(no subject)
Title: Month Five, Day Three
Author: mad_jaks
Characters: Jack, Tish
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG13
Prompt: Ages ago now snakewhissperer asked me for "Jack and whoever you chose - the year that never was" - I hope this fits the bill
Summary: Incarcerated on the Valiant Jack realises he is only human after all
Beta: unfeathered - long may she prosper - with additional input and rich text hand holding from kel_reiley
Disclaimer: Not mine - making no money
And finally... Thanks to _medley_for encouraging me in the first place - I have been assured there *is* still a connection, sweetie, so I think I should be safe *G*
Also - Rich Text Editing? I won't be doing that again in a hurry!!
Month Five, Day Three
Jack can't let himself believe that the Master realises just how much Tish's continued presence means to him. Because if the Master did he'd have put a stop to it weeks ago.
He must certainly know that every time she sees Jack dead or dying - walks in to find him hanging lifeless in his cell or crawling, broken, on the floor - it breaks her just a little bit more. So maybe the Master's done the maths and has simply decided that punishing Tish 'live' in front of him in lieu of Martha is punishment enough for the both of them. Jack sure as hell hopes so anyway.
More deaths ago than Jack cares to remember, she'd plunged shaking hands into his chest and tried to stem the bleeding, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she'd pleaded with him to stay alive 'just this once'. Even though, by then, she'd already known it was a futile exercise. That it was better to let him die - help put him out of his misery even - than try to stop it. On the other hand one of the more sympathetic guards had put a bullet through his brain once and Jack had 'woken' to the sound of the young man's agonised screams echoing down the corridors, so maybe it was better that she never tried. But that was humanity for you - it didn't know when to quit.
Which, Jack supposes, is his problem because - no matter what the Master and the Doctor might say to the contrary - he is only human. Sure, he can live forever but a life starved of any touch except at the Master's hand? Thoughts of his team, and of Martha - hoping against hope that they're all still alive down on the planet beneath him and fighting some rearguard action - that the Doctor has a plan that can still work, could only sustain a man so far. So long. And he's tried. Heaven knows he's tried. Not to let himself feel - not to want to.
Because he knows - knows - the Master is more than capable of fostering a relationship between the pair of them just so he can use it against him. Chain her up and torture her in front of him or... worse. The images of what the Master could and would do to Tish - anyone that Jack dared allow himself to get attached to - to break him are what keep him - had kept him - detached.
There's no going back on it now though, he knows he's failed. He knows her shift pattern by heart and counts the seconds till she walks into the room and touches him again.
If she doesn't come he gets anxious. Not daring to ask for information, he counts the clock round again until the next time and the next. Once she was sick for two days and when the Master had 'requested' Jack's presence on the bridge on the evening of the second he'd almost been relieved to find he'd been summoned to darken the Doctor's private hell by-. Well, that didn't matter now. He'd been allowed to die - eventually - and next morning she'd been there with his breakfast, just like today.
Spoon feeding him the first portion of his thrice daily mess, drop by precious drop, one hand cupped beneath the spoon, her fingers graze his jaw as he swallows clumsily, trying not to gag as he gulps the contents down before they are cool enough to taste. It's never enough.
Her sleeve brushes against his bare arm as she leaves and he has to bite his lip to be quiet, not to beg her - plead with her - to come back. He shuts his eyes and lets his chin drop to his chest, refusing to let himself look after her. It will only be another four hours. Three hours, fifty eight minutes and counting by the time the door slams closed behind her.
He can wait that long.