Fic: Sálvame (2/5?)
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.
Chapter 1: Better Off Dead
Chapter 2: Desperately Seeking Jack
The Doctor holds the Vortex manipulator in his hand, the leather and metal biting into his skin. It's a mistake anyone could've made. Look at Jack Harkness. He's a conman. Once a conman, always a conman. Not like he can be expected to actually trust the bloke. Not like he can actually believe that the conman wouldn't lie to Rose or to him. Not like he can actually believe Jack's not about to find himself a ride off the station, complete with a berth in the captain's bed.
He was wrong. Only explanation for it.
"Did you see where he went?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at the trader.
"Course not! Got a business to run. You're lucky I even gave you that," the trader says, nodding at the wrist strap.
He shakes his head. "You didn't watch where a bloke lookin' like Jack went? Right in the middle of a negotiation? Sorry, don't buy it."
"Fine. Went that way." The trader waves his hand vaguely to the right.
"Did anyone go after him?"
"I didn't-"
All he has to do is take a half-step forward for the trader to hold up his hands and continue, "Yeah. Three people. Didn't see their faces, though."
Without so much as a goodbye or a thanks, he turns and grabs Rose's hand. "C'mon. Must be someone who saw what happened."
"Thanks," Rose tells the trader as he pulls her away.
They can't afford to dawdle. They've got to find someone who saw Jack get taken. Too many humans or human-like people on the station for him to search for him. Only thing he could've used that might've helped find the bloke is currently in his hand, instead of on Jack’s wrist where it’d be of some use.
"Rose, ask around. See if anyone saw Jack get taken. They probably won't be willin' to talk much. But you've got to try. Meet back here in ten minutes," he says. "An' try to keep me in sight if you can. Don't want to lose you." Too, he adds to himself.
She smiles at him. "Won't go far. Same to you, yeah? Can't lose the designated driver." With that, she leaves.
Right. He really needs to tell her about the fast return switch. Might be useful to know. That and teaching her how to fly the TARDIS.
Spotting a likely-looking person who seems to have been minding his particular shop for a while, he moves to join him. "Have you seen this bloke?" he asks, holding up the psychic paper. "Would've been about an hour ago. Might've been running from someone?"
The man looks at him suspiciously. "Who's asking?"
He hesitates only for a moment before he adds, "I'm his friend. He got taken by someone. I'm trying to find him."
He feels as though he's being weighed. Not right, that. Time Lord, him. If anyone should be doing the weighing, it's him. "All right. I believe ya. I saw him. Was with three blokes. Nasty-looking characters. Mercenaries, if I remember correctly."
"What happened?"
"He got shot. One of the mercenaries said as loud as he could that his friend was drunk. I know a lie when I see one, I do. Your friend was knocked out and they took him with them. Towards the docks," the man says.
"Thanks," he says and starts to move away when the man grabs his arm.
"Be careful. Those mercenaries. They're bad news."
He nods. "I will. Thanks again."
So, mercenaries. What would they want Jack for? Must be for some sort of a bounty. People like that don't lift a finger unless they're getting paid for it. Question is who or what would want to pay money for Jack.
"They’re time-travellers," Rose says as she joins him, answering his unspoken question.
"What?" he asks.
"The blokes who took Jack. Met someone who said they were lookin’ for parts for a time-ship."
Time-travellers? Pretty rare, especially in this neck of the woods. "C'mon. Got to see if we can find out what ship they took. Might be able to trace it." He doesn't say that, if the mercenaries do have a time ship, they'd probably start jumping time tracks the instant they left the station. That'd make things difficult. More than difficult - practically impossible.
Except they don’t know who they’re up against. Used to do six impossible things before breakfast, he did. Finding Jack? Easy.
Rose watches the Doctor as he practically flies around the console, flipping switches here and turning knobs there. Jack's wrist band sits prominently on the centre of the console, an ever-present reminder of just who they're trying to find.
They found out approximately what time the mercenaries left the station relatively easily. Mostly thanks, she thinks, to the Doctor's patented glower. But Jack’s kidnappers’ ship is a time-ship. Skipping around in time all over the place, according to the Doctor.
"Can't we jus', I dunno, jump back in time and find them before they leave the station?" she asks.
He pauses in his frantic movements to look at her, something in his expression sad. "Nope. Part of the events now. Can't jump back an' risk meeting ourselves. We lost Jack an' we have to wait this length of time before we can try to find him."
"Who said anything about going back onto the station?" she counters, arching an eyebrow at him. "We know what ship it was, yeah? Why can't we just jump back, hover outside the station, an' track the ship from there?"
His jaw drops. She's somehow managed to either startle or surprise him. Whatever it is, she thinks it must be good since he goes back to his moving around the console. "That's right! We can do that. Fantastic!"
She grins and holds on as he sets the TARDIS in motion. When they re-materialise they're in space, just outside of the space station. The Doctor's making sure they're right by the docks rather than by the viewports. Wouldn't do to be spotted by themselves. That'd ruin the entire thing.
"Ah-ha! There it is," the Doctor exclaims and the TARDIS is moving again. "I'll jus' put a tether on it. That way they'll pull us as - No! No, no, no, no." The Doctor is frantically changing dials and manipulating switches as he moves about the console.
"What? What's wrong?" she asks, clinging onto the railing as the TARDIS bucks beneath her.
"They're jumping time tracks already. Didn't wait until they were clear of the station before jumping. Idiots! Could've caught something up in their temporal wake if they weren't careful." The TARDIS rocks violently as they chase after the mercenaries.
The violent movements of the TARDIS seem to continue for a lifetime. She feels as though her teeth are about to rattle free from her head. But that's not what worries her. It's the way the Doctor looks. The fierce expression on his face doesn't bode well for what they're trying to do.
