Pendulum (6/?)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: In which Jack finally gets a number of answers
The image was black and white, showing the room from an angle associated with twentieth century security surveillance, but the quality of the images was too sharp. No disturbances, no grains. No sound. On the silent screen the Doctor was lying in bed, sprawled between crumbled sheets. He was dressed in a pyjama, his hair was a mess, and while he was facing away from the camera it was obvious by his stillness that he was sleeping.
Nothing moved on the screen. It could have been a single picture instead of a movie, until after half a minute the door opened, throwing light and a shadow into the room and onto the still figure on the bed. The shadow was followed by Jack - younger Jack, moving with calm determination. He sat on the bed, beside the Doctor, and without preamble threw the blanket to the floor and began to pull off the Time Lord’s trousers. The touch disturbed the Doctor’s sleep, and on the screen he could be seen trying to move away with weak, uncoordinated movements, clearly not truly awake. Jack grabbed him and - not ungentle but with a distinct carelessness - pulled him close and onto his back. He moved over him, and the flow of images stopped.
His memory of that night was scrambled and confused, but he knew how things developed further. The remote control slipped from the Doctor’s fingers and cluttered on the floor, and then he buried his face in his trembling hands and murmured, “Oh, Jack.”
-
Sitting in Jack’s empty room, on the edge of his empty bed, the Doctor had no idea where his human friend was. He didn’t know where the Master was either, but he knew that if they met now there was no guarantee they’d both walk away from it. He also knew that he should find them, keep them off each other’s throats, but his body wouldn’t move.
He had woken up not long after Jack had brought him to his room, exhausted and tired and in pain but unable to go back to sleep. It had been his stomach that made him get up in the end - unwilling to soil his room he’d stumbled to the bathroom to throw up, and when he’d left it he’d seen that the door right next to his room was open. It led to Jack’s room. Jack’s room wasn’t usually next to his.
The old-fashioned tv-screen was running, showing static. The Doctor had discovered that the the not so old-fashioned tool for the reading of data crystals was filled with one, and turned it on. Even after one second he knew that the Master must have given this to Jack.
He should have seen it coming, he cursed himself tiredly. Eventually the Master had to do something like this and let Jack know what had happened between them. The Doctor had known he’d tell, but was surprised that the other Time Lord had actual proof. A camera in his bedroom. His stomach turned again. The Master had planned for an opportunity like this, it seemed. All along. Just in case it would come in handy one day.
Sometimes he forgot, unbelievable as it was, how very perverted his old friend’s mind could be.
It was hard to imagine how Jack had reacted to this revelation. The Doctor hoped that he would doubt the pictures, have enough trust in himself to know he’d never willingly do this. But if he did that, the Master would be the person he’d blame. The person he’d demand answers from. The Doctor really had to get up and find him.
To stop him from killing the Master, or getting killed by the Master, or simply to tell him that it hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t know if that would help. If the Doctor had been in Jack’s position it probably wouldn’t have. He’d never wanted his friend to find out, ever.
Right now, he felt like he was sitting on a bomb, waiting for it to explode. And still his body wouldn’t move.
-
The Master was waiting for Jack to explode as well. He would have liked to be with him when the human watched the movie on the data crystal and see his reaction, but it would have ruined the effect. Besides, he suspected that the freak would have refused to watch it in his presence, just to deny him the satisfaction. Left alone he would give in to his curiosity eventually. He had no other choice.
The Master smiled. Humans were so wonderfully predictable.
Of course he could only speculate on Jack’s reaction. Would he decide, for the sake of his sanity, that the movie was a fake? Would he suspect that it had somehow all been ‘Harry’s’ fault? Would he accept his crime and deal with the guilt by blaming Harry instead? The Master was aware that the conclusion to a lot of scenarios was Jack storming up to him with a gun in his hand, and shooting him. Theoretically. Practically the Master had stolen his gun when he’d turned his back to care for the Doctor earlier. Humans: Predictable and easily distracted.
It wouldn’t stop Jack from killing him with another weapon. Provided he got close enough.
Another possibility would have Jack, overwhelmed by guilt, killing himself. He’d have to use a rope then. Or drown himself in the pool. The Master had little hope (it would have been a bit silly, even for Jack), but who knew? Maybe it would even work.
Whatever his reaction, it would be big. It seemed unlikely that the freak would just sit down on his bed and think, ‘Huh.’
