Fic: The Silence of the Mind 2/7
Title:The Silence of the Mind
Author: alex_caligari
Beta: jellybean728
Characters/Pairings: Owen Harper
Rating: 14A
Summary: Owen is captured during the Year That Never Was. He quickly finds out that the worst tortures are not the ones he expected.
Disclaimer: All puppets still firmly attached to the BBC.
Author's Notes: Torchwood/Doctor Who crossover, set during the end of S1 and S3, respectively. Nothing graphic, but things will get worse quite quickly.
Chapter 1: International RelationsChapter 2: Anonymous
It only lasted twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks of walking and hiding, stealing food and sleeping in rubbish, all for nothing. They couldn’t have found me on their own; I was too careful for that. The family I was staying with had sold me out, for information most likely, or protection. All the warning I had was the door crashing open in the middle of the night, and before I could even grab my gun I was tranquilized. I woke up on a transport truck.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I took stock of my situation: I was lying on my side with zip ties around my wrists, my ankles chained to the bench, and a killer headache behind my eyes. A nasty looking grunt in uniform sat across from me, holding a very large semi-automatic. Through the window I could see sunlight and greenery, but couldn’t tell where we were.
“So, Lurch, where are we going?” I asked the grunt, pushing myself up. He didn’t respond. “I assume this is for Saxon, yeah? No chance I’ve been captured by a roaming band of freedom fighters?” I glanced at his uniform. No rank, no name. No insignia of any sort. An anonymous soldier, easy to replace.
He looked young.
“Your mother know what you’re up to these days?”
“The prisoner will be silent,” the grunt said.
“Touched a nerve, have I?” I stared at him, drawing out the silence. “Was she spared?”
“I said be quiet!” He backhanded me across the face and returned to ignoring me.
“Guess not,” I murmured. The rest of the ride was quiet, and I tried to determine our location by the glimpses of scenery I caught. Greenery gave way to rocky and barren scrubland. The AC was cranked in the truck so it must have been hot outside. I was close to the Caspian Sea when I was captured, but had no way of knowing which direction we were going or how long we had already been travelling. The truck rocked along mountainous roads, and the sun was low when we finally stopped. I was brought outside and the zip ties were cut.
“Oh good, a toilet,” I said about the ugly little building we stood beside. “About time, too.” I tried to work out the cramps in my shoulders without drawing attention to it. My words were casual but there was truth to them. We hadn’t stopped even to refuel during the long trip, and several bodily functions needed to be addressed immediately.
I was shoved into the dingy building and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom. “The prisoner has fifteen minutes,” another grunt said, presumably the driver.
Thankfully, I saw there was some primitive plumbing and a table with bottled water and food packages on it. As I took care of the most urgent need, I evaluated my situation for the thousandth time. The grunts worked for Saxon, and Saxon wanted me alive. The food and water were safe then. Drugged, possibly, but not poisoned.
I noticed there wasn’t a mirror in the room, although there was evidence that one had once been installed. No glass to attack the guards with, or to... well. Last resort of a desperate man.
I finished and examined the food. Dried fruit and jerky. Army rations. It was better than nothing, and both the food and water tasted clean of drugs. I was slow in finishing up, wasting time until the grunts banged on the door and ordered me out. The zip ties were replaced, and our long journey continued.
I must have fallen asleep on the road because when we stopped it was night. The younger grunt jerked me upright and marched me out of the truck and on to an airstrip. A small prop plane waited for us. “Hey,” I said. My voice cracked from disuse. The grunt turned slightly towards me. “Could I at least have the decency to know what’s going to happen to me?”
The grunt turned away, but I could tell he was listening.
I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry about your mother, and anyone else they took from you, really I am.” I glanced at him, and his jaw twitched. “If they’re going to kill me, let me know now. I don’t,” I paused and swallowed, “I don’t want to die afraid. Give me time to prepare myself.”
His eyes met mine before he looked away into the darkness. “Saxon has requested that all those connected with Torchwood be captured alive and brought to the airship Valiant to await trial.”
I digested this. “So I’m to be executed?”
“That information is unknown. But the sentence for treason is the death penalty.”
“And the rest of Torchwood? Have they been captured?”
“That information is unknown.”