"They're jumping faster than we can follow. I can only make a guess about where they're heading."
"What guarantee will we have that we're gonna find him wherever we end up?" she asks. It's got to be a good question, right? Who knows when exactly when and where they're going to stop.
"None," the Doctor says, and that single word does its best to diminish what little hope she has.
The knife scrapes a line along his throat. It hurts, just enough for him to know that there’s superficial bleeding but no serious damage. Of course not. They don’t want him to die that easily.
Better his throat than lower on his body, anyway. He’s still intact down there, which reminds him that he should have known he won’t die yet. There’s a lot more of this to come. That was always Franklin’s favourite part, after all. His favourite interrogation sessions were the ones that lasted long enough for him to start carving up the victim’s crotch.
“Are you ready to give up yet, Captain?” Franklin asks, his grinning face multiplied by three in front of his unfocused eyes. “Ready to admit your so-called friends are never going to come for you? That we’re all you’ve got?”
He says nothing. What Hynes doesn’t know, and what he’ll never tell the bastard, is that he knows the Doctor won’t come. Was never coming.
Why should he? They barely knew each other. He’d been on the TARDIS for a couple of days, that’s all. He’s well aware that the Doctor’s rescue of him from his doomed ship had been grudging at best. The guy felt he owed it to him not to let him die after he’d saved everyone on the ground from the bomb, that was all. But the Doctor hadn’t wanted him on board the TARDIS.
No, if the Doctor didn't want him on the TARDIS, why wouldn't he have been dropped off on the first inhabitable planet in his own century? He can't think like that. He can't let himself hope for anything. In all likelihood, the Doctor’ll have been only too happy to assume that his unwanted passenger took the opportunity to find himself another route back into time and space. He and Rose will be well on their way to the other side of the universe by now, back to doing whatever they were doing before they had a runaway Chula ambulance thrown into their path.
“All you have to do is beg, Captain. Beg me and it’ll stop.” The knife travels back across his throat, leaving another stinging river of warmth behind. For an instant, he’s seized with the temptation to push his head back, forcing his neck upwards and closer to the sharp blade. The couple of seconds before Franklin reacts would be all it’d take to end the pain for good.
But, whatever else he is, he’s not a coward. Not any more. He won’t take the easy way out.
Whatever it takes, however long it takes, sooner or later this will end. And then... then he’ll find his way out and start again.
But how? The bindings are too tight, his movements too restricted, to try one of his usual stunts. Franklin has no interest in him in that way. And without leverage there's not much he can do but grin and bear this.
He barely notices it when something gets pressed against his shoulder. It's another bit of sensory information to a body already overloaded with pain. It's not until he hears the hiss that he realises what it was.
Hypospray. The bastard just dosed him with something. He can feel the chemicals burn as they emanate from his shoulder.
“Beg you... to stop?” he scoffs through the pain. His vision, already blurred from pain, starts to darken. Chemical blindfold. Damn. “Didn’t I tell you? I get off on this sort of stuff. Ooh, baby,” he pretends to moan. “Gimme m-”
The loud cracking noise, accompanied by excruciating pain, is, he knows, the sound of his arm being broken.
“That doesn’t mean I’m givin’ up.” Bracing his hands on the console, the Doctor holds Rose’s gaze for a long moment. “He’s my responsibility. I’m gonna find him and rescue him.”
He can see the fear in Rose’s eyes, but she looks straight back at him. “He’s our responsibility, right, Doctor? I’m the one who found ‘im.”
“I’m the one who let him stay.” He looks down at the console again and turns dials that don’t need to be turned.
“Does it really matter?” Rose almost falls backwards as the TARDIS lurches again. “We have to find him. That’s all that matters.”
“Yep.” He stares at the screen. There’s nothing to see, but maybe if he looks close enough for long enough something will appear. Something he’s missed.
“Why would they have taken him?” Rose asks, and he knows without turning to look at her that she’s looking at him, wanting him to have all the answers. She trusts him, and that burns. She believes him when he tells her that he’s a genius, that he knows what he’s doing, that he can do anything.
The truth is that he can’t. He couldn’t stop Jabe from dying. Couldn’t see the truth in time to save Gwyneth. He couldn’t save Rose’s dad. And now he can’t find Jack in order to rescue him.
“Dunno,” he mutters. Then he freezes. “Why? Good question. Very good question.” They were mercenaries, the blokes who took Jack. And, if that stallholder got it right, Jack knew them. Was trying to avoid being seen by them. And he felt pessimistic enough about his chances that he handed over his precious wrist-computer rather than have it taken with him.
Who’d want to get their hands on that? Who would it mean anything to? And who’d pay good money to get their hands on Captain Jack Harkness?
“The Time Agency,” he announces, his voice flat. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Stupid, me.” It’s even in the right direction, the way the mercenaries’ ship was heading before he lost it.
“You think the Time Agency paid them to take him?” Rose sounds anxious. “But he used to work for them. Then he tried to con them, right? Is that why they took him? To put him on trial or something?”
“If I know the Time Agency, putting him on trial’s the last thing they’d do.” And he’s not going to tell her the first thing that comes to mind. “He was conning them, yeah, but it’s got to be more than that. One thing about Jack: he was a useless conman. Annoyin’, like a fly that won’t go away, but not a serious threat. That’s not why they want him.”
“Why, then?”
He’s given this a lot of thought since they met the lad and he invited Jack on boards the TARDIS. After all, the Time Agency’s got a powerful reach; did he really want to end up on their radar? Time Lord, him, though; he can handle the Time Agency, or so he thought. “Something else. Something to do with why they took his memories. He’s made some enemies. People who think he’s a threat. That’s why they want him.”