Perhaps he would go to the Doctor, ask him about it. And probably get a bit of comfort out of that, while putting extra strain on the Time Lord and making him even more angry at the Master. The Master realised that he didn’t like this scenario very much, even though he didn’t mind the Doctor being angry at him. After all he had given the crystal to Jack for three reasons: Because he wanted to hurt Jack, because he thought it would be fun, and because he wanted the Doctor to know that despite the circumstances keeping him by his side and away from his plans for universal domination, he was not his pet.
Nor his wife, or nurse. Not even his friend.
Thinking it over it seemed logical that sooner or later Jack would come to the Doctor. To get an explanation, forgiveness, comfort, whatever. He might think twice about it if the Master was already there. Which would only work if it wasn’t already too late. Hours had passed since they’d parted ways, after all - Jack could have done a lot since then. The one thing the Master knew for certain was that he hadn’t been trying to find him.
Either that, or the TARDIS had made sure he didn’t. The Doctor didn’t want them to fight, so perhaps the ship would help keeping them apart if murderous intentions were involved. The Master wasn’t sure she would do that - the TARDISes he had owned never had been very sensitive to his needs, but then his relationship to them had never been this… sappy.
He went looking for the Doctor in the infirmary, half expecting Jack to be there with him, but found it deserted. Frowning, he went on a hunt for the Doctor’s room, finding it in its usual position. The bed was empty, but the covers and pillows crumbled. The question remained where the Doctor had gone off to. The Master had a very good guess when he noted Jack’s room right next door.
He found the Doctor sitting on the bed, staring sightlessly at the screen. He didn’t need to look to know what he’d been watching but did so anyway.
“You’ve stopped before the good part,” he commented, stepping into the room. “Why don’t we snuggle up on the freak’s bed and watch the rest of the movie together?”
To his disappointment the Doctor didn’t flinch at his voice, not did he snap at him or have an angry fit. He didn’t jump up to have a go at him and fall miserably to the floor. He just sat there. And then, slowly, he turned to look at the Master.
Who nearly froze on his way over to the bed. The Doctor’s gaze was more tired than angry, more resigned than disappointed, but there was a coldness inside that held no memories of better days. He had used the Doctor to hurt the Doctor’s friend, and that was not something to be tolerated. He was pushing too far. The Master felt the icy gaze of someone regarding an enemy and shivered.
It felt good. Felt right. He was playing with fire.
Slowly, the Doctor stood. “I have to find Jack.” Even his voice was clam, collected. There wasn’t even accusation it in, just this simple statement.
“I’ve been expecting a lecture,” the Master said, watching the Doctor take a careful step toward him - no. Toward the door. The Master was merely standing in the way.
“Yes.” The Doctor didn’t look at him. The Master’s face darkened.
“I doubt he wants to see you, for once,” he tried. “Otherwise he’d have found you already.”
The Doctor kept walking, kept ignoring him. His steps were steady, if slow, but the Master could see the effort behind them, the concentration it needed for the Doctor not to fall over.
“How are you going to find him anyway?” he asked, trying to make the Doctor see reason, return to bed, stay here and have an argument. Suddenly he realised just how much he didn’t want the two on them to meet. He should have killed Jack before the Doctor regained consciousness in the first place, and if that hadn’t worked he should have kicked him out of the TARDIS for good. “Are you just going to run through the ship until you collapse? That won’t be long, then.” He shoved the Doctor as he passed, without much force but hard enough to make him stumble. Still the other Time Lord would not look at him. He kept going, burning up his strength. Wasting it.
For the wrong reasons.
“You’re doing it wrong. After what he’s done to you, you’re out to comfort him? However did you manage to survive this long?” The Master paused a second, for effect. “Oh, right - because you’re a killer when it suits you. Is that why you do it? Because you’d like someone to comfort you as well, in spite of your crimes?”
The Doctor turned, finally provoked into a response. Cold eyes burned into the Master’s while he completely ignored the more important part of his statement.
“This is not about what he did to me but about what you did to him,” he spat. “You keep playing your games, and act like a spoiled child when the outcome is not…”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because the Master calmly walked up to him and punched him in the face. The Doctor was thrown back, fell to the floor and lay there for a moment, dazed. Eventually he turned to his side, pushed himself up but failed when it came to getting to his feet. The Master had expected as much. He kicked the other in the back, made him crash to the floor again. It was a cheap demonstration of power, almost like cheating. But as long as the Doctor refused to properly acknowledge his presence, he would take what he could get.
He continued to kick his best enemy down every time he tried to get up, until the Doctor stopped trying and stayed on the floor, breathing hard. Still so weak. The Master was smirking when he picked him up.
