To Dust and Ashes
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: #060 - Relief
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Season 3 Finale
Warning: shady consent, torture, character death
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Doctor (10), Simm!Master/Doctor, TARDIS/Doctor
Summary: Sequel to Catch 22. In the end it all comes down to Jack and a gun.
Eventually the Doctor begins to fear the times when the Master is away more than his presence. It’s not just that he doesn’t know what the other man is up to while he’s not watching but knows that it’s something bad and that he’s sooner or later going to learn about it - after all, what’s the point in using all his dark and twisted genius on the universe if the Doctor doesn’t appreciate it? The uncertainty of what he’s going to find out is making him sick and the eventual revelation is always worse than he expected, but what the Master does would be no less terrible were the Doctor present while he does it. There was a time when he was glad to be left alone, for it meant a brief pause - even if the Master tied him up or pushed something large into him with the order to leave it inside. At least for a while he knew that nothing worse would happen to him. Until one day, many years back the (TARDIS) paradox machine decided to join in the game.
And when the Master is away she (it) is the one in power, the one that takes him and uses him and makes him see how very vulnerable he is, and how helpless and lost and so terribly, devastatingly alone. It’s always worse with her, somehow, because she knows no evil, and in another life, once upon a time she used to love him so very, very much.
Now she invades his mind through the bond that used to be so precious and shows him what’s become of her and he can feel all her desires, her wish to own him, her desire to break him and hurt him and make him see he’s hers. It’s dark and terrible, frightening and always, always calling for him. She gets into his body, tearing him apart from the inside (and there are no words in the universe to describe that pain), taking control of his hearts, his lungs, keeps them working when they should fail, and she gets into his mind - he can feel her happiness whenever she makes him scream, whenever he wishes he she’d let him die and she makes him know that she’ll never let him go. He can feel the darkness where once has been a warmth that welcomed him, always. It was there when he woke up after the war, in a new body and a universe of nothing and maybe it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. He believes he can still feel it sometimes, behind all that darkness and madness, her very core trapped behind the blood-red shadows, calling for him and just as lost. He can not reach her, and sometimes he doesn’t know if she’s even there.
Maybe it’s just his imagination, his mind making up things because he cannot accept that this twisted, sadistic creature is the same being that once sang him to sleep.
Once the Master left to play his games with the inhabitants of a world in the eastside of Andromeda and chained the Doctor to the cage that surrounds the console. He laughed when the Doctor screamed in horror and begged, pleaded to be let go. Then he left and didn’t return for four days while the paradox machine invaded the Doctor’s body and soul, wiring him into her system and abusing him until he reached his limit, one very small step away from dying - the one step she never went. She enjoyed that power, kept him conscious all the time and invited him into her dark world, let him know what she’d do next. Just like once she was his he now is hers as he is the Master’s and he can not tell what is worse.
And she tries to pour her essence into him the way he has willingly taken it once before, take him over completely, make him her vessel. He’ll be free from the Master the moment he lets her in, will become a god, and she’ll make sure it won’t destroy him, not this time. He’d be above the Master and the bond that makes him his slave, would be above everything, but he’d still be just a tool, her tool, twisted by her insanity and she’d turn him into a god of darkness and the universe would fall. And so he fights her with all he has left but the temptation is still there, every time, for this hell is so much more than he can bear and he’s longing for relief. He doesn’t know how much longer until he’s willing to pay any price.
He’s seen too many die, has suffered too much, and he can see no end to it. Eventually something inside him will die and at some point he starts longing for the day when he can watch another get tortured and killed and just don’t care.
But he’s seen Sarah die yesterday and knows the day hasn’t yet come.
He’s on his knees in the console room, waiting for the next blow. It splits the skin of his back, and when another lands in the same spot he gasps and falls forward, the choke-chain around his neck strangling him. He can’t get up until the Master grabs his hair and pulls him upright. He looks at the Doctor with contemplation and doubt, takes a long drag from his cigarette, then slaps him so hard his lip splits. The Doctor just takes it without a sound, looks at him waiting for more. There’s always more.
“Open your mouth,” the Master commands. When the Doctor does so he lets the ashes of his cigarette fall onto his tongue and the Doctor swallows obediently, gagging a little, longing for water he’s not going to get.
“You didn’t save your friend,” the Master muses, and stubs out the cigarette on the other’s naked chest.
“I tried,” the Doctor whispers.
“Then why did she die?”
He can hear her scream even now.
“I was too weak.”
“Oh yes, it seems to me you were. Or you just didn’t try hard enough, what do you think?”
The Master’s smile is cruel. The Doctor says nothing.
One Moment later the Master presses a stun gun against his chest and when the shock makes him fall over the chain chokes him again.
“Really, Doctor, if you can’t even save a singe life, then what are you good for?”
The Doctor can’t breath and can’t answer.
Another electric shock runs through his body. His arms don’t have the strength to support his weight. Before he can pass out from lack of oxygen, though, the Master pulls him up again.
“So,” he says. “Again: What’s your use?”
“I… don’t have any.”
“Oh, come on, that’s not true. How sad!” The Master shakes his head in mock sympathy. “You know that’s not true. So, what is you purpose?”
“To… to serve you…” the Doctor chokes out. In his mouth the taste of the ashes mingles with the taste of blood and semen. He’s long past feeling ashamed for his words.
The Master pats him.
“That’s right. And why?”
“Because you are my master.” Tears are running down his cheeks but he doesn’t feel them, notices only the blurring of his vision.
“Then why did you fight me yesterday?”
“Because I… I wanted to…”
“To help her?”
“Yes.”
“So helping a human is more important that serving your master?”
“I…”
Another hard slap, but the Master keeps him from falling.
“You disobeyed me, and for nothing. Do you deserve this punishment?”
“Yes.” It’s the only answer he can give.
“Good. Now on your hands and knees.”
“You already did punish me,” the Doctor manages to protest weakly through his dry throat while he watches the Master take another object from his bottomless little box. He can feel bile rise as he moves but manages not to throw up.
“That was for the disobedience,” the Master points out. “This is for letting down a friend.” Without preamble he moves behind him and pushes the large plug into his arse. Ramming it in brutally since he is aware he can never cause as much pain as the ship does and the Doctor knows it’s