“Right.” Rose moves closer to him; her hips are pressing against his thigh now. “We’re gonna go an’ get him, right?”
He turns to grin down at her, a glittery smile that’s made entire species quake. “Oh, yeah.” With lightning-fast movements, he spins the wheel, shifts the Vortex loop and pumps the vector tracker, and finally floors the helmic regulator. “We’re goin’ right into the Time Agency, and we’re not gonna leave until we’ve found him.”
Rose smiles back, a stubborn, determined look he’s already used to seeing. “Good.”
Because the mercenaries were jumping time-tracks, the Doctor says, they’re probably a week or more behind Jack now. The problem with trying to follow something that’s doing that is that it’s far too easy to take a jump too far in one direction or another and then lose them entirely.
The thought that Jack’s been in the Agency’s hands a week is making her stomach roil. She’s having to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself shouting at the Doctor to go back, take the TARDIS back to the space station and stop Jack getting kidnapped at all. If the Agency’s had him for over a week, what will they have done to him?
All she knows about the Time Agency is the little Jack’s said, and that’s not much. But it’s enough to send shivers through her. “You don’t want to have the Agency as your enemy,” Jack said when she asked him straight out what the organisation is all about. “Thing is, when I was working for them I thought it was a real hero’s job. Closed my eyes to too much stuff I didn’t like. I told myself it was necessary to get the job done, to protect my people. Now, though...” He pulled a face, and his eyes went distant, cold. “If I could shut the whole place down, I would.”
“Big place, right?” she says now to the Doctor, who’s completely focused on his instruments. “How we gonna find him?”
He looks up abruptly and grins at her again. “You wanted a bit of Spock? Right. Get me somethin’ from his room. Toothbrush or comb or somethin’ that’ll have his DNA on it.” Her eyes widen. “Go on!” he adds, waving his hand impatiently at her.
She goes. It’s the first time she’s been in Jack’s room, and for a second she’s too fascinated to see what the TARDIS has provided for him to remember what she’s there for.
The size of the bed is her first surprise. For someone like Jack, she’d have expected a huge bed, with satin sheets and an elaborately sexy headboard and footboard, and even a mirror over the ceiling. Just on the right side of tacky. Instead, the bed’s narrow, pressed up against the wall, and with plain covers. The rest of the room’s equally monk-like, with a small wardrobe and a simple desk and chair and just a couple of books on the desk.
In the bathroom, she finds what she’s looking for: there’s a shelf with styling products and a hairbrush with several hairs caught in the bristles. The huge shower catches her eye; the cubicle’s big enough for at least two people - or for one to have a really luxurious shower - and there are at least six jets scattered around the cubicle in addition to the main one overhead.
So it’s not that the TARDIS isn’t being nice to Jack, which she’d started to wonder on seeing the bedroom. But she’d have expected his preference to be completely different, and that’s a mystery she’d like to get to the bottom of.
Later, though. When they’ve got him back.
The Doctor accepts the brush without comment, and sets about doing something complicated with the hairs, a piece of equipment that looks like an ancient razor but that he swears is very high-tech, and the sonic screwdriver.
Once he’s finished, he shoves the hair and razor into a hole on the console. Immediately, the surrounding area lights up and something starts beeping, and a satisfied look appears on the Doctor’s face. “See that? Brilliant, I am.”
“What’s that, then?”
“DNA trace. Couldn’t do it while we were still jumpin’ time-tracks, but we’re hovering over the Time Agency now. An’ that beeping? Means we’ve found Jack.”
Found him, yeah, but it’s too soon to be counting any chickens. He’s got to get Jack out of there before that - and then see what damage has been done. The one thing he hasn’t told Rose yet is that the DNA trace is highly sophisticated. In particular, it can distinguish between living and dead subjects, and it’s told him that Captain Jack Harkness is still alive. "Jack's alive," he tells her.
But there's a problem. If he’s alive at least two weeks after being kidnapped and taken to the Time Agency, then he’s not going to be in very good shape. Because the Time Agency only keeps prisoners alive in one of two circumstances. If they’re worth something, or if the prisoner’s got something they want. Information, usually. In either case, but especially the latter, the prisoner gets tortured.
Jaw taut, he concentrates on piloting the TARDIS to the location where his equipment’s telling him he’ll find Jack. A secure room, he discovers as they draw closer. A room no-one can get in or out of without the appropriate security codes and permissions... or a TARDIS.
The TARDIS materialises, and he studies the exterior image as it comes into focus on the screen. It’s just as he expected. Without a word, he adjusts a few controls on the console, then turns to Rose.
“Right, then! You stay here. Be back in a mo’.”
“What?” Her eyes flash and her jaw goes stubborn. “I’m comin’ with you, of course!”
“No, you’re not. It’s too dangerous. Stay here.” He lays a hand firmly on her shoulder and presses her down onto the captain’s chair, taking care to switch off the monitor as he does so.
“If it’s dangerous, you’re gonna need me,” she protests. “Gonna take both of us to rescue Jack.”
“No, it’s not.” His voice is clipped, and a harsh tone creeps in. “You think I’ve got time to be worryin’ about you an’ all out there? I’ll have enough to do getting Jack free and back in here. For once, just stay put. Please,” he adds after a moment, allowing her to see some of the anxiety he’s feeling.
She holds the mulish look for a few seconds, then her shoulders slump and she looks resigned. “All right. But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes I’m comin’ after you!”
That’s fine with him. He’s not planning on being any more than ten minutes, after all. Five’d be even better.
He nods. “Good.” Without another word, he turns and heads for the door.
God. That last hypo must have had a hallucinatory drug in it. Cause he could swear he just heard the TARDIS landing.