Jack’s bed was in a state of perfect order, the sheets clean and fresh, no doubt the TARDIS’s doing. They got crumbled when the Master threw his fellow Time Lord onto the covers. The Doctor offered no resistance, was hardly even conscious anymore. Stressed, fevered, probably in pain… the Master smiled coldly and pinned him down with one hand, letting the other trail down his side. The Doctor shuddered under his touch.
“What do you think about me fucking you on dear Jack’s bed?” the Master mused. “No, don’t answer that: What do you think Jack would think if he came back here and found me fucking you on his bed, while he was off somewhere sulking?” He leaned down so he felt the Doctor’s strangled breath on his face, and chuckled. “He’d probably try to kill me - again. Are you up to stopping him? I don’t think so. On the other hand… perhaps he’d feel inclined to join us. With him you never know.”
The Doctor’s dark eyes became even darker, and for a second he managed to focus his gaze. He refused to say anything, though. Maybe he was simply lacking the breath for it.
Another second later his eyes became glassy and closed. The Master snorted softly and pressed a kiss to his lips that got no response. Slightly disappointed he tugged the Doctor under the covers and left him to sleep.
-
The Doctor’s head hurt. It was the first thing he realised as he slowly came awake. The room was spinning around him even before he opened his eyes, and this time it wasn’t just the wrongness of his being. He felt miserable on a very physical level; it didn’t distract him from the sickening feeling of his existence but added to it. With effort he turned onto his side and retched. After a moment he remembered that he was in Jack’s room, and felt idiotically relived that he had nothing in this stomach to throw up. Wouldn’t want to mess with someone else’s room.
It occurred to him that the TARDIS could clean it up. Gasping for air he tried to regain some hold on his own thoughts.
Rassilon, he was feeling terrible! Of the brief flicker of strength that had enabled him to leave the bed before nothing was left. He might have been able to preserve it, gather more strength if he’d stayed in bed and simply concentrated on recovering, but instead he had to run around stopping his idiotic, childish companions from killing each other.
The thought brought along memories, reminding him why he was lying in Jack’s bed and not his own. He jolted upright as he remembered that he needed to find Jack, and soon. Almost the same moment he fell back onto the covers, nausea washing over him. He couldn’t move - it was simply impossible. With every breath he felt worse. His insides were throbbing with pain, out of rhythm with the pain in his head.
The thought of Jack didn’t allow him to rest. He was, right now, most likely hurt, confused, and filled with murderous fury. The Doctor had to find him, tell him it wasn’t his fault, tell him not to kill the Master. Would that work? Why wasn’t it Jack’s fault? He’d want to know that, and what would the Doctor tell him then? If he found out ‘Harry’ had mentally controlled him, he’d want to kill him even more.
No time to think of that. First of all he had to get moving again. The Doctor closed his eyes and with a lot of effort gathered his energy.
-
A good five hours after he’d finished watching the surveillance movie the man he was very sure was not named Harry had send him, Jack Harkness wasn’t thinking very much. He wasn’t feeling very much either. He was just numb. Deep inside he was aching, and feeling very much like screaming and tearing his hair and, yes, killing someone (possibly himself), but those feeling were hidden under the surface for the time being, and on the surface he was just lost. In more than one way.
He’d fled his room and the presence of the horrible data crystal blindly, wandered through the TRADIS without aim, and now he was aware that he had no idea where he was. He didn’t care much anyway, since right now there was nowhere he wanted to go.
A part of him (perhaps the part that had made him wander blindly through unknown corridors instead of grabbing his gun and putting a hole into Harry’s head) had decided no to do anything before he was able to think straight again and was aware what exactly he was feeling.
The much larger part of his being was quite simply frozen with shock. Disgust even. Seeing a younger him forcing himself on an obviously ill and defenceless man, blind to everything but his own desire, including Harry storming up to him to knock him out… there was so much wrong with the scene that he had a hard time taking it for face value. But he had seen it, and so he was unable to completely deny its existence. It could be a fake, created by a bored sociopath. Or it could be genuine.
His subconscious was pleading guilty until proven innocent and horrified at himself beneath the deep layer of numb indecision that had made him sit down on the first available soft surface and stare into the air. His hands were trembling. He felt like crying, or loosing his mind, but couldn’t yet think enough to decide if that would be appropriate. He kept staring instead. It was cold.
He needed to talk to the Doctor. The Time Lord knew what was going on, he’d make him understand, and somehow he would make everything better. At this point Jack laughed. The Doctor would want him to stay calm and not kill anyone. He’d lie to him. And even if he didn’t, this was not something Jack wanted to bother him with. He didn’t deserve to be raped and then asked for comfort.
He was the only one who could tell him anything resembling the truth. The only one here Jack trusted.