I nodded and stopped talking. If there was anything I learned from Jack, it was how to interrogate a suspect. The methods he used would never have been allowed in the world outside, in Gwen’s police force. Jack made the suspect feel alone, threatened, off-balance. The only way to relieve that discomfort was to talk, and so they did. I wondered where he learned such crude methods. Crude, but effective.
And I was suddenly grateful for the education. I could recognize when the same tricks were used on me. If the others had all been captured or killed, I wouldn’t still be alive. They would want me for questioning, which meant someone was still out there. It didn’t give me enough hope for a rescue, but it was hope nonetheless.
Another transport truck pulled up and a man of obvious importance walked out. He was tall and grey-haired, and despite his age was physically fit. “This him?” he asked one of the solders, one I didn’t recognize.
“Yes, sir. Owen Harper, medical officer for Torchwood.”
The man walked over and looked at me for a long moment before speaking. “Do you know why you were arrested?”
“I’d hardly call it arrested, sir,” I added mockingly. “More like black-bagged in the middle of the night.”
He ignored me. “You are a traitor to the government, along with the rest of your terrorist group.”
“Terrorist? How can we be- We didn’t do anything!”
The man nodded like he agreed but had heard it before. “Take him to the plane,” he said to the young grunt beside me. “I will escort him to the Valiant.”
I was loaded quite forcefully on to the plane, and Sir took a seat beside me. Another mystery trip while I was left ignorant. I was trying to make myself comfortable enough to sleep when Sir spoke up.
“You’re the first one we’ve captured,” he said. I turned to him. “Of Torchwood, I mean. The others are still whereabouts unknown.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Nice to know I’m the worst at going underground.” But the statement fuelled my hope.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It took a considerable amount of effort to find you.”
“You’re right, that does make me feel better. Why are you telling me this?”
He faced me. “You assume that because the others are still at large that that means there is a chance of rescue, or completing your objective. I am assuring you now, there is no such hope.”
I stared at him. “What’s your name?”
He smiled thinly. “It is of no importance. You will not see me again.” He resettled in his seat. “Try to get some sleep, Dr. Harper. You will need your strength.” He didn’t say any more.
Despite his advice, I didn’t sleep at all on the long flight.
Chapter 3: Boredom
Author: alex_caligari
Beta: jellybean728
Characters/Pairings: Owen Harper
Rating: 14A
Summary: Owen is captured during the Year That Never Was. He quickly finds out that the worst tortures are not the ones he expected.
Disclaimer: All puppets still firmly attached to the BBC.
Author's Notes: Torchwood/Doctor Who crossover, set during the end of S1 and S3, respectively. Nothing graphic, but things will get worse quite quickly.
Chapter 1: International RelationsChapter 2: Anonymous
It only lasted twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks of walking and hiding, stealing food and sleeping in rubbish, all for nothing. They couldn’t have found me on their own; I was too careful for that. The family I was staying with had sold me out, for information most likely, or protection. All the warning I had was the door crashing open in the middle of the night, and before I could even grab my gun I was tranquilized. I woke up on a transport truck.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I took stock of my situation: I was lying on my side with zip ties around my wrists, my ankles chained to the bench, and a killer headache behind my eyes. A nasty looking grunt in uniform sat across from me, holding a very large semi-automatic. Through the window I could see sunlight and greenery, but couldn’t tell where we were.
“So, Lurch, where are we going?” I asked the grunt, pushing myself up. He didn’t respond. “I assume this is for Saxon, yeah? No chance I’ve been captured by a roaming band of freedom fighters?” I glanced at his uniform. No rank, no name. No insignia of any sort. An anonymous soldier, easy to replace.
He looked young.
“Your mother know what you’re up to these days?”
“The prisoner will be silent,” the grunt said.
“Touched a nerve, have I?” I stared at him, drawing out the silence. “Was she spared?”
“I said be quiet!” He backhanded me across the face and returned to ignoring me.
“Guess not,” I murmured. The rest of the ride was quiet, and I tried to determine our location by the glimpses of scenery I caught. Greenery gave way to rocky and barren scrubland. The AC was cranked in the truck so it must have been hot outside. I was close to the Caspian Sea when I was captured, but had no way of knowing which direction we were going or how long we had already been travelling. The truck rocked along mountainous roads, and the sun was low when we finally stopped. I was brought outside and the zip ties were cut.