It’s the one thing he wants, the one hope that’s keeping him going here, yet he knows it’s the one thing that’s not going to happen. And Franklin must know it too; there’s enough psychic probes around the Time Agency for some to have been used on him.
If only he could see... but that’s part of the plan, of course. Torture’s much more effective when the effect is heightened by removing one sense, exaggerating the others.
“Step away from Harkness.”
Moisture pools in his eyes. It’s too much. Now, on top of the TARDIS, he’s imagining the Doctor’s voice. “Franklin, you bastard,” he chokes out.
It's not fair. The Doctor can't be here. He's been left behind, abandoned, which is exactly what should happen. Why would the Doctor bother trying to rescue him? That's why it's not true. The Doctor isn't here. The TARDIS didn't just materialise nearby. And he's gone quietly - or not so quietly, if Franklin has anything to say about it - mad.
"Jack! Jack, it's me. The Doctor. Can you hear me? What the hell did you give him?"
The anger is actually rather surprising. His subconscious is good. Why would the Doctor show concern over him? How many times has he heard that Oncoming Storm rant? Felt the heat of the Doctor's glare? He might be blind, but he can practically see it now. Or would do, if it were real.
"You can't stop me. Now get away from him! He's the property of the Time Agency," Franklin declares.
There's a sound of a scuffle. A boot hitting the floor just right to produce a squeak. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. Grunts. Groans. And finally the sharp thud of something heavy hitting the ground. A body?
The feel of a hand on his cheek causes him to flinch, shying away from the touch. However, surprisingly, the touch doesn't bring him pain. It simply stays there, gently, softly, almost soothing.
No. It's another trick. Isn't that common, though? Torture first, then nurse their victim back to health, fool them with kindness, before that gentle touch becomes torture once more. Until he's begging for kindness.
Too bad. "Changing tack, Franklin?" he asks, whispering the words through his cracked lips. "Make me think you're my friend now? Ha! Liar."
"Jack, what've they done to you?"
"You already know," he snaps and refuses to say anything else.
When the bindings are released, he feels his body pitch forward - his muscles have apparently forgotten how to hold him up. He's caught with gentle hands, though and eased into a semi-erect position.
"Easy, Jack, easy," that too familiar voice soothes. "We'll get you sorted in no time."
Apparently they've come to the 'soothe the victim' phase of the interrogation.
She rushes to the door the instant it starts to swing open, but she skids to a stop the instant she sees Jack. She wouldn’t’ve recognised him if it weren’t for the Doctor’s presence, carefully helping him over the threshold and into the interior of the TARDIS.
Myriad expressions cross Jack’s face even as he mutters through raw and bleeding lips, “You bastard, you even got the sound right.”
“Jack? Jack, what’s wrong?” she asks, even though that’s a stupid question. She can see some of what’s wrong just by looking at him, his body naked and stained with rusty, caked-on blood, as well as splashes of bright crimson. His arm is being held at an awkward angle - broken, most likely - and the skin she can see through the blood is mottled with bruises and criss-crossed with cuts. He looks terrible, but she’s glad that he’s alive.
Jack’s lips purse together and he shakes his head, letting the Doctor steer him towards the medbay. She thinks, from the set of his jaw, that if he were stronger he’d fight against the Doctor’s gentle grip.
What’s happened to him?
She longs to ask the Doctor, but she doesn’t want to speak about it in front of Jack. He’s been hurt too much for that. But more than she wants to ask the Doctor about what he found - besides Jack in this state - she wants to hug the former conman, to hold him as tightly as his injuries would allow. Instead, she moves to Jack’s side, helping the Doctor as they take him to the medbay.
“Jack, it’s gonna be all right. The Doctor’ll sort you,” she says, trying to be as reassuring as possible. This close up to him, it’s a lot easier to see what he’s been through. He’s been tortured. Broken bones, bruising, cuts. What other injuries does he have that she can’t see? How has he managed to withstand it?
“Stop it,” Jack says bitterly. “Just stop it. I don’t give a damn about your desire to break me, Franklin. Nor do I care about just how well you’ve managed to mimic them. Just kill me or keep hurting me. Don’t do this.” His voice cracks on the last word. She's alarmed to hear how rough his breathing sounds.
“Jack, it’s us. Really. It’s me, Rose, can’t you see me?” she asks, leaning down slightly so she can see his eyes.
They’re wide open, and staring, but they don’t focus on anything. Oh, god. “He’s blind,” she says, shocked.
That explains it, right? That's why he doesn't seem to recognise them. Well, he recognises them, but he doesn't realise it's really them and not some - what? Hallucination? Is that it?
God, what has he been through?
Jack sways alarmingly and collapses heavily against the Doctor, gasping in what can only be pain. "C'mon, Jack," the Doctor says in a gentle voice that terrifies her more than the marks on Jack's body. He only uses that voice when things are particularly bad.
He doesn't answer. Why doesn't he answer? Yeah, he might think they're a hallucination, but wouldn't he answer?
"Jack?" the Doctor says, stopping in the middle of the hallway. They're so close to the medbay. Just a few more steps, but something's wrong. She knows something's wrong.
The Doctor tries to shift, to hold Jack a little more steadily, when he slips out of the Time Lord's arms. The sound his body makes as he collapses bonelessly onto the floor echoes both in the corridor and in her mind. There's no life in that body, no resistance. Only limpness.
The world seems to slow down. The Doctor's saying something - no, shouting something - as he falls to his knees beside Jack, his hands immediately moving to his throat to feel for a pulse.
Her attention isn't on the Doctor's movements now. No, it's on Jack's chest.
Jack's unmoving chest.
He's not breathing. Oh, god. Jack's not breathing.
***
Chapter 3: Resuscitation
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.