Jack didn’t want to see him, he decided. He didn’t know what he would do. Perhaps he should never mention it to the Doctor. Don’t bring it up.
He turned his head, just slightly, focusing his attention just a little bit on the direction where he thought that he had, possibly, seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. Half a minute ago.
The room was dimly lit, looking, smelling and feeling abandoned, like it hadn’t been entered in a very long time. It was a room like his - same layout, a bed, a closet, the remains of personal belongings scattered on a wooden desk. The books and tools meant nothing to Jack. Someone had lived here once, but not anymore.
The Doctor was standing in the doorway. He was wearing his coat over his pyjama and in the weak light he almost looked healthy.
He came over when Jack looked at him, and Jack looked down again, unsure what to say. The Doctor knew, then. He wasn’t even surprised.
“Is it true?” he heard himself ask. “Did I really do that?” Hoping desperately for a negative answer and the ability to believe it.
“Yes,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry.”
When Jack sank down to bury his face in his hands, he almost whimpered.
Long fingers took hold of his wrists. “It wasn’t your fault,” the Doctor told him. “You had no control over what you were doing.”
“Does it make any difference?” Jack asked bitterly.
“Of course it does, you big ape,” the Doctor said gently. “It means that while you did it you didn’t actually do it. And now look at me.” He pulled the human’s hands away from his face, and then a gentle hand under his chin forced him to look up. Warm brown eyes full of sadness looked into his. “It wasn’t your fault,” the Doctor said again, slowly, and Jack had no choice but to believe him.
His hands wrapped around the Time Lords slim waist and pulled him close, until he was sitting on Jack’s lap. He needed the closeness now, and as he pressed his face against his friend’s closed coat, he could hear a single heart beating strongly inside his chest. The Doctor wasn’t trembling any longer, and didn’t seem to be in pain. Jack wasn’t yet ready to marvel on that (nor on the new bruise he’d seen on his cheek).
“It was Harry.” A statement, not a question. His voice was muffled by the Doctor’s coat. “He did this to me. To us.”
There was a long pause. Eventually the Doctor said, “Yes.”
“But how? Why?” Jack pulled his face back a bit, so he could breathe and speak a little louder. “What’s the point? Why did he hurt you if you’re so important to him? I can’t believe he’d endanger your life just to hurt me.”
“It wasn’t just about you.” The Doctor sounded hesitant, unsure what to say, how much to tell. “It’s… complicated. This need to attack you, it’s nothing personal. He just hates your existence.”
“Oh, right. That’s not personal at all.”
“Jack. It’s…” The Doctor seemed to get a bit heavier in Jack’s arms. Despite his inner turmoil the human began to gently rub his back. “I think he feels threatened by you, stupid as it is,” the Time Lord continued. “Because you don’t die. Because you’ll always be there, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that.”
“This is about you, isn’t it?” Jack realised. “He doesn’t want to share.” When the Doctor didn’t answer, he added, “I don’t understand it. He’s not immortal himself. Why does he even care? What does he have to do with you?”
The Doctor wasn’t looking at him. He was looking through Jack, at something far, far away.
“He’s the Master,” he said.
He spoke the words and Jack wasn’t surprised. He thought that he should have been, but somehow he wasn’t. It wasn’t even so that he had already guessed it, on a subconscious level. It was more like his mind didn’t question the information. He acknowledged it, and instinctively tightened his hold on his alien friend, held him closer.
“Jack.” The Doctor started what would have been at the same time a plea and an order. “Don’t…”
“I know,” Jack interrupted him, his voice a little harsher than expected. “I won’t.” He nearly laughed then, and it would have been bitter. The Doctor had probably just saved the bastard’s life, for how could Jack kill him now, the bloody fucking Second Last of the Time Lords sociopathic Master, when he knew all too well what his mere existence meant to the Doctor. He wouldn’t get over his death a second time.
“What do I do?” Jack whispered. He couldn’t leave the Doctor alone with him, and couldn’t bear the Master’s presence. “What do I do?”
“Be above him,” the Doctor advised softly. “He’s just trying to provoke you. Don’t let him have his will. Best to avoid him whenever you can. I can’t ask you to leave, can I?”
“You’d better not try,” Jack growled.
They held onto each other for another minute, until Jack saw something else out of the corner of his eye. This time he looked at once, nearly jumping when he saw Harry - no, when he saw the Master standing in the doorway. He did his best to keep clam, to stay where he was, but the Master wasn’t even looking at him. His stare was fixed firmly on the Doctor, his eyes wide and his face drained of colour.
“Are you out of your bloody mind?” he hissed.
In Jack’s arms, the Doctor merely sighed.
