Fic - Little Girl Cries Wolf
Title: Little Girl Cries Wolf
Author: Ry (dreamsforlease / curseangel)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes, language, spoilers for Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords.
Characters/Pairings: Captain Jack Harkness, Lucy Saxon.
Inspiration: "Can't you just fix it for me? I'll pay you well. ...I'll pay you anything if you can end this." - The Dresden Dolls, "The Perfect Fit"
Summary: An act of desperation in one's darkest hour; or, the one opportunity Jack Harkness had to kill the Master and didn't take.
She didn't have to introduce herself; he'd seen her plenty of times before, knew her name from television broadcasts and the many, many times she had come here to watch him die or suffer. She would always stand to the back, he'd noticed, probably because she didn't want to get any blood on her nice clothes, which she would pick at nervously between the instant prior to death and the moment after returning from it. He'd noticed it; it had been a lot more noticeable in the first few weeks, but as weeks turned into months, they'd both become accustomed to it.
Lucy Saxon. He had taunted her, called her the Master's lapdog and been rewarded with a couple of hundred thousand volts once; another time, someone cut out his tongue for it, which made things considerably less tolerable for the few minutes between that and his actual death. She'd gotten him back later, tried to talk to him and sounded sweet until she twisted the knife between his ribs - literally. That had been the first time she killed him, he recalled; it hadn't been the last. She liked to draw it out, to talk to him until he died slowly at her hands. He usually tried trading curses, but she never swore, just smiled at him and talked nonsense about what she'd done that day or - some rare few times, and the only instances where Jack appreciated her presence and her words - how the Doctor was, what he had been up to.
It was always chilling news, but it was better than not knowing anything at all. It was better than existing in a void of pain and the very limited control that words gave to him. With his words, his taunting, he could control, to a degree, how quickly he died; he could goad the Master into giving him a quick death. It didn't always work, but it kept him sane and it kept him focused, and that was all that he needed.
The day that she stepped out of the shadows by herself was different. He hadn't seen the Master at all, and assumed he was having too much fun terrorizing the citizens of Earth; he refused to entertain the idea that he was occupying himself with the Doctor, because that just made him feel even more powerless than he already did, and he was running on empty. She stood by the edge of his chains, near his right hand, looking him over like something hanging in the butcher's shop, and then the expression broke. She was anxious, dressed in red, an ugly looking bruise spreading across one delicate cheekbone. Picking at her skirt, she met his gaze with one significantly less steady than his own.
"What do you want?" He prompted, courage spurred on by the absence of anything unfamiliar that they could throw at him. All they could do was kill him, and look how well that was working out for them.
"I want you to do something for me," she said at length, turning her gaze from his eyes to his bonds, running a hand along the chains that suspended his right arm. Her fingers dance from link to link, somehow escaping being dirtied by the ever-present grime Jack has become used to. "I can't do it myself. I can't. I need you to. I'll pay you, even let you go, if you'll do it." Her voice is very fast, as if she can't let the words register with her brain or she'll never get them out.
"What?" For once, he doesn't press, doesn't challenge too much, because he's curious and if this is a tactic, it's a new one. She worries at the end of a shirt-sleeve as he watches her, not replying for a moment as she seems to get up her courage.
"I want you to finish this," she said, bringing her hand away from the chain and to the bruise on her cheek, as if reminding herself why she was doing this. "I want you to end this. Him. End him." If he didn't know any better, he would have asked who, but her expression told him all he needed to know.
And he laughed.
"You're kidding me, right?" Jack asked, tone chiding, his hollow laughter lingering on the air. At the darkness beyond Lucy, he shouted, "Yeah, you can come out from around the corner now!" She flinched at his tone and he didn't care. He wasn't going to fall for that. He wasn't stupid, not that stupid, and she should have known better.
She had tricked him into death when he thought it wouldn't come too many times already for him to believe her now.
Lucy Saxon flinched like something startled, moving back from him with reproach in her expression. Jack was surprised not to see the Master step around to meet her, but she left alone, and no one else appeared. There was something left behind there, maybe something of her desperation, and he entertained briefly the idea that she had been serious.
It was impossible. She was too much a part of this to want to end it now, and even if she did, it was for her own selfish gains and nothing to do with anyone else. And it wouldn't have worked anyway, would it? No.
But she was probably just trying to get him to agree so that the Master could come punish him for being so gullible later. It was the only answer that made any sense.
Two months later, when Lucy Saxon shot the Master, killing him, Jack cursed himself in a dozen languages for not taking her seriously. The only consolation was that if he had killed the Master, the Doctor would have hated him.
It didn't help much, in light of the several hundred deaths he had suffered over the last year. But he'd done what was logical at the time, and it was enough.
