Fic: Dancing To His Master's Drums Part One
My third entry for the wintercompanion fest, and the fic that has ruled my life for the past few weeks...honestly, it nearly killed me! What started out as a simple drabble somehow became 53 pages of fic. -_-;
Title: Dancing To His Master's Drums Part One
Author: RubyChan05
Prompt used: "Given how he referred to Jack in The Sound Of Drums, and Last Of The Time Lords, was there a grudging attraction to him in the Master? The Master uses his 'influence' to twist Jack's mind and keeps him in a seeming state of shock to keep him complaint. What can Ten do to protect him?"
"The Master is very persuasive. What can he persuade Jack to do to the Doctor? And what could he never, never persuade him to do?"
"You are a freak. If I knew how to destroy you I wouldn't hesitate for a moment."
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: All DW.
Warnings; Brief mention of torture, but not very descriptive
Summary: During the year-that-never-was it all goes to Hell, and the betrayed becomes the betrayer.
Notes: Also including Master/Jack because the idea of them together ate my brain.
Dancing To His Master’s Drums
“Doctor.”
“Captain.”
“Good to see you.”
He’d had a lot of time to think this past year. In between tuning himself into the psychic network, and acting as the Master’s plaything when the insane Time Lord grew bored, the Doctor had had very little else to do. And in a situation like this, with 900 years plus under his belt, he’d inevitably found himself dwelling on the bad things rather than the good. His many mistakes. Losing his people during the Time War. Losing Rose. Possibly losing Martha.
“I’ve been following you for a long time. You abandoned me.”
“Did I? Busy life. Moving on.”
But funnily enough, the Doctor had found himself spending most of his time thinking about Jack. The one companion he’d tried to lose. The one companion who’d fought so hard to be reunited with him, who’d even braved the terrors of the Vortex in his attempt to find the Doctor again. He’d left Jack behind on a station full of death and destruction, ankle deep in Dalek dust, and the Captain had still done everything in his power to get back to him. Jack had been angry, and rightfully so…yet he’d locked those feelings of abandonment away again so quickly, so careful not to disturb the balance between the Doctor and his new companion, not making it all about him until they were alone together.
Alone together whilst Jack connected the couplings in that irradiated room, doing the job that the Doctor had volunteered him for without even thinking about it.
Because yes, whilst Jack hadn’t visibly died, his cells back then would have constantly been being destroyed and reborn, wouldn’t they? Like the agony of a regeneration experienced again and again…the Doctor wondered now, sitting in his wheelchair, how much pain the Captain had actually been in. How much he had ached right down to his bones afterwards.
“It’s not easy just…just looking at you Jack, because you’re Wrong.”
“Thanks.”
“You are, I can’t help it.”
And all he had done was tell the man that he was Wrong. Unnatural. Probed him for details of what was obviously a painful subject for him. And Jack had taken it all with a wry grin and a low laugh, commenting on the ‘cheekiness’ of the new regeneration. Had stood by him, helped him set the rocket for launching. Been excited for him at the idea that the Doctor may not have been the last Time Lord after all, and not said a word at the barked order he received afterwards instead of a grin or a relieved smile.
“Even the TARDIS reacted against you, tried to shake you off. Flew all the way to the end of the universe just to get rid of you.”
Even when everything had gone to Hell in a hand basket, and Jack would have been perfectly within his rights to leave the Doctor to his own mess, he’d stayed. Had told the Doctor about Torchwood, knowing what the reaction would be. Jack had gone with him to the Master’s ship, attacked on his own when the Doctor had been incapacitated, and perhaps most admirably of all had given Martha his Vortex Manipulator. Instead of using it to escape himself, he had given that chance to Martha. Just as, the Doctor now realised, he himself had done so long ago, sending Rose home without even giving Jack a choice.
He’d abandoned him. He’d told him he was Wrong. He’d looked down on him for rebuilding Torchwood, regardless of his old friend’s reasons. But the one thing the Doctor regretted the most was letting the Master take Jack away.
“And the good thing is, he’s not dead for long. I get to kill him again!”
He still remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Kneeling there in his newly aged body, joints already protesting at the position. Jack, slumped and barely sitting upright, had met his eyes from across the room, visibly taking in the Doctor’s new body. And there had been no hint of pity or disgust there, just weary acceptance, a pain in his eyes screaming at the Doctor.
“I’m sorry.”