Chapter 1: Better Off Dead
Chapter 2: Desperately Seeking Jack
The Doctor holds the Vortex manipulator in his hand, the leather and metal biting into his skin. It's a mistake anyone could've made. Look at Jack Harkness. He's a conman. Once a conman, always a conman. Not like he can be expected to actually trust the bloke. Not like he can actually believe that the conman wouldn't lie to Rose or to him. Not like he can actually believe Jack's not about to find himself a ride off the station, complete with a berth in the captain's bed.
He was wrong. Only explanation for it.
"Did you see where he went?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at the trader.
"Course not! Got a business to run. You're lucky I even gave you that," the trader says, nodding at the wrist strap.
He shakes his head. "You didn't watch where a bloke lookin' like Jack went? Right in the middle of a negotiation? Sorry, don't buy it."
"Fine. Went that way." The trader waves his hand vaguely to the right.
"Did anyone go after him?"
"I didn't-"
All he has to do is take a half-step forward for the trader to hold up his hands and continue, "Yeah. Three people. Didn't see their faces, though."
Without so much as a goodbye or a thanks, he turns and grabs Rose's hand. "C'mon. Must be someone who saw what happened."
"Thanks," Rose tells the trader as he pulls her away.
They can't afford to dawdle. They've got to find someone who saw Jack get taken. Too many humans or human-like people on the station for him to search for him. Only thing he could've used that might've helped find the bloke is currently in his hand, instead of on Jack’s wrist where it’d be of some use.
"Rose, ask around. See if anyone saw Jack get taken. They probably won't be willin' to talk much. But you've got to try. Meet back here in ten minutes," he says. "An' try to keep me in sight if you can. Don't want to lose you." Too, he adds to himself.
She smiles at him. "Won't go far. Same to you, yeah? Can't lose the designated driver." With that, she leaves.
Right. He really needs to tell her about the fast return switch. Might be useful to know. That and teaching her how to fly the TARDIS.
Spotting a likely-looking person who seems to have been minding his particular shop for a while, he moves to join him. "Have you seen this bloke?" he asks, holding up the psychic paper. "Would've been about an hour ago. Might've been running from someone?"
The man looks at him suspiciously. "Who's asking?"
He hesitates only for a moment before he adds, "I'm his friend. He got taken by someone. I'm trying to find him."
He feels as though he's being weighed. Not right, that. Time Lord, him. If anyone should be doing the weighing, it's him. "All right. I believe ya. I saw him. Was with three blokes. Nasty-looking characters. Mercenaries, if I remember correctly."
"What happened?"
"He got shot. One of the mercenaries said as loud as he could that his friend was drunk. I know a lie when I see one, I do. Your friend was knocked out and they took him with them. Towards the docks," the man says.
"Thanks," he says and starts to move away when the man grabs his arm.
"Be careful. Those mercenaries. They're bad news."
He nods. "I will. Thanks again."
So, mercenaries. What would they want Jack for? Must be for some sort of a bounty. People like that don't lift a finger unless they're getting paid for it. Question is who or what would want to pay money for Jack.
"They’re time-travellers," Rose says as she joins him, answering his unspoken question.
"What?" he asks.
"The blokes who took Jack. Met someone who said they were lookin’ for parts for a time-ship."
Time-travellers? Pretty rare, especially in this neck of the woods. "C'mon. Got to see if we can find out what ship they took. Might be able to trace it." He doesn't say that, if the mercenaries do have a time ship, they'd probably start jumping time tracks the instant they left the station. That'd make things difficult. More than difficult - practically impossible.
Except they don’t know who they’re up against. Used to do six impossible things before breakfast, he did. Finding Jack? Easy.
Rose watches the Doctor as he practically flies around the console, flipping switches here and turning knobs there. Jack's wrist band sits prominently on the centre of the console, an ever-present reminder of just who they're trying to find.
They found out approximately what time the mercenaries left the station relatively easily. Mostly thanks, she thinks, to the Doctor's patented glower. But Jack’s kidnappers’ ship is a time-ship. Skipping around in time all over the place, according to the Doctor.
"Can't we jus', I dunno, jump back in time and find them before they leave the station?" she asks.
He pauses in his frantic movements to look at her, something in his expression sad. "Nope. Part of the events now. Can't jump back an' risk meeting ourselves. We lost Jack an' we have to wait this length of time before we can try to find him."
"Who said anything about going back onto the station?" she counters, arching an eyebrow at him. "We know what ship it was, yeah? Why can't we just jump back, hover outside the station, an' track the ship from there?"
His jaw drops. She's somehow managed to either startle or surprise him. Whatever it is, she thinks it must be good since he goes back to his moving around the console. "That's right! We can do that. Fantastic!"
She grins and holds on as he sets the TARDIS in motion. When they re-materialise they're in space, just outside of the space station. The Doctor's making sure they're right by the docks rather than by the viewports. Wouldn't do to be spotted by themselves. That'd ruin the entire thing.
"Ah-ha! There it is," the Doctor exclaims and the TARDIS is moving again. "I'll jus' put a tether on it. That way they'll pull us as - No! No, no, no, no." The Doctor is frantically changing dials and manipulating switches as he moves about the console.
"What? What's wrong?" she asks, clinging onto the railing as the TARDIS bucks beneath her.
"They're jumping time tracks already. Didn't wait until they were clear of the station before jumping. Idiots! Could've caught something up in their temporal wake if they weren't careful." The TARDIS rocks violently as they chase after the mercenaries.
The violent movements of the TARDIS seem to continue for a lifetime. She feels as though her teeth are about to rattle free from her head. But that's not what worries her. It's the way the Doctor looks. The fierce expression on his face doesn't bode well for what they're trying to do.
