him prisoner they’ll gladly take his manipulator instead. With or without attached hand.
He leans forward over the stall, towards Treceor. “Look after this for me. I’ll be back for it.” A minute hesitation, then he adds, just in case, “If I’m not back within twenty minutes, give it to a tall guy with a buzz-cut wearing a leather jacket. Calls himself the Doctor. Okay?”
Without waiting for a response, he just shoves the wristband into Treceor’s hand and then turns, hoping for an opportunity to melt into the crowd.
He almost succeeds. Another two seconds and he’d have been past them. But right at the wrong second he feels malevolent eyes on him. Croal, Gallax’s more vicious sidekick, is staring right at him.
He breaks into a run. They’re after him, though, and firing. Stun setting is his guess; they’ll want to take him alive. Not if he can help it - dodging and weaving through the other browsers, he uses every trick he knows to evade capture.
Until he feels a burning pain in his back and the ground disappears from under him.
So the Captain’s got one or two good ideas. Doesn’t mean he’s not a waste of space.
Well, all right, he’s been on his best behaviour since the other night, when his ship blew up. Not flirting every second, and not obviously inventorying the TARDIS to see what he can steal. Still. Early days.
Good market, this. Strange, really, that he hasn’t been here in so long. In forty-five minutes, he’s managed to pick up some rare crystal power-cells, along with non-standard cabling and even a replacement power converter.
He needs to stop dawdling. It’s time to meet Rose and Jack at the restaurant. With reluctance, he heads in that direction, past stalls he hasn’t had a chance to examine yet. After lunch, maybe. Give Rose a few more credits and point her in the direction of the spa; that’ll keep her content for a few hours. The Captain’ll be fine; looks like Jack’s as happy as he is poking around this sort of place. Mind, does the bloke even have any money? Not as if he had the chance to rescue anything from his ship.
He shakes his head. Jack’s well able to look after himself. Probably had credits and coins from all over the universe tucked in pockets in that RAF uniform of his, and access codes for bank accounts in every tax haven stored in his wrist-computer.
Rose is waiting at the restaurant entrance, looking around her, obviously searching for the two of them. Her eyes light up when she sees him, but she continues glancing around. “Captain not here yet, then?”
“No. Haven’t seen him.” Her expression clouds over for an instant, but then she smiles. “If he’s anything like you, he’s probably haggling over some useless, broken bit of metal nobody else wants.”
“Oi! Nothin’ I buy’s useless!”
“Yeah, right. That’d be why the cupboards in the console room are so full of junk stuff falls out every time you open them.”
He shakes his head. “Humans. Don’t have a clue, you don’t.”
“You’re as bad as Mickey,” she continues. “His flat’s full of oily, rusted bits of engines he swears will come in handy some day. Haven’t seen him use one of them yet.”
Oh, now he’s being compared to Ricky the Idiot? “What’s keepin’ Jack? ’Bout time he got his arse back here.”
“Hope nothing’s happened to him.” Rose is frowning now.
“It’s only fifteen minutes. Like you said, he’s probably distracted. Probably found someone to flirt with, knowing him.” Someone to shag, even more likely. He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Come on. I’m not waitin’ for him any longer. If he gets here in time, he can join us. If not, he’ll just have to do without lunch.”
More than half an hour later, though, he and Rose have almost finished eating and there’s still no sign of Jack. Bloody inconsiderate of the bloke. If the Captain wants to spend the day shagging, it’s no skin off his nose. It’s not like he cares what Jack gets up to when they’re outside the TARDIS, but he should have some consideration for Rose. She doesn’t need to know what their latest acquisition is getting up to, and this is just going to make her ask questions.
“We should look for him,” she says, worry-lines over her eyes, as they leave the restaurant.
“Rose, he’s a big boy. He doesn’t need babysittin’. As long as he’s back at the TARDIS by the time we’re ready to leave, that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, but he was supposed to meet us.” She’s looking up at him, concern in her eyes. “He wouldn’t just not have turned up.”
“How d’you know? Rose, we barely know the bloke, an’ what we do know is he’s a conman.”
“Ex-conman.” Her voice is firm. “He told us. Yesterday at breakfast, remember? Said he was never doing anything like that again, not after what happened.”
He shrugs. Danger and near-death situations make people do all sorts of things, make all sorts of promises. Doesn’t mean they don’t forget all about it again once memories fade. “We barely know him,” he repeats.
“I don’t care.” She glares at him. “You do what you want, Doctor. I’m goin’ to look for Jack.”
He knows when he’s backed into a corner, all right. With a heavy sigh, he takes her hand and leads the way towards the weaponry market.
Jack’s got to be in some sort of trouble, she’s sure of it. He wouldn’t just not appear, whatever the Doctor thinks.