The Captain had whispered those words, and it had been a while before the Doctor had figured out what he meant. Jack hadn’t been sorry for sending Martha away, like the Doctor had first thought to his confusion. No, the immortal had been blaming himself for carrying the Doctor’s hand with him, leaving the Doctor in a position to have his body manipulated so.
And part of him had resented the man for even that. For not only putting the Doctor in this situation but also apologising in a way so heartfelt that the Doctor knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it against the other man. But all that had fled his mind the moment the Master’s guards had seized Jack.
Hands had grabbed at that military coat, wrestling with the owner underneath. Jack had given as good as he’d got and fought back viciously, even going so far as to snap at a hand with his bare teeth, but it had all been for nothing. Sheer numbers had overwhelmed him and he’d been dragged back, pulled towards the double doors that led to the rest of the ship.
“Doctor!” He’d tried to rise at Jack’s cry, really he had. But his body had failed him and he could only watch as the Master lifted a hand and mockingly caressed Jack’s cheek even as it quivered with rage beneath his touch.
“Take the freak to Lower Deck 2. I’ll be seeing you soon Jack - I can see myself getting quite a bit of…entertainment…out of you.”
The Doctor hadn’t seen Jack since. He was afraid of what he would see when he did.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
No matter how often he joked with the ever silent Tish about the poor quality of the food and the ‘broken’ air conditioning, the one thing Jack craved the most was a chance to sit down. It sounded odd, when you thought about it like that, but Jack felt he was well within his rights to fantasise about that one simple action, taken for granted by so many people. After all, he hadn’t actually sat down for…it must have been nearly two months now. Damn, that almost sounded worse than experiencing it.
Sometimes Jack wondered whether the experience of sitting down had been just a dream.
His arms burned from the strain they were under holding his body up when his legs decided to give out on him. The soles of his feet throbbed. His ears rang from the periodic shrill whistles the machinery around him made. And the constant jets of steam and smoke practically aimed at him made his eyes water, an itchy feeling under his eyelids that never seemed to go away.
He was pretty sure he stunk to high heaven too. Not that he could smell it himself…hell, he’d become numb to his worsening body odour weeks ago…but sometimes he saw Tish wrinkle her nose almost imperceptibly when she got near enough to feed him, and that was sign enough for him. When girls started turning their noses up at Captain Jack Harkness, something had to be wrong.
Then there was the problem of his near empty stomach - Jack knew that his meals were carefully regulated and planned out by someone in charge, perhaps even the Master himself. Regularly enough and with sufficient nutrients to keep Jack from starving, but few enough that there was an almost constant ache in his belly, a gnawing, empty feeling that quite often gave way to agonising cramps during the night.
Of course, one time the Master had gotten it into his head that he’d quite like to see Jack starve, so at one point there’d been no food and only the slightest trickle of water for nearly a week. At which point Jack had decided enough was enough and temporarily given up on his will to live, letting his body shut down despite the niggling fear of the darkness of death that was forming in the back of his mind.
Because Jack was sure that in two months he’d died more times than he had between 1869 and getting chained up here, 2008. And that was a whole lot of times. Strangled, poisoned, burned, whipped, stabbed, electrocuted, broken neck, shot, bled to death, poisoned again because the Master had found a new strength of arsenic that he was just dying to try out…the list went on, and with every death Jack found himself just that little more afraid, just that little more reluctant to open his eyes again.
Perhaps the most terrifying had been the time he took a dagger to the heart. The Master had entered, cool and suave as normal, and then simply thrust the dagger into Jack without even bothering to make a witty remark like he usually did. Jack had been unable to stop the shrill scream bubbling out of him even as the awful darkness had rushed over him once more, soul temporarily ripped away even as his body sought to repair itself.
At which point he’d woken up and immediately convulsed in agony, crying out even as he slipped away once more, dimly realising before he died again that the Master had left the dagger inside him.
It went on for the rest of the day, and through the night too, until Jack thought he may go insane. Continuously dying even as his body healed bit by bit, mending flesh slowly forcing the dagger out of him millimetre by millimetre. And through it all the Master sat there silently, just watching, a satisfied smile on his face.
Since then, every time the Master threatened him with that particular death again Jack immediately shut up, hating himself for even that small weakness.
The creak of the gate caught his attention, and Jack glanced up as Tish approached him, the day’s meal in her hands. Sniffing, Jack pulled a face at the smell, sighing dramatically even as he smiled wryly at Martha’s sister.