"They're jumping faster than we can follow. I can only make a guess about where they're heading."
"What guarantee will we have that we're gonna find him wherever we end up?" she asks. It's got to be a good question, right? Who knows when exactly when and where they're going to stop.
"None," the Doctor says, and that single word does its best to diminish what little hope she has.
The knife scrapes a line along his throat. It hurts, just enough for him to know that there’s superficial bleeding but no serious damage. Of course not. They don’t want him to die that easily.
Better his throat than lower on his body, anyway. He’s still intact down there, which reminds him that he should have known he won’t die yet. There’s a lot more of this to come. That was always Franklin’s favourite part, after all. His favourite interrogation sessions were the ones that lasted long enough for him to start carving up the victim’s crotch.
“Are you ready to give up yet, Captain?” Franklin asks, his grinning face multiplied by three in front of his unfocused eyes. “Ready to admit your so-called friends are never going to come for you? That we’re all you’ve got?”
He says nothing. What Hynes doesn’t know, and what he’ll never tell the bastard, is that he knows the Doctor won’t come. Was never coming.
Why should he? They barely knew each other. He’d been on the TARDIS for a couple of days, that’s all. He’s well aware that the Doctor’s rescue of him from his doomed ship had been grudging at best. The guy felt he owed it to him not to let him die after he’d saved everyone on the ground from the bomb, that was all. But the Doctor hadn’t wanted him on board the TARDIS.
No, if the Doctor didn't want him on the TARDIS, why wouldn't he have been dropped off on the first inhabitable planet in his own century? He can't think like that. He can't let himself hope for anything. In all likelihood, the Doctor’ll have been only too happy to assume that his unwanted passenger took the opportunity to find himself another route back into time and space. He and Rose will be well on their way to the other side of the universe by now, back to doing whatever they were doing before they had a runaway Chula ambulance thrown into their path.
“All you have to do is beg, Captain. Beg me and it’ll stop.” The knife travels back across his throat, leaving another stinging river of warmth behind. For an instant, he’s seized with the temptation to push his head back, forcing his neck upwards and closer to the sharp blade. The couple of seconds before Franklin reacts would be all it’d take to end the pain for good.
But, whatever else he is, he’s not a coward. Not any more. He won’t take the easy way out.
Whatever it takes, however long it takes, sooner or later this will end. And then... then he’ll find his way out and start again.
But how? The bindings are too tight, his movements too restricted, to try one of his usual stunts. Franklin has no interest in him in that way. And without leverage there's not much he can do but grin and bear this.
He barely notices it when something gets pressed against his shoulder. It's another bit of sensory information to a body already overloaded with pain. It's not until he hears the hiss that he realises what it was.
Hypospray. The bastard just dosed him with something. He can feel the chemicals burn as they emanate from his shoulder.
“Beg you... to stop?” he scoffs through the pain. His vision, already blurred from pain, starts to darken. Chemical blindfold. Damn. “Didn’t I tell you? I get off on this sort of stuff. Ooh, baby,” he pretends to moan. “Gimme m-”
The loud cracking noise, accompanied by excruciating pain, is, he knows, the sound of his arm being broken.
“That doesn’t mean I’m givin’ up.” Bracing his hands on the console, the Doctor holds Rose’s gaze for a long moment. “He’s my responsibility. I’m gonna find him and rescue him.”
He can see the fear in Rose’s eyes, but she looks straight back at him. “He’s our responsibility, right, Doctor? I’m the one who found ‘im.”
“I’m the one who let him stay.” He looks down at the console again and turns dials that don’t need to be turned.
“Does it really matter?” Rose almost falls backwards as the TARDIS lurches again. “We have to find him. That’s all that matters.”
“Yep.” He stares at the screen. There’s nothing to see, but maybe if he looks close enough for long enough something will appear. Something he’s missed.
“Why would they have taken him?” Rose asks, and he knows without turning to look at her that she’s looking at him, wanting him to have all the answers. She trusts him, and that burns. She believes him when he tells her that he’s a genius, that he knows what he’s doing, that he can do anything.
The truth is that he can’t. He couldn’t stop Jabe from dying. Couldn’t see the truth in time to save Gwyneth. He couldn’t save Rose’s dad. And now he can’t find Jack in order to rescue him.
“Dunno,” he mutters. Then he freezes. “Why? Good question. Very good question.” They were mercenaries, the blokes who took Jack. And, if that stallholder got it right, Jack knew them. Was trying to avoid being seen by them. And he felt pessimistic enough about his chances that he handed over his precious wrist-computer rather than have it taken with him.
Who’d want to get their hands on that? Who would it mean anything to? And who’d pay good money to get their hands on Captain Jack Harkness?
“The Time Agency,” he announces, his voice flat. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Stupid, me.” It’s even in the right direction, the way the mercenaries’ ship was heading before he lost it.
“You think the Time Agency paid them to take him?” Rose sounds anxious. “But he used to work for them. Then he tried to con them, right? Is that why they took him? To put him on trial or something?”
“If I know the Time Agency, putting him on trial’s the last thing they’d do.” And he’s not going to tell her the first thing that comes to mind. “He was conning them, yeah, but it’s got to be more than that. One thing about Jack: he was a useless conman. Annoyin’, like a fly that won’t go away, but not a serious threat. That’s not why they want him.”
“Why, then?”
He’s given this a lot of thought since they met the lad and he invited Jack on boards the TARDIS. After all, the Time Agency’s got a powerful reach; did he really want to end up on their radar? Time Lord, him, though; he can handle the Time Agency, or so he thought. “Something else. Something to do with why they took his memories. He’s made some enemies. People who think he’s a threat. That’s why they want him.”