Author: Ry (dreamsforlease / curseangel)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes, language, spoilers for Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords.
Characters/Pairings: Captain Jack Harkness, Lucy Saxon.
Inspiration: "Can't you just fix it for me? I'll pay you well. ...I'll pay you anything if you can end this." - The Dresden Dolls, "The Perfect Fit"
Summary: An act of desperation in one's darkest hour; or, the one opportunity Jack Harkness had to kill the Master and didn't take.
She didn't have to introduce herself; he'd seen her plenty of times before, knew her name from television broadcasts and the many, many times she had come here to watch him die or suffer. She would always stand to the back, he'd noticed, probably because she didn't want to get any blood on her nice clothes, which she would pick at nervously between the instant prior to death and the moment after returning from it. He'd noticed it; it had been a lot more noticeable in the first few weeks, but as weeks turned into months, they'd both become accustomed to it.
Lucy Saxon. He had taunted her, called her the Master's lapdog and been rewarded with a couple of hundred thousand volts once; another time, someone cut out his tongue for it, which made things considerably less tolerable for the few minutes between that and his actual death. She'd gotten him back later, tried to talk to him and sounded sweet until she twisted the knife between his ribs - literally. That had been the first time she killed him, he recalled; it hadn't been the last. She liked to draw it out, to talk to him until he died slowly at her hands. He usually tried trading curses, but she never swore, just smiled at him and talked nonsense about what she'd done that day or - some rare few times, and the only instances where Jack appreciated her presence and her words - how the Doctor was, what he had been up to.
It was always chilling news, but it was better than not knowing anything at all. It was better than existing in a void of pain and the very limited control that words gave to him. With his words, his taunting, he could control, to a degree, how quickly he died; he could goad the Master into giving him a quick death. It didn't always work, but it kept him sane and it kept him focused, and that was all that he needed.
The day that she stepped out of the shadows by herself was different. He hadn't seen the Master at all, and assumed he was having too much fun terrorizing the citizens of Earth; he refused to entertain the idea that he was occupying himself with the Doctor, because that just made him feel even more powerless than he already did, and he was running on empty. She stood by the edge of his chains, near his right hand, looking him over like something hanging in the butcher's shop, and then the expression broke. She was anxious, dressed in red, an ugly looking bruise spreading across one delicate cheekbone. Picking at her skirt, she met his gaze with one significantly less steady than his own.
"What do you want?" He prompted, courage spurred on by the absence of anything unfamiliar that they could throw at him. All they could do was kill him, and look how well that was working out for them.
"I want you to do something for me," she said at length, turning her gaze from his eyes to his bonds, running a hand along the chains that suspended his right arm. Her fingers dance from link to link, somehow escaping being dirtied by the ever-present grime Jack has become used to. "I can't do it myself. I can't. I need you to. I'll pay you, even let you go, if you'll do it." Her voice is very fast, as if she can't let the words register with her brain or she'll never get them out.
"What?" For once, he doesn't press, doesn't challenge too much, because he's curious and if this is a tactic, it's a new one. She worries at the end of a shirt-sleeve as he watches her, not replying for a moment as she seems to get up her courage.
"I want you to finish this," she said, bringing her hand away from the chain and to the bruise on her cheek, as if reminding herself why she was doing this. "I want you to end this. Him. End him." If he didn't know any better, he would have asked who, but her expression told him all he needed to know.
And he laughed.
"You're kidding me, right?" Jack asked, tone chiding, his hollow laughter lingering on the air. At the darkness beyond Lucy, he shouted, "Yeah, you can come out from around the corner now!" She flinched at his tone and he didn't care. He wasn't going to fall for that. He wasn't stupid, not that stupid, and she should have known better.
She had tricked him into death when he thought it wouldn't come too many times already for him to believe her now.
Lucy Saxon flinched like something startled, moving back from him with reproach in her expression. Jack was surprised not to see the Master step around to meet her, but she left alone, and no one else appeared. There was something left behind there, maybe something of her desperation, and he entertained briefly the idea that she had been serious.
It was impossible. She was too much a part of this to want to end it now, and even if she did, it was for her own selfish gains and nothing to do with anyone else. And it wouldn't have worked anyway, would it? No.
But she was probably just trying to get him to agree so that the Master could come punish him for being so gullible later. It was the only answer that made any sense.
Two months later, when Lucy Saxon shot the Master, killing him, Jack cursed himself in a dozen languages for not taking her seriously. The only consolation was that if he had killed the Master, the Doctor would have hated him.
It didn't help much, in light of the several hundred deaths he had suffered over the last year. But he'd done what was logical at the time, and it was enough.