“Mashed sprouts again, right? You know, I think that may be a fate worse than death, don’t you?”
For the first time, Tish cracked a grin in his presence, and Jack was surprised by how much it transformed her solemn features. For a moment he saw the family resemblance to Martha, and thought that if things had been different he may have had a good thing with this Tish Jones. That was, if his heart wasn’t already obsessing over a certain Time Lord…
“You too, huh?”
Then Jack suddenly registered the fact that the guards normally stationed at the gate were conspicuously absent, and the reason behind Tish’s sudden ability to smile suddenly became a lot clearer.
“The guards?”
“Dad set off an alarm on Lower Deck 1. I needed time to tell you the plan.” Tish explained in a hurried whisper. Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Plan? I assume this is down to the Doctor, isn’t it? Gotta love these Time Lords, even an extra hundred years or so can’t bring them down. So what’s going down?”
Listening as Tish laid out the plan, Jack’s first thought was that the Doctor was undoubtedly brilliant. Even trapped in a wizened old body and reduced to being the Master’s plaything, the Doctor was still coming up with crazy plans like these. His second thought was that the Doctor was definitely gambling a whole lot on the situation allowing them to actually carry the plan out in what? Ten months?
His third thought was one that Jack immediately banished to the back of his mind, refusing to acknowledge it.
He didn’t know if he could last that long.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Come now, Jack…you’re hardly struggling at all. Very boring. Very disappointing.” The Master sighed, crossing his arms and shooting Jack a peeved look. Jack just smirked back, hissing through his teeth as the Toclaphane behind him petulantly shoved one of its blades into his shoulder.
“Maybe you’re just losing your touch.” He sneered.
The Master raised an eyebrow, a deceptively innocent expression stealing over his features.
“Oh? Then maybe we’d better go back to basics…what’s tried and tested usually works best, hmm?” Waving the Toclaphane out of the cell, the Master pulled an ornate dagger out of his suit jacket, grinning at the wide eyed look of terror he was suddenly seeing on Jack. Each step deliberate, he slowly made his way towards Jack, pausing in front of the trembling ex-Time Agent to caress his chest lightly with the point of the blade.
“What do you say, my handsome freak? Shall it be the dagger to the heart routine again?” He asked silkily. Jack shook his head hard, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic whimper that was threatening to spill out of him.
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”
“…No…”
“No what?”
“No…Master.”
The Master leaned back, eyes glinting in approval.
“There we are…its not so hard, is it? You don’t have to play the Doctor’s dashing hero all the time, you know. It’s not like he’s here to see it.”
Jack grimaced, fighting the urge to bare his teeth in an instinctive challenge.
“Maybe it’s not just a role I play. Maybe its who I am.” He snarled through gritted teeth. The Master tutted, every inch of his body radiating amusement.
“Now now, we both know that isn’t true. It’s not who you really are, is it Jack?” A perfectly manicured hand curled in Jack’s dark hair, wrenching the Captain’s head back to meet his eyes, and Jack gasped as he felt something invading him, twisting in a frantic attempt to get free of the terrible presence sliding into his mind.
Recalling the basic psychic training he’d received back when he first joined the Agency, Jack threw up his mental defences only to cry out as the presence smashed through his shields as if they weren’t there. Images were flashing past his eyes, memories of himself getting into various mishaps over the years, memories of his time spent with the Doctor, memories of his many missions for the Time Agency.
The Master lingered over these memories, seemingly finding great amusement in Jack’s antics both as an Agent and as a con man. Jack just felt sick to his stomach, both in shame over his former actions and the sensation of having his very memory rifled through and watched. The more he fought, the more it hurt, and Jack found himself thinking through his increasing panic that this must be what being raped felt like, this sense of not belonging to yourself anymore, of being marked for someone else’s use…
And underneath it all Jack could hear a faint drumming sound, growing louder with every step further into his mind the Master took.
An image of himself conning a naïve pair of greenhorn Agents appeared in front of his eyes, and a sense of glee that wasn’t his own swept through him, matching with the Master’s manic grin in front of him.
“See? This is the real you, Jack. The man who the Doctor didn’t deem to be good enough. The man you were before you changed for him. Not that it did you much good, did it? He still rejected you, after all…”
The images changed, suddenly flooding before his eyes hard and fast, each one bringing with it the same sharp sense of pain and betrayal he’d felt at the time, along with the bitter feeling of loneliness that had come after.