“Right.” Rose moves closer to him; her hips are pressing against his thigh now. “We’re gonna go an’ get him, right?”
He turns to grin down at her, a glittery smile that’s made entire species quake. “Oh, yeah.” With lightning-fast movements, he spins the wheel, shifts the Vortex loop and pumps the vector tracker, and finally floors the helmic regulator. “We’re goin’ right into the Time Agency, and we’re not gonna leave until we’ve found him.”
Rose smiles back, a stubborn, determined look he’s already used to seeing. “Good.”
Because the mercenaries were jumping time-tracks, the Doctor says, they’re probably a week or more behind Jack now. The problem with trying to follow something that’s doing that is that it’s far too easy to take a jump too far in one direction or another and then lose them entirely.
The thought that Jack’s been in the Agency’s hands a week is making her stomach roil. She’s having to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself shouting at the Doctor to go back, take the TARDIS back to the space station and stop Jack getting kidnapped at all. If the Agency’s had him for over a week, what will they have done to him?
All she knows about the Time Agency is the little Jack’s said, and that’s not much. But it’s enough to send shivers through her. “You don’t want to have the Agency as your enemy,” Jack said when she asked him straight out what the organisation is all about. “Thing is, when I was working for them I thought it was a real hero’s job. Closed my eyes to too much stuff I didn’t like. I told myself it was necessary to get the job done, to protect my people. Now, though...” He pulled a face, and his eyes went distant, cold. “If I could shut the whole place down, I would.”
“Big place, right?” she says now to the Doctor, who’s completely focused on his instruments. “How we gonna find him?”
He looks up abruptly and grins at her again. “You wanted a bit of Spock? Right. Get me somethin’ from his room. Toothbrush or comb or somethin’ that’ll have his DNA on it.” Her eyes widen. “Go on!” he adds, waving his hand impatiently at her.
She goes. It’s the first time she’s been in Jack’s room, and for a second she’s too fascinated to see what the TARDIS has provided for him to remember what she’s there for.
The size of the bed is her first surprise. For someone like Jack, she’d have expected a huge bed, with satin sheets and an elaborately sexy headboard and footboard, and even a mirror over the ceiling. Just on the right side of tacky. Instead, the bed’s narrow, pressed up against the wall, and with plain covers. The rest of the room’s equally monk-like, with a small wardrobe and a simple desk and chair and just a couple of books on the desk.
In the bathroom, she finds what she’s looking for: there’s a shelf with styling products and a hairbrush with several hairs caught in the bristles. The huge shower catches her eye; the cubicle’s big enough for at least two people - or for one to have a really luxurious shower - and there are at least six jets scattered around the cubicle in addition to the main one overhead.
So it’s not that the TARDIS isn’t being nice to Jack, which she’d started to wonder on seeing the bedroom. But she’d have expected his preference to be completely different, and that’s a mystery she’d like to get to the bottom of.
Later, though. When they’ve got him back.
The Doctor accepts the brush without comment, and sets about doing something complicated with the hairs, a piece of equipment that looks like an ancient razor but that he swears is very high-tech, and the sonic screwdriver.
Once he’s finished, he shoves the hair and razor into a hole on the console. Immediately, the surrounding area lights up and something starts beeping, and a satisfied look appears on the Doctor’s face. “See that? Brilliant, I am.”
“What’s that, then?”
“DNA trace. Couldn’t do it while we were still jumpin’ time-tracks, but we’re hovering over the Time Agency now. An’ that beeping? Means we’ve found Jack.”
Found him, yeah, but it’s too soon to be counting any chickens. He’s got to get Jack out of there before that - and then see what damage has been done. The one thing he hasn’t told Rose yet is that the DNA trace is highly sophisticated. In particular, it can distinguish between living and dead subjects, and it’s told him that Captain Jack Harkness is still alive. "Jack's alive," he tells her.
But there's a problem. If he’s alive at least two weeks after being kidnapped and taken to the Time Agency, then he’s not going to be in very good shape. Because the Time Agency only keeps prisoners alive in one of two circumstances. If they’re worth something, or if the prisoner’s got something they want. Information, usually. In either case, but especially the latter, the prisoner gets tortured.
Jaw taut, he concentrates on piloting the TARDIS to the location where his equipment’s telling him he’ll find Jack. A secure room, he discovers as they draw closer. A room no-one can get in or out of without the appropriate security codes and permissions... or a TARDIS.
The TARDIS materialises, and he studies the exterior image as it comes into focus on the screen. It’s just as he expected. Without a word, he adjusts a few controls on the console, then turns to Rose.
“Right, then! You stay here. Be back in a mo’.”
“What?” Her eyes flash and her jaw goes stubborn. “I’m comin’ with you, of course!”
“No, you’re not. It’s too dangerous. Stay here.” He lays a hand firmly on her shoulder and presses her down onto the captain’s chair, taking care to switch off the monitor as he does so.
“If it’s dangerous, you’re gonna need me,” she protests. “Gonna take both of us to rescue Jack.”
“No, it’s not.” His voice is clipped, and a harsh tone creeps in. “You think I’ve got time to be worryin’ about you an’ all out there? I’ll have enough to do getting Jack free and back in here. For once, just stay put. Please,” he adds after a moment, allowing her to see some of the anxiety he’s feeling.
She holds the mulish look for a few seconds, then her shoulders slump and she looks resigned. “All right. But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes I’m comin’ after you!”
That’s fine with him. He’s not planning on being any more than ten minutes, after all. Five’d be even better.
He nods. “Good.” Without another word, he turns and heads for the door.
God. That last hypo must have had a hallucinatory drug in it. Cause he could swear he just heard the TARDIS landing.
