for best_served_hot Chains that bind...
It had been ten months.
Ten months almost to the day that a year and a nightmare ended; returned to a world unscathed from it. The world continuing none the wiser to events that shook and tore it apart at the seams.
It left no scars but those on the few who could remember.
They had no choice but to move on.
In ten months Jack had done his best not to think about the man they carried away in handcuffs. The Time Lord, shot and injured but not killed. They had taken him to a prison at first, and Jack could clearly remember the day he saw a newspaper headline that read 'Harold Saxon Kills Again'. Three inmates dead because they didn't know how to deal with him. But then how could they know how to deal with him? They had no idea what he was capable of.
He tried not to think about him. Though he was a constant memory at the back of his mind. All he'd done. The death and destruction. The pain he caused that would never really go away. That no lies could really cover up.
After the incident in the prison 'Harold Saxon' had been transferred elsewhere. A medical facility. But even that hadn't been enough to house him. The incident when he killed the nurse had been well covered. Kept from the press and the prying eyes of the public. But Jack knew. Jack found out.
So as time went on they'd adapted and changed. Built a facility around him. They tried to offer him 'rehabilitation'. To send fleets of doctors to work out just what was wrong with him. But they never would. They could never tap into that mind. Jack knew that too.
Knowing he was securely locked away, Jack could almost ignore his presence entirely. Almost. He could continue his daily life, such as it was.
But things never lasted like that.
So ten months, almost to the day, he found himself with little other option.
Pulling strings had been easy enough. Being Captain Jack Harkness came with certain connections, and when called for these connections could be used.
The facility was clinical. White and unfeeling corridors furnished with nothing. It could be a dream, or a nightmare. But it was real.
They told him it was pointless. He doesn't talk, they said, He won't talk to you.
Jack had ignored them. He'd ignored when they told him he was dangerous. He'd almost laughed. He knew that more than they ever could.
And there he was, ten months almost to the day, standing on one side of a two way mirror, looking into the padded room opposite. In the middle of the room was a table, bolted down to the floor. A chair bolted either side. One chair waited empty for him and in the other he sat. Harold Saxon. The Master. Looking ragged and raw, chained down to the table like a feral beast.
They'd tried to stop Jack from going in, but he wouldn't listen, and he passed through the double locked doors and into the room in silence.
He stood there for a moment, not moving at all. Just looking. And then he stepped over and sat. And stared.
"Nice place you've got here."
Ten months almost to the day that a year and a nightmare ended; returned to a world unscathed from it. The world continuing none the wiser to events that shook and tore it apart at the seams.
It left no scars but those on the few who could remember.
They had no choice but to move on.
In ten months Jack had done his best not to think about the man they carried away in handcuffs. The Time Lord, shot and injured but not killed. They had taken him to a prison at first, and Jack could clearly remember the day he saw a newspaper headline that read 'Harold Saxon Kills Again'. Three inmates dead because they didn't know how to deal with him. But then how could they know how to deal with him? They had no idea what he was capable of.
He tried not to think about him. Though he was a constant memory at the back of his mind. All he'd done. The death and destruction. The pain he caused that would never really go away. That no lies could really cover up.
After the incident in the prison 'Harold Saxon' had been transferred elsewhere. A medical facility. But even that hadn't been enough to house him. The incident when he killed the nurse had been well covered. Kept from the press and the prying eyes of the public. But Jack knew. Jack found out.
So as time went on they'd adapted and changed. Built a facility around him. They tried to offer him 'rehabilitation'. To send fleets of doctors to work out just what was wrong with him. But they never would. They could never tap into that mind. Jack knew that too.
Knowing he was securely locked away, Jack could almost ignore his presence entirely. Almost. He could continue his daily life, such as it was.
But things never lasted like that.
So ten months, almost to the day, he found himself with little other option.
Pulling strings had been easy enough. Being Captain Jack Harkness came with certain connections, and when called for these connections could be used.
The facility was clinical. White and unfeeling corridors furnished with nothing. It could be a dream, or a nightmare. But it was real.
They told him it was pointless. He doesn't talk, they said, He won't talk to you.
Jack had ignored them. He'd ignored when they told him he was dangerous. He'd almost laughed. He knew that more than they ever could.
And there he was, ten months almost to the day, standing on one side of a two way mirror, looking into the padded room opposite. In the middle of the room was a table, bolted down to the floor. A chair bolted either side. One chair waited empty for him and in the other he sat. Harold Saxon. The Master. Looking ragged and raw, chained down to the table like a feral beast.
They'd tried to stop Jack from going in, but he wouldn't listen, and he passed through the double locked doors and into the room in silence.
He stood there for a moment, not moving at all. Just looking. And then he stepped over and sat. And stared.
"Nice place you've got here."