It’s been two hours now, though, and they’ve combed every inch of the weapons section. No sign of him anywhere. She’s asked lots of the stallholders, too, describing Jack to them, but they all said they don’t remember him. “Been busy today, lady. How’d you expect me to remember one guy out of hundreds?”
“Rose.” The Doctor’s voice is sharp, calling her back to him.
“What?”
“Look, he’s gone, right? You have to accept that. Come back to the TARDIS - time we went.”
“What d’you mean, gone? An’ no way! I’m not goin’ anywhere, not until we’ve found Jack.”
“I mean gone. This place is a space station, right? Ships are comin’ in an’ out of here all the time. Our so-called captain’s caught himself a lift on one of them, that’s all.”
No. She doesn’t believe it. “He wouldn’t do that,” she tells him flatly. “Jack wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying goodbye.”
She knows the Doctor’s rolling his eyes, but she refuses to look at him. She knows there’s no way Jack would just leave.
“Rose, we’ve looked all over. Nobody’s seen him. An’ that’s because as soon as he left us he went straight to the docking station and blagged his way onto a ship. Simple as that.”
“I don’t believe it.” Arms folded, she glares at him.
“Won’t believe it, you mean.” The Doctor huffs. “Why you have to be so stubborn, Rose Tyler...”
Ignoring him, she surveys the area again. Still no sign of a tall, handsome bloke in jeans and a T-shirt. And the Doctor’s right: there’s nowhere they haven’t searched yet.
Though, wait... “What’s that? Over there? See where those two blokes are just coming from!”
She thought it was just a dead end, but it looks like there’s another corridor. Immediately, she sets off at a jog, and it’s not lost on her that the Doctor’s following.
There is a hallway, and it leads to a part of the station they haven’t been before. But it’s a dead end. Just a short corridor, and at the end yet another stall, with a couple of customers browsing.
This time, the Doctor’s the one who goes up to the stallholder. “Excuse me, you seen a tall bloke, ‘bout my height? He was probably lookin’ for weapons parts.”
The stallholder’s eyes narrow. Then he leans closer. “You called the Doctor, by any chance?”
Her heart leaps. Jack’s been here! Has to have been. Who else could’ve mentioned the Doctor here?
“Might be,” the Doctor answers. “Depends who’s askin’. An’ why.”
“Look, it’s no skin off my nose,” the stallholder says, scowling. “There was a guy here, yeah. He was looking for a battery for a Villengard-manufactured blaster. We were just getting into negotiations when he freaked about something. No idea what, but he gave me something and told me to hold onto it until he came back - or if he didn’t come back to give it to somebody called the Doctor.”
“That’s me,” the Doctor says, and his voice is now authoritative. “I’m the Doctor. Give it me. Whatever he left with you, give it me.”
The stallholder backs away. “How do I know if you’re who you say you are?”
“Because the man you saw is called Captain Jack Harkness. This is what he looks like.” The Doctor flips open the psychic paper - she hadn’t even noticed him taking it out - and holds it out to the stallholder. “He’s travellin’ with me, an’ we’ve been looking for him for the last couple of hours. An’ if something scared him, then that means he’s in trouble, an’ if you’ve got anything that’s gonna help us find him then you better hand it over. Now.”
“All right, all right!” The stallholder reaches under his table, then hands over something she recognises instantly.
It’s Jack’s wristband. The one she's rather certain he never even takes off when he sleeps, since he certainly is never without it in her company.
Fresh blood wells from the wounds decorating his chest and arms. He knows what's going to happen next. They've left his groin alone, probably to make him anticipate the inevitable. They know what would hurt someone most - not just because of the physical pain, but more the psychological. He can't let them know what he's feeling. How he's reacting. He can't show how much he's hurting. It'd give Franklin too much pleasure to see him break.
"Is that all you've got?" he asks between drawing in painful breaths. Something is definitely broken inside him. It shouldn't hurt this much to breathe.
"It won't help," Franklin says, almost caressing his cheek with the knife. "They're not coming. Your friends have left you. Isn't that who you're waiting for?"
He can't stop the wince at the mention of them. The Doctor. Rose. He thinks of them as his friends, but are they? Are they really? If they cared, they would've come for him by now. If they wanted him, they'd be here.
"Doesn't matter," he says and he's rather proud of himself, as his voice doesn't waver. It almost sounds strong.
"Doesn't it?" Franklin asks, trailing the knife down the line of Jack's throat. "I think it does. I think you're depressed because your friends won't come for you. I think you're ready to give up."
"Do you always talk this much?" he asks. "Go on, then. Do what you want."
"Oh, I will, Captain. But I intend our time together to last." Franklin's smile isn't reassuring. If anything, it's terrifying. "I like it when my prey struggles."
***
Chapter 2: Desperately Seeking Jack
x-posted to: dark_aegis & better_with_3