It’s the one thing he wants, the one hope that’s keeping him going here, yet he knows it’s the one thing that’s not going to happen. And Franklin must know it too; there’s enough psychic probes around the Time Agency for some to have been used on him.
If only he could see... but that’s part of the plan, of course. Torture’s much more effective when the effect is heightened by removing one sense, exaggerating the others.
“Step away from Harkness.”
Moisture pools in his eyes. It’s too much. Now, on top of the TARDIS, he’s imagining the Doctor’s voice. “Franklin, you bastard,” he chokes out.
It's not fair. The Doctor can't be here. He's been left behind, abandoned, which is exactly what should happen. Why would the Doctor bother trying to rescue him? That's why it's not true. The Doctor isn't here. The TARDIS didn't just materialise nearby. And he's gone quietly - or not so quietly, if Franklin has anything to say about it - mad.
"Jack! Jack, it's me. The Doctor. Can you hear me? What the hell did you give him?"
The anger is actually rather surprising. His subconscious is good. Why would the Doctor show concern over him? How many times has he heard that Oncoming Storm rant? Felt the heat of the Doctor's glare? He might be blind, but he can practically see it now. Or would do, if it were real.
"You can't stop me. Now get away from him! He's the property of the Time Agency," Franklin declares.
There's a sound of a scuffle. A boot hitting the floor just right to produce a squeak. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. Grunts. Groans. And finally the sharp thud of something heavy hitting the ground. A body?
The feel of a hand on his cheek causes him to flinch, shying away from the touch. However, surprisingly, the touch doesn't bring him pain. It simply stays there, gently, softly, almost soothing.
No. It's another trick. Isn't that common, though? Torture first, then nurse their victim back to health, fool them with kindness, before that gentle touch becomes torture once more. Until he's begging for kindness.
Too bad. "Changing tack, Franklin?" he asks, whispering the words through his cracked lips. "Make me think you're my friend now? Ha! Liar."
"Jack, what've they done to you?"
"You already know," he snaps and refuses to say anything else.
When the bindings are released, he feels his body pitch forward - his muscles have apparently forgotten how to hold him up. He's caught with gentle hands, though and eased into a semi-erect position.
"Easy, Jack, easy," that too familiar voice soothes. "We'll get you sorted in no time."
Apparently they've come to the 'soothe the victim' phase of the interrogation.
She rushes to the door the instant it starts to swing open, but she skids to a stop the instant she sees Jack. She wouldn’t’ve recognised him if it weren’t for the Doctor’s presence, carefully helping him over the threshold and into the interior of the TARDIS.
Myriad expressions cross Jack’s face even as he mutters through raw and bleeding lips, “You bastard, you even got the sound right.”
“Jack? Jack, what’s wrong?” she asks, even though that’s a stupid question. She can see some of what’s wrong just by looking at him, his body naked and stained with rusty, caked-on blood, as well as splashes of bright crimson. His arm is being held at an awkward angle - broken, most likely - and the skin she can see through the blood is mottled with bruises and criss-crossed with cuts. He looks terrible, but she’s glad that he’s alive.
Jack’s lips purse together and he shakes his head, letting the Doctor steer him towards the medbay. She thinks, from the set of his jaw, that if he were stronger he’d fight against the Doctor’s gentle grip.
What’s happened to him?
She longs to ask the Doctor, but she doesn’t want to speak about it in front of Jack. He’s been hurt too much for that. But more than she wants to ask the Doctor about what he found - besides Jack in this state - she wants to hug the former conman, to hold him as tightly as his injuries would allow. Instead, she moves to Jack’s side, helping the Doctor as they take him to the medbay.
“Jack, it’s gonna be all right. The Doctor’ll sort you,” she says, trying to be as reassuring as possible. This close up to him, it’s a lot easier to see what he’s been through. He’s been tortured. Broken bones, bruising, cuts. What other injuries does he have that she can’t see? How has he managed to withstand it?
“Stop it,” Jack says bitterly. “Just stop it. I don’t give a damn about your desire to break me, Franklin. Nor do I care about just how well you’ve managed to mimic them. Just kill me or keep hurting me. Don’t do this.” His voice cracks on the last word. She's alarmed to hear how rough his breathing sounds.
“Jack, it’s us. Really. It’s me, Rose, can’t you see me?” she asks, leaning down slightly so she can see his eyes.
They’re wide open, and staring, but they don’t focus on anything. Oh, god. “He’s blind,” she says, shocked.
That explains it, right? That's why he doesn't seem to recognise them. Well, he recognises them, but he doesn't realise it's really them and not some - what? Hallucination? Is that it?
God, what has he been through?
Jack sways alarmingly and collapses heavily against the Doctor, gasping in what can only be pain. "C'mon, Jack," the Doctor says in a gentle voice that terrifies her more than the marks on Jack's body. He only uses that voice when things are particularly bad.
He doesn't answer. Why doesn't he answer? Yeah, he might think they're a hallucination, but wouldn't he answer?
"Jack?" the Doctor says, stopping in the middle of the hallway. They're so close to the medbay. Just a few more steps, but something's wrong. She knows something's wrong.
The Doctor tries to shift, to hold Jack a little more steadily, when he slips out of the Time Lord's arms. The sound his body makes as he collapses bonelessly onto the floor echoes both in the corridor and in her mind. There's no life in that body, no resistance. Only limpness.
The world seems to slow down. The Doctor's saying something - no, shouting something - as he falls to his knees beside Jack, his hands immediately moving to his throat to feel for a pulse.
Her attention isn't on the Doctor's movements now. No, it's on Jack's chest.
Jack's unmoving chest.
He's not breathing. Oh, god. Jack's not breathing.
***
Chapter 3: Resuscitation
x-posted to: dark_aegis & better_with_3