Justice, mercy, and the lack of in-betweens.
who_topia: If you have to choose, will you more likely pick justice or mercy?
Jack's whole body is humming with adrenaline as he jogs up to the bridge of the Valiant. A couple dozen deaths in a row will do that to you, and Toclafane are - were - nothing if not good at killing. Underneath the adrenaline, there's a dull, distant ache that's only going to get worse, but nothing he can't handle.
The door to the bridge slides open, and Jack has a half-second to register the Master running toward him.
Instinct and a year's hatred surge. Kill him now, with no time for thought or debate. Grab a gun from one of the guards, or just reach up and snap his neck, keep killing him until he stops regenerating, and if the Doctor hates him afterwards...
It's not instinct that stops him. It's not older than that, but deeper, and it's not even a choice. Years as a Time Agent, over a hundred years working for Torchwood, and all of that's nothing compared to the effect the Doctor's presence has on him.
The Doctor wouldn't kill him, so Jack doesn't. He grabs him by the arms, hard enough to bruise, spins him around. "Whoa, big fella! You don't want to miss the party." Nothing slips into his tone, no suppressed violence or rage, and he's both glad for that and somewhat surprised. He gets a pair of cuffs from a guard, secures the Master's hands behind his back. It would be so easy to kill him now, and all of that adrenaline screaming through Jack's veins keeps urging him toward it, because it would be just and right and so well-deserved...
Jack looks to the Doctor. "So. What do we do with this one?"
Muse: Jack Harkness
Word Count: 284
Jack's whole body is humming with adrenaline as he jogs up to the bridge of the Valiant. A couple dozen deaths in a row will do that to you, and Toclafane are - were - nothing if not good at killing. Underneath the adrenaline, there's a dull, distant ache that's only going to get worse, but nothing he can't handle.
The door to the bridge slides open, and Jack has a half-second to register the Master running toward him.
Instinct and a year's hatred surge. Kill him now, with no time for thought or debate. Grab a gun from one of the guards, or just reach up and snap his neck, keep killing him until he stops regenerating, and if the Doctor hates him afterwards...
It's not instinct that stops him. It's not older than that, but deeper, and it's not even a choice. Years as a Time Agent, over a hundred years working for Torchwood, and all of that's nothing compared to the effect the Doctor's presence has on him.
The Doctor wouldn't kill him, so Jack doesn't. He grabs him by the arms, hard enough to bruise, spins him around. "Whoa, big fella! You don't want to miss the party." Nothing slips into his tone, no suppressed violence or rage, and he's both glad for that and somewhat surprised. He gets a pair of cuffs from a guard, secures the Master's hands behind his back. It would be so easy to kill him now, and all of that adrenaline screaming through Jack's veins keeps urging him toward it, because it would be just and right and so well-deserved...
Jack looks to the Doctor. "So. What do we do with this one?"
Muse: Jack Harkness
Word Count: 284