“Oh good, a toilet,” I said about the ugly little building we stood beside. “About time, too.” I tried to work out the cramps in my shoulders without drawing attention to it. My words were casual but there was truth to them. We hadn’t stopped even to refuel during the long trip, and several bodily functions needed to be addressed immediately.
I was shoved into the dingy building and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom. “The prisoner has fifteen minutes,” another grunt said, presumably the driver.
Thankfully, I saw there was some primitive plumbing and a table with bottled water and food packages on it. As I took care of the most urgent need, I evaluated my situation for the thousandth time. The grunts worked for Saxon, and Saxon wanted me alive. The food and water were safe then. Drugged, possibly, but not poisoned.
I noticed there wasn’t a mirror in the room, although there was evidence that one had once been installed. No glass to attack the guards with, or to... well. Last resort of a desperate man.
I finished and examined the food. Dried fruit and jerky. Army rations. It was better than nothing, and both the food and water tasted clean of drugs. I was slow in finishing up, wasting time until the grunts banged on the door and ordered me out. The zip ties were replaced, and our long journey continued.
I must have fallen asleep on the road because when we stopped it was night. The younger grunt jerked me upright and marched me out of the truck and on to an airstrip. A small prop plane waited for us. “Hey,” I said. My voice cracked from disuse. The grunt turned slightly towards me. “Could I at least have the decency to know what’s going to happen to me?”
The grunt turned away, but I could tell he was listening.
I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry about your mother, and anyone else they took from you, really I am.” I glanced at him, and his jaw twitched. “If they’re going to kill me, let me know now. I don’t,” I paused and swallowed, “I don’t want to die afraid. Give me time to prepare myself.”
His eyes met mine before he looked away into the darkness. “Saxon has requested that all those connected with Torchwood be captured alive and brought to the airship Valiant to await trial.”
I digested this. “So I’m to be executed?”
“That information is unknown. But the sentence for treason is the death penalty.”
“And the rest of Torchwood? Have they been captured?”
“That information is unknown.”
I nodded and stopped talking. If there was anything I learned from Jack, it was how to interrogate a suspect. The methods he used would never have been allowed in the world outside, in Gwen’s police force. Jack made the suspect feel alone, threatened, off-balance. The only way to relieve that discomfort was to talk, and so they did. I wondered where he learned such crude methods. Crude, but effective.
And I was suddenly grateful for the education. I could recognize when the same tricks were used on me. If the others had all been captured or killed, I wouldn’t still be alive. They would want me for questioning, which meant someone was still out there. It didn’t give me enough hope for a rescue, but it was hope nonetheless.
Another transport truck pulled up and a man of obvious importance walked out. He was tall and grey-haired, and despite his age was physically fit. “This him?” he asked one of the solders, one I didn’t recognize.
“Yes, sir. Owen Harper, medical officer for Torchwood.”
The man walked over and looked at me for a long moment before speaking. “Do you know why you were arrested?”
“I’d hardly call it arrested, sir,” I added mockingly. “More like black-bagged in the middle of the night.”
He ignored me. “You are a traitor to the government, along with the rest of your terrorist group.”
“Terrorist? How can we be- We didn’t do anything!”
The man nodded like he agreed but had heard it before. “Take him to the plane,” he said to the young grunt beside me. “I will escort him to the Valiant.”
I was loaded quite forcefully on to the plane, and Sir took a seat beside me. Another mystery trip while I was left ignorant. I was trying to make myself comfortable enough to sleep when Sir spoke up.
“You’re the first one we’ve captured,” he said. I turned to him. “Of Torchwood, I mean. The others are still whereabouts unknown.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Nice to know I’m the worst at going underground.” But the statement fuelled my hope.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It took a considerable amount of effort to find you.”
“You’re right, that does make me feel better. Why are you telling me this?”
He faced me. “You assume that because the others are still at large that that means there is a chance of rescue, or completing your objective. I am assuring you now, there is no such hope.”
I stared at him. “What’s your name?”
He smiled thinly. “It is of no importance. You will not see me again.” He resettled in his seat. “Try to get some sleep, Dr. Harper. You will need your strength.” He didn’t say any more.
Despite his advice, I didn’t sleep at all on the long flight.
Chapter 3: Boredom