- tbc
December 12, 2008
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: In which Jack finally gets a number of answers
The image was black and white, showing the room from an angle associated with twentieth century security surveillance, but the quality of the images was too sharp. No disturbances, no grains. No sound. On the silent screen the Doctor was lying in bed, sprawled between crumbled sheets. He was dressed in a pyjama, his hair was a mess, and while he was facing away from the camera it was obvious by his stillness that he was sleeping.
Nothing moved on the screen. It could have been a single picture instead of a movie, until after half a minute the door opened, throwing light and a shadow into the room and onto the still figure on the bed. The shadow was followed by Jack - younger Jack, moving with calm determination. He sat on the bed, beside the Doctor, and without preamble threw the blanket to the floor and began to pull off the Time Lord’s trousers. The touch disturbed the Doctor’s sleep, and on the screen he could be seen trying to move away with weak, uncoordinated movements, clearly not truly awake. Jack grabbed him and - not ungentle but with a distinct carelessness - pulled him close and onto his back. He moved over him, and the flow of images stopped.
His memory of that night was scrambled and confused, but he knew how things developed further. The remote control slipped from the Doctor’s fingers and cluttered on the floor, and then he buried his face in his trembling hands and murmured, “Oh, Jack.”
-
Sitting in Jack’s empty room, on the edge of his empty bed, the Doctor had no idea where his human friend was. He didn’t know where the Master was either, but he knew that if they met now there was no guarantee they’d both walk away from it. He also knew that he should find them, keep them off each other’s throats, but his body wouldn’t move.
He had woken up not long after Jack had brought him to his room, exhausted and tired and in pain but unable to go back to sleep. It had been his stomach that made him get up in the end - unwilling to soil his room he’d stumbled to the bathroom to throw up, and when he’d left it he’d seen that the door right next to his room was open. It led to Jack’s room. Jack’s room wasn’t usually next to his.
The old-fashioned tv-screen was running, showing static. The Doctor had discovered that the the not so old-fashioned tool for the reading of data crystals was filled with one, and turned it on. Even after one second he knew that the Master must have given this to Jack.
He should have seen it coming, he cursed himself tiredly. Eventually the Master had to do something like this and let Jack know what had happened between them. The Doctor had known he’d tell, but was surprised that the other Time Lord had actual proof. A camera in his bedroom. His stomach turned again. The Master had planned for an opportunity like this, it seemed. All along. Just in case it would come in handy one day.
Sometimes he forgot, unbelievable as it was, how very perverted his old friend’s mind could be.
It was hard to imagine how Jack had reacted to this revelation. The Doctor hoped that he would doubt the pictures, have enough trust in himself to know he’d never willingly do this. But if he did that, the Master would be the person he’d blame. The person he’d demand answers from. The Doctor really had to get up and find him.
To stop him from killing the Master, or getting killed by the Master, or simply to tell him that it hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t know if that would help. If the Doctor had been in Jack’s position it probably wouldn’t have. He’d never wanted his friend to find out, ever.
Right now, he felt like he was sitting on a bomb, waiting for it to explode. And still his body wouldn’t move.
-
The Master was waiting for Jack to explode as well. He would have liked to be with him when the human watched the movie on the data crystal and see his reaction, but it would have ruined the effect. Besides, he suspected that the freak would have refused to watch it in his presence, just to deny him the satisfaction. Left alone he would give in to his curiosity eventually. He had no other choice.
The Master smiled. Humans were so wonderfully predictable.
Of course he could only speculate on Jack’s reaction. Would he decide, for the sake of his sanity, that the movie was a fake? Would he suspect that it had somehow all been ‘Harry’s’ fault? Would he accept his crime and deal with the guilt by blaming Harry instead? The Master was aware that the conclusion to a lot of scenarios was Jack storming up to him with a gun in his hand, and shooting him. Theoretically. Practically the Master had stolen his gun when he’d turned his back to care for the Doctor earlier. Humans: Predictable and easily distracted.
It wouldn’t stop Jack from killing him with another weapon. Provided he got close enough.
Another possibility would have Jack, overwhelmed by guilt, killing himself. He’d have to use a rope then. Or drown himself in the pool. The Master had little hope (it would have been a bit silly, even for Jack), but who knew? Maybe it would even work.
Whatever his reaction, it would be big. It seemed unlikely that the freak would just sit down on his bed and think, ‘Huh.’
Perhaps he would go to the Doctor, ask him about it. And probably get a bit of comfort out of that, while putting extra strain on the Time Lord and making him even more angry at the Master. The Master realised that he didn’t like this scenario very much, even though he didn’t mind the Doctor being angry at him. After all he had given the crystal to Jack for three reasons: Because he wanted to hurt Jack, because he thought it would be fun, and because he wanted the Doctor to know that despite the circumstances keeping him by his side and away from his plans for universal domination, he was not his pet.
