for best_served_hot The journey continues.
Had Jack Harkness ever been asked if he would freely work with the Master the question would have been met with a laugh, and would he have been told that he himself would have freed him from captivity and kept him from the authorities he'd have expected the person he was talking to were mad.
Yet here he was. He'd freed him, kept him, and he was attempting to work with him. It wasn't conventional of course, not by any definition of the word. But it was all Jack could do. If the universe had lost the Doctor then he had to be found, and given all avenues had been exhausted, the Master might be the only man that could find him.
And so there was searching. Searching on Earth that proved fruitful for nothing but death. Disjointed bits of information dug up by them both and processed through the mind of a crazy man. Events that seemed to be punctuated only by the fact Jack would get frequently killed.
He wondered if it would ever stop. If it would ever change or get better.
But then it did change. Something in the sky and something out of sight. A trace. And in a snap the vortex manipulator that sat on Jack's wrist was repaired and they were no longer on Earth but somewhere else. Somewhere in the sky. A ship of sorts, a great metal monstrosity with old and flickering lights. Heavy walls and heavy doors and corridors that looked long and foreboding (not that much could be much more foreboding than the man that stood at Jack's side).
He glanced ahead down a corridor and took a long and laboured breath.
"Right," he said, looking at the man beside him. "Want to explain where the hell we are?"
Yet here he was. He'd freed him, kept him, and he was attempting to work with him. It wasn't conventional of course, not by any definition of the word. But it was all Jack could do. If the universe had lost the Doctor then he had to be found, and given all avenues had been exhausted, the Master might be the only man that could find him.
And so there was searching. Searching on Earth that proved fruitful for nothing but death. Disjointed bits of information dug up by them both and processed through the mind of a crazy man. Events that seemed to be punctuated only by the fact Jack would get frequently killed.
He wondered if it would ever stop. If it would ever change or get better.
But then it did change. Something in the sky and something out of sight. A trace. And in a snap the vortex manipulator that sat on Jack's wrist was repaired and they were no longer on Earth but somewhere else. Somewhere in the sky. A ship of sorts, a great metal monstrosity with old and flickering lights. Heavy walls and heavy doors and corridors that looked long and foreboding (not that much could be much more foreboding than the man that stood at Jack's side).
He glanced ahead down a corridor and took a long and laboured breath.
"Right," he said, looking at the man beside him. "Want to explain where the hell we are?"