The fact that the Doctor still didn’t approve of him even after bringing him onboard the TARDIS. The feeling of being second best, lacking what Rose didn’t. The knowledge that even though the Doctor finally respected him he wouldn’t dance with him, let alone anything more intimate. The constant snapping orders, the irritated telling offs when he flirted.
Kissing the Doctor goodbye and not having it returned in any fashion. Not even being given the choice to run as the Daleks invaded and the Doctor sent Rose home. Dying for the Doctor only to come back to life and find the TARDIS leaving him. Abandoning him.
Purposefully almost left behind by the Doctor in Cardiff. Treated coldly. Told he was Wrong, that even the TARDIS couldn’t stand him. Looked down upon in disgust for rebuilding Torchwood, despite its differences. Not good enough. Never good enough.
“That’s it…let it all out…” A voice soothed, and Jack was suddenly aware that the invasive presence in his mind was gone, that he was sobbing out loud with hot tears running down his face and scalding his cheeks. There was the clink of a key in a lock and suddenly Jack was falling, no longer held up by his chains, collapsing down to slump against the floor for the first time in months.
Arms wound themselves around him, enfolding Jack in a soothing embrace, granting Jack the refuge from the world that he’d been seeking so long. He clung to the person unashamedly, feeling gentle fingers carding through his hair, a comforting voice whispering to him.
Glancing up, Jack blinked as he realised that it was the Master who held him, the idea disturbing him for a moment. But then the presence in his mind returned again, reassuring him, and Jack relaxed again.
“You see, Jack? I’m not as bad as they crack me up to be. I just want to help. Help you. You don’t have to carry this pain alone anymore…these hurtful memories of what that man has done to you. Made you feel. Let me help you, Jack. Say you’ll let me help you.”
Jack smiled, his worries suddenly seeming very far away right now.
“Yes. Help me.” He murmured.
“Help you what?” The Time Lord gently coaxed.
“Help me, Master.”
The Master beamed, placing a pale hand against Jack’s grime-streaked forehead.
“Good…now sleep, my handsome Captain. Just go to sleep, and all will be well when you wake up…”
Blinking tiredly, Jack did just that, the tension flowing out of him even as he slipped out of the Master’s embrace to lie fully on the floor, his head pillowed in the Master’s lap.
There were drums in his head. And they drowned out all the pain, making him feel at peace for the first time in years.
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Comments are love!
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Title: Dancing To His Master's Drums Part One
Author: RubyChan05
Prompt used: "Given how he referred to Jack in The Sound Of Drums, and Last Of The Time Lords, was there a grudging attraction to him in the Master? The Master uses his 'influence' to twist Jack's mind and keeps him in a seeming state of shock to keep him complaint. What can Ten do to protect him?"
"The Master is very persuasive. What can he persuade Jack to do to the Doctor? And what could he never, never persuade him to do?"
"You are a freak. If I knew how to destroy you I wouldn't hesitate for a moment."
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: All DW.
Warnings; Brief mention of torture, but not very descriptive
Summary: During the year-that-never-was it all goes to Hell, and the betrayed becomes the betrayer.
Notes: Also including Master/Jack because the idea of them together ate my brain.
Dancing To His Master’s Drums
“Doctor.”
“Captain.”
“Good to see you.”
He’d had a lot of time to think this past year. In between tuning himself into the psychic network, and acting as the Master’s plaything when the insane Time Lord grew bored, the Doctor had had very little else to do. And in a situation like this, with 900 years plus under his belt, he’d inevitably found himself dwelling on the bad things rather than the good. His many mistakes. Losing his people during the Time War. Losing Rose. Possibly losing Martha.
“I’ve been following you for a long time. You abandoned me.”
“Did I? Busy life. Moving on.”
But funnily enough, the Doctor had found himself spending most of his time thinking about Jack. The one companion he’d tried to lose. The one companion who’d fought so hard to be reunited with him, who’d even braved the terrors of the Vortex in his attempt to find the Doctor again. He’d left Jack behind on a station full of death and destruction, ankle deep in Dalek dust, and the Captain had still done everything in his power to get back to him. Jack had been angry, and rightfully so…yet he’d locked those feelings of abandonment away again so quickly, so careful not to disturb the balance between the Doctor and his new companion, not making it all about him until they were alone together.
Alone together whilst Jack connected the couplings in that irradiated room, doing the job that the Doctor had volunteered him for without even thinking about it.