Nor his wife, or nurse. Not even his friend.
Thinking it over it seemed logical that sooner or later Jack would come to the Doctor. To get an explanation, forgiveness, comfort, whatever. He might think twice about it if the Master was already there. Which would only work if it wasn’t already too late. Hours had passed since they’d parted ways, after all - Jack could have done a lot since then. The one thing the Master knew for certain was that he hadn’t been trying to find him.
Either that, or the TARDIS had made sure he didn’t. The Doctor didn’t want them to fight, so perhaps the ship would help keeping them apart if murderous intentions were involved. The Master wasn’t sure she would do that - the TARDISes he had owned never had been very sensitive to his needs, but then his relationship to them had never been this… sappy.
He went looking for the Doctor in the infirmary, half expecting Jack to be there with him, but found it deserted. Frowning, he went on a hunt for the Doctor’s room, finding it in its usual position. The bed was empty, but the covers and pillows crumbled. The question remained where the Doctor had gone off to. The Master had a very good guess when he noted Jack’s room right next door.
He found the Doctor sitting on the bed, staring sightlessly at the screen. He didn’t need to look to know what he’d been watching but did so anyway.
“You’ve stopped before the good part,” he commented, stepping into the room. “Why don’t we snuggle up on the freak’s bed and watch the rest of the movie together?”
To his disappointment the Doctor didn’t flinch at his voice, not did he snap at him or have an angry fit. He didn’t jump up to have a go at him and fall miserably to the floor. He just sat there. And then, slowly, he turned to look at the Master.
Who nearly froze on his way over to the bed. The Doctor’s gaze was more tired than angry, more resigned than disappointed, but there was a coldness inside that held no memories of better days. He had used the Doctor to hurt the Doctor’s friend, and that was not something to be tolerated. He was pushing too far. The Master felt the icy gaze of someone regarding an enemy and shivered.
It felt good. Felt right. He was playing with fire.
Slowly, the Doctor stood. “I have to find Jack.” Even his voice was clam, collected. There wasn’t even accusation it in, just this simple statement.
“I’ve been expecting a lecture,” the Master said, watching the Doctor take a careful step toward him - no. Toward the door. The Master was merely standing in the way.
“Yes.” The Doctor didn’t look at him. The Master’s face darkened.
“I doubt he wants to see you, for once,” he tried. “Otherwise he’d have found you already.”
The Doctor kept walking, kept ignoring him. His steps were steady, if slow, but the Master could see the effort behind them, the concentration it needed for the Doctor not to fall over.
“How are you going to find him anyway?” he asked, trying to make the Doctor see reason, return to bed, stay here and have an argument. Suddenly he realised just how much he didn’t want the two on them to meet. He should have killed Jack before the Doctor regained consciousness in the first place, and if that hadn’t worked he should have kicked him out of the TARDIS for good. “Are you just going to run through the ship until you collapse? That won’t be long, then.” He shoved the Doctor as he passed, without much force but hard enough to make him stumble. Still the other Time Lord would not look at him. He kept going, burning up his strength. Wasting it.
For the wrong reasons.
“You’re doing it wrong. After what he’s done to you, you’re out to comfort him? However did you manage to survive this long?” The Master paused a second, for effect. “Oh, right - because you’re a killer when it suits you. Is that why you do it? Because you’d like someone to comfort you as well, in spite of your crimes?”
The Doctor turned, finally provoked into a response. Cold eyes burned into the Master’s while he completely ignored the more important part of his statement.
“This is not about what he did to me but about what you did to him,” he spat. “You keep playing your games, and act like a spoiled child when the outcome is not…”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because the Master calmly walked up to him and punched him in the face. The Doctor was thrown back, fell to the floor and lay there for a moment, dazed. Eventually he turned to his side, pushed himself up but failed when it came to getting to his feet. The Master had expected as much. He kicked the other in the back, made him crash to the floor again. It was a cheap demonstration of power, almost like cheating. But as long as the Doctor refused to properly acknowledge his presence, he would take what he could get.
He continued to kick his best enemy down every time he tried to get up, until the Doctor stopped trying and stayed on the floor, breathing hard. Still so weak. The Master was smirking when he picked him up.
Jack’s bed was in a state of perfect order, the sheets clean and fresh, no doubt the TARDIS’s doing. They got crumbled when the Master threw his fellow Time Lord onto the covers. The Doctor offered no resistance, was hardly even conscious anymore. Stressed, fevered, probably in pain… the Master smiled coldly and pinned him down with one hand, letting the other trail down his side. The Doctor shuddered under his touch.