Because yes, whilst Jack hadn’t visibly died, his cells back then would have constantly been being destroyed and reborn, wouldn’t they? Like the agony of a regeneration experienced again and again…the Doctor wondered now, sitting in his wheelchair, how much pain the Captain had actually been in. How much he had ached right down to his bones afterwards.
“It’s not easy just…just looking at you Jack, because you’re Wrong.”
“Thanks.”
“You are, I can’t help it.”
And all he had done was tell the man that he was Wrong. Unnatural. Probed him for details of what was obviously a painful subject for him. And Jack had taken it all with a wry grin and a low laugh, commenting on the ‘cheekiness’ of the new regeneration. Had stood by him, helped him set the rocket for launching. Been excited for him at the idea that the Doctor may not have been the last Time Lord after all, and not said a word at the barked order he received afterwards instead of a grin or a relieved smile.
“Even the TARDIS reacted against you, tried to shake you off. Flew all the way to the end of the universe just to get rid of you.”
Even when everything had gone to Hell in a hand basket, and Jack would have been perfectly within his rights to leave the Doctor to his own mess, he’d stayed. Had told the Doctor about Torchwood, knowing what the reaction would be. Jack had gone with him to the Master’s ship, attacked on his own when the Doctor had been incapacitated, and perhaps most admirably of all had given Martha his Vortex Manipulator. Instead of using it to escape himself, he had given that chance to Martha. Just as, the Doctor now realised, he himself had done so long ago, sending Rose home without even giving Jack a choice.
He’d abandoned him. He’d told him he was Wrong. He’d looked down on him for rebuilding Torchwood, regardless of his old friend’s reasons. But the one thing the Doctor regretted the most was letting the Master take Jack away.
“And the good thing is, he’s not dead for long. I get to kill him again!”
He still remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Kneeling there in his newly aged body, joints already protesting at the position. Jack, slumped and barely sitting upright, had met his eyes from across the room, visibly taking in the Doctor’s new body. And there had been no hint of pity or disgust there, just weary acceptance, a pain in his eyes screaming at the Doctor.
“I’m sorry.”
The Captain had whispered those words, and it had been a while before the Doctor had figured out what he meant. Jack hadn’t been sorry for sending Martha away, like the Doctor had first thought to his confusion. No, the immortal had been blaming himself for carrying the Doctor’s hand with him, leaving the Doctor in a position to have his body manipulated so.
And part of him had resented the man for even that. For not only putting the Doctor in this situation but also apologising in a way so heartfelt that the Doctor knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it against the other man. But all that had fled his mind the moment the Master’s guards had seized Jack.
Hands had grabbed at that military coat, wrestling with the owner underneath. Jack had given as good as he’d got and fought back viciously, even going so far as to snap at a hand with his bare teeth, but it had all been for nothing. Sheer numbers had overwhelmed him and he’d been dragged back, pulled towards the double doors that led to the rest of the ship.
“Doctor!” He’d tried to rise at Jack’s cry, really he had. But his body had failed him and he could only watch as the Master lifted a hand and mockingly caressed Jack’s cheek even as it quivered with rage beneath his touch.
“Take the freak to Lower Deck 2. I’ll be seeing you soon Jack - I can see myself getting quite a bit of…entertainment…out of you.”
The Doctor hadn’t seen Jack since. He was afraid of what he would see when he did.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
No matter how often he joked with the ever silent Tish about the poor quality of the food and the ‘broken’ air conditioning, the one thing Jack craved the most was a chance to sit down. It sounded odd, when you thought about it like that, but Jack felt he was well within his rights to fantasise about that one simple action, taken for granted by so many people. After all, he hadn’t actually sat down for…it must have been nearly two months now. Damn, that almost sounded worse than experiencing it.
Sometimes Jack wondered whether the experience of sitting down had been just a dream.
His arms burned from the strain they were under holding his body up when his legs decided to give out on him. The soles of his feet throbbed. His ears rang from the periodic shrill whistles the machinery around him made. And the constant jets of steam and smoke practically aimed at him made his eyes water, an itchy feeling under his eyelids that never seemed to go away.
He was pretty sure he stunk to high heaven too. Not that he could smell it himself…hell, he’d become numb to his worsening body odour weeks ago…but sometimes he saw Tish wrinkle her nose almost imperceptibly when she got near enough to feed him, and that was sign enough for him. When girls started turning their noses up at Captain Jack Harkness, something had to be wrong.