“What do you think about me fucking you on dear Jack’s bed?” the Master mused. “No, don’t answer that: What do you think Jack would think if he came back here and found me fucking you on his bed, while he was off somewhere sulking?” He leaned down so he felt the Doctor’s strangled breath on his face, and chuckled. “He’d probably try to kill me - again. Are you up to stopping him? I don’t think so. On the other hand… perhaps he’d feel inclined to join us. With him you never know.”
The Doctor’s dark eyes became even darker, and for a second he managed to focus his gaze. He refused to say anything, though. Maybe he was simply lacking the breath for it.
Another second later his eyes became glassy and closed. The Master snorted softly and pressed a kiss to his lips that got no response. Slightly disappointed he tugged the Doctor under the covers and left him to sleep.
-
The Doctor’s head hurt. It was the first thing he realised as he slowly came awake. The room was spinning around him even before he opened his eyes, and this time it wasn’t just the wrongness of his being. He felt miserable on a very physical level; it didn’t distract him from the sickening feeling of his existence but added to it. With effort he turned onto his side and retched. After a moment he remembered that he was in Jack’s room, and felt idiotically relived that he had nothing in this stomach to throw up. Wouldn’t want to mess with someone else’s room.
It occurred to him that the TARDIS could clean it up. Gasping for air he tried to regain some hold on his own thoughts.
Rassilon, he was feeling terrible! Of the brief flicker of strength that had enabled him to leave the bed before nothing was left. He might have been able to preserve it, gather more strength if he’d stayed in bed and simply concentrated on recovering, but instead he had to run around stopping his idiotic, childish companions from killing each other.
The thought brought along memories, reminding him why he was lying in Jack’s bed and not his own. He jolted upright as he remembered that he needed to find Jack, and soon. Almost the same moment he fell back onto the covers, nausea washing over him. He couldn’t move - it was simply impossible. With every breath he felt worse. His insides were throbbing with pain, out of rhythm with the pain in his head.
The thought of Jack didn’t allow him to rest. He was, right now, most likely hurt, confused, and filled with murderous fury. The Doctor had to find him, tell him it wasn’t his fault, tell him not to kill the Master. Would that work? Why wasn’t it Jack’s fault? He’d want to know that, and what would the Doctor tell him then? If he found out ‘Harry’ had mentally controlled him, he’d want to kill him even more.
No time to think of that. First of all he had to get moving again. The Doctor closed his eyes and with a lot of effort gathered his energy.
-
A good five hours after he’d finished watching the surveillance movie the man he was very sure was not named Harry had send him, Jack Harkness wasn’t thinking very much. He wasn’t feeling very much either. He was just numb. Deep inside he was aching, and feeling very much like screaming and tearing his hair and, yes, killing someone (possibly himself), but those feeling were hidden under the surface for the time being, and on the surface he was just lost. In more than one way.
He’d fled his room and the presence of the horrible data crystal blindly, wandered through the TRADIS without aim, and now he was aware that he had no idea where he was. He didn’t care much anyway, since right now there was nowhere he wanted to go.
A part of him (perhaps the part that had made him wander blindly through unknown corridors instead of grabbing his gun and putting a hole into Harry’s head) had decided no to do anything before he was able to think straight again and was aware what exactly he was feeling.
The much larger part of his being was quite simply frozen with shock. Disgust even. Seeing a younger him forcing himself on an obviously ill and defenceless man, blind to everything but his own desire, including Harry storming up to him to knock him out… there was so much wrong with the scene that he had a hard time taking it for face value. But he had seen it, and so he was unable to completely deny its existence. It could be a fake, created by a bored sociopath. Or it could be genuine.
His subconscious was pleading guilty until proven innocent and horrified at himself beneath the deep layer of numb indecision that had made him sit down on the first available soft surface and stare into the air. His hands were trembling. He felt like crying, or loosing his mind, but couldn’t yet think enough to decide if that would be appropriate. He kept staring instead. It was cold.
He needed to talk to the Doctor. The Time Lord knew what was going on, he’d make him understand, and somehow he would make everything better. At this point Jack laughed. The Doctor would want him to stay calm and not kill anyone. He’d lie to him. And even if he didn’t, this was not something Jack wanted to bother him with. He didn’t deserve to be raped and then asked for comfort.
He was the only one who could tell him anything resembling the truth. The only one here Jack trusted.
Jack didn’t want to see him, he decided. He didn’t know what he would do. Perhaps he should never mention it to the Doctor. Don’t bring it up.
He turned his head, just slightly, focusing his attention just a little bit on the direction where he thought that he had, possibly, seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. Half a minute ago.
The room was dimly lit, looking, smelling and feeling abandoned, like it hadn’t been entered in a very long time. It was a room like his - same layout, a bed, a closet, the remains of personal belongings scattered on a wooden desk. The books and tools meant nothing to Jack. Someone had lived here once, but not anymore.
The Doctor was standing in the doorway. He was wearing his coat over his pyjama and in the weak light he almost looked healthy.
He came over when Jack looked at him, and Jack looked down again, unsure what to say. The Doctor knew, then. He wasn’t even surprised.
“Is it true?” he heard himself ask. “Did I really do that?” Hoping desperately for a negative answer and the ability to believe it.
“Yes,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry.”
When Jack sank down to bury his face in his hands, he almost whimpered.
Long fingers took hold of his wrists. “It wasn’t your fault,” the Doctor told him. “You had no control over what you were doing.”
“Does it make any difference?” Jack asked bitterly.
“Of course it does, you big ape,” the Doctor said gently. “It means that while you did it you didn’t actually do it. And now look at me.” He pulled the human’s hands away from his face, and then a gentle hand under his chin forced him to look up. Warm brown eyes full of sadness looked into his. “It wasn’t your fault,” the Doctor said again, slowly, and Jack had no choice but to believe him.
His hands wrapped around the Time Lords slim waist and pulled him close, until he was sitting on Jack’s lap. He needed the closeness now, and as he pressed his face against his friend’s closed coat, he could hear a single heart beating strongly inside his chest. The Doctor wasn’t trembling any longer, and didn’t seem to be in pain. Jack wasn’t yet ready to marvel on that (nor on the new bruise he’d seen on his cheek).
“It was Harry.” A statement, not a question. His voice was muffled by the Doctor’s coat. “He did this to me. To us.”
There was a long pause. Eventually the Doctor said, “Yes.”
“But how? Why?” Jack pulled his face back a bit, so he could breathe and speak a little louder. “What’s the point? Why did he hurt you if you’re so important to him? I can’t believe he’d endanger your life just to hurt me.”
“It wasn’t just about you.” The Doctor sounded hesitant, unsure what to say, how much to tell. “It’s… complicated. This need to attack you, it’s nothing personal. He just hates your existence.”
“Oh, right. That’s not personal at all.”
“Jack. It’s…” The Doctor seemed to get a bit heavier in Jack’s arms. Despite his inner turmoil the human began to gently rub his back. “I think he feels threatened by you, stupid as it is,” the Time Lord continued. “Because you don’t die. Because you’ll always be there, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that.”
“This is about you, isn’t it?” Jack realised. “He doesn’t want to share.” When the Doctor didn’t answer, he added, “I don’t understand it. He’s not immortal himself. Why does he even care? What does he have to do with you?”
The Doctor wasn’t looking at him. He was looking through Jack, at something far, far away.
“He’s the Master,” he said.
He spoke the words and Jack wasn’t surprised. He thought that he should have been, but somehow he wasn’t. It wasn’t even so that he had already guessed it, on a subconscious level. It was more like his mind didn’t question the information. He acknowledged it, and instinctively tightened his hold on his alien friend, held him closer.
“Jack.” The Doctor started what would have been at the same time a plea and an order. “Don’t…”
“I know,” Jack interrupted him, his voice a little harsher than expected. “I won’t.” He nearly laughed then, and it would have been bitter. The Doctor had probably just saved the bastard’s life, for how could Jack kill him now, the bloody fucking Second Last of the Time Lords sociopathic Master, when he knew all too well what his mere existence meant to the Doctor. He wouldn’t get over his death a second time.
“What do I do?” Jack whispered. He couldn’t leave the Doctor alone with him, and couldn’t bear the Master’s presence. “What do I do?”
“Be above him,” the Doctor advised softly. “He’s just trying to provoke you. Don’t let him have his will. Best to avoid him whenever you can. I can’t ask you to leave, can I?”
“You’d better not try,” Jack growled.
They held onto each other for another minute, until Jack saw something else out of the corner of his eye. This time he looked at once, nearly jumping when he saw Harry - no, when he saw the Master standing in the doorway. He did his best to keep clam, to stay where he was, but the Master wasn’t even looking at him. His stare was fixed firmly on the Doctor, his eyes wide and his face drained of colour.
“Are you out of your bloody mind?” he hissed.
In Jack’s arms, the Doctor merely sighed.
- tbc
December 12, 2008