Then there was the problem of his near empty stomach - Jack knew that his meals were carefully regulated and planned out by someone in charge, perhaps even the Master himself. Regularly enough and with sufficient nutrients to keep Jack from starving, but few enough that there was an almost constant ache in his belly, a gnawing, empty feeling that quite often gave way to agonising cramps during the night.
Of course, one time the Master had gotten it into his head that he’d quite like to see Jack starve, so at one point there’d been no food and only the slightest trickle of water for nearly a week. At which point Jack had decided enough was enough and temporarily given up on his will to live, letting his body shut down despite the niggling fear of the darkness of death that was forming in the back of his mind.
Because Jack was sure that in two months he’d died more times than he had between 1869 and getting chained up here, 2008. And that was a whole lot of times. Strangled, poisoned, burned, whipped, stabbed, electrocuted, broken neck, shot, bled to death, poisoned again because the Master had found a new strength of arsenic that he was just dying to try out…the list went on, and with every death Jack found himself just that little more afraid, just that little more reluctant to open his eyes again.
Perhaps the most terrifying had been the time he took a dagger to the heart. The Master had entered, cool and suave as normal, and then simply thrust the dagger into Jack without even bothering to make a witty remark like he usually did. Jack had been unable to stop the shrill scream bubbling out of him even as the awful darkness had rushed over him once more, soul temporarily ripped away even as his body sought to repair itself.
At which point he’d woken up and immediately convulsed in agony, crying out even as he slipped away once more, dimly realising before he died again that the Master had left the dagger inside him.
It went on for the rest of the day, and through the night too, until Jack thought he may go insane. Continuously dying even as his body healed bit by bit, mending flesh slowly forcing the dagger out of him millimetre by millimetre. And through it all the Master sat there silently, just watching, a satisfied smile on his face.
Since then, every time the Master threatened him with that particular death again Jack immediately shut up, hating himself for even that small weakness.
The creak of the gate caught his attention, and Jack glanced up as Tish approached him, the day’s meal in her hands. Sniffing, Jack pulled a face at the smell, sighing dramatically even as he smiled wryly at Martha’s sister.
“Mashed sprouts again, right? You know, I think that may be a fate worse than death, don’t you?”
For the first time, Tish cracked a grin in his presence, and Jack was surprised by how much it transformed her solemn features. For a moment he saw the family resemblance to Martha, and thought that if things had been different he may have had a good thing with this Tish Jones. That was, if his heart wasn’t already obsessing over a certain Time Lord…
“You too, huh?”
Then Jack suddenly registered the fact that the guards normally stationed at the gate were conspicuously absent, and the reason behind Tish’s sudden ability to smile suddenly became a lot clearer.
“The guards?”
“Dad set off an alarm on Lower Deck 1. I needed time to tell you the plan.” Tish explained in a hurried whisper. Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Plan? I assume this is down to the Doctor, isn’t it? Gotta love these Time Lords, even an extra hundred years or so can’t bring them down. So what’s going down?”
Listening as Tish laid out the plan, Jack’s first thought was that the Doctor was undoubtedly brilliant. Even trapped in a wizened old body and reduced to being the Master’s plaything, the Doctor was still coming up with crazy plans like these. His second thought was that the Doctor was definitely gambling a whole lot on the situation allowing them to actually carry the plan out in what? Ten months?
His third thought was one that Jack immediately banished to the back of his mind, refusing to acknowledge it.
He didn’t know if he could last that long.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Come now, Jack…you’re hardly struggling at all. Very boring. Very disappointing.” The Master sighed, crossing his arms and shooting Jack a peeved look. Jack just smirked back, hissing through his teeth as the Toclaphane behind him petulantly shoved one of its blades into his shoulder.
“Maybe you’re just losing your touch.” He sneered.
The Master raised an eyebrow, a deceptively innocent expression stealing over his features.
“Oh? Then maybe we’d better go back to basics…what’s tried and tested usually works best, hmm?” Waving the Toclaphane out of the cell, the Master pulled an ornate dagger out of his suit jacket, grinning at the wide eyed look of terror he was suddenly seeing on Jack. Each step deliberate, he slowly made his way towards Jack, pausing in front of the trembling ex-Time Agent to caress his chest lightly with the point of the blade.
“What do you say, my handsome freak? Shall it be the dagger to the heart routine again?” He asked silkily. Jack shook his head hard, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic whimper that was threatening to spill out of him.
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”
“…No…”
“No what?”
“No…Master.”
The Master leaned back, eyes glinting in approval.
“There we are…its not so hard, is it? You don’t have to play the Doctor’s dashing hero all the time, you know. It’s not like he’s here to see it.”
Jack grimaced, fighting the urge to bare his teeth in an instinctive challenge.
“Maybe it’s not just a role I play. Maybe its who I am.” He snarled through gritted teeth. The Master tutted, every inch of his body radiating amusement.
“Now now, we both know that isn’t true. It’s not who you really are, is it Jack?” A perfectly manicured hand curled in Jack’s dark hair, wrenching the Captain’s head back to meet his eyes, and Jack gasped as he felt something invading him, twisting in a frantic attempt to get free of the terrible presence sliding into his mind.
Recalling the basic psychic training he’d received back when he first joined the Agency, Jack threw up his mental defences only to cry out as the presence smashed through his shields as if they weren’t there. Images were flashing past his eyes, memories of himself getting into various mishaps over the years, memories of his time spent with the Doctor, memories of his many missions for the Time Agency.
The Master lingered over these memories, seemingly finding great amusement in Jack’s antics both as an Agent and as a con man. Jack just felt sick to his stomach, both in shame over his former actions and the sensation of having his very memory rifled through and watched. The more he fought, the more it hurt, and Jack found himself thinking through his increasing panic that this must be what being raped felt like, this sense of not belonging to yourself anymore, of being marked for someone else’s use…
And underneath it all Jack could hear a faint drumming sound, growing louder with every step further into his mind the Master took.
An image of himself conning a naïve pair of greenhorn Agents appeared in front of his eyes, and a sense of glee that wasn’t his own swept through him, matching with the Master’s manic grin in front of him.
“See? This is the real you, Jack. The man who the Doctor didn’t deem to be good enough. The man you were before you changed for him. Not that it did you much good, did it? He still rejected you, after all…”
The images changed, suddenly flooding before his eyes hard and fast, each one bringing with it the same sharp sense of pain and betrayal he’d felt at the time, along with the bitter feeling of loneliness that had come after.
The fact that the Doctor still didn’t approve of him even after bringing him onboard the TARDIS. The feeling of being second best, lacking what Rose didn’t. The knowledge that even though the Doctor finally respected him he wouldn’t dance with him, let alone anything more intimate. The constant snapping orders, the irritated telling offs when he flirted.
Kissing the Doctor goodbye and not having it returned in any fashion. Not even being given the choice to run as the Daleks invaded and the Doctor sent Rose home. Dying for the Doctor only to come back to life and find the TARDIS leaving him. Abandoning him.
Purposefully almost left behind by the Doctor in Cardiff. Treated coldly. Told he was Wrong, that even the TARDIS couldn’t stand him. Looked down upon in disgust for rebuilding Torchwood, despite its differences. Not good enough. Never good enough.
“That’s it…let it all out…” A voice soothed, and Jack was suddenly aware that the invasive presence in his mind was gone, that he was sobbing out loud with hot tears running down his face and scalding his cheeks. There was the clink of a key in a lock and suddenly Jack was falling, no longer held up by his chains, collapsing down to slump against the floor for the first time in months.
Arms wound themselves around him, enfolding Jack in a soothing embrace, granting Jack the refuge from the world that he’d been seeking so long. He clung to the person unashamedly, feeling gentle fingers carding through his hair, a comforting voice whispering to him.
Glancing up, Jack blinked as he realised that it was the Master who held him, the idea disturbing him for a moment. But then the presence in his mind returned again, reassuring him, and Jack relaxed again.
“You see, Jack? I’m not as bad as they crack me up to be. I just want to help. Help you. You don’t have to carry this pain alone anymore…these hurtful memories of what that man has done to you. Made you feel. Let me help you, Jack. Say you’ll let me help you.”
Jack smiled, his worries suddenly seeming very far away right now.
“Yes. Help me.” He murmured.
“Help you what?” The Time Lord gently coaxed.
“Help me, Master.”
The Master beamed, placing a pale hand against Jack’s grime-streaked forehead.
“Good…now sleep, my handsome Captain. Just go to sleep, and all will be well when you wake up…”
Blinking tiredly, Jack did just that, the tension flowing out of him even as he slipped out of the Master’s embrace to lie fully on the floor, his head pillowed in the Master’s lap.
There were drums in his head. And they drowned out all the pain, making him feel at peace for the first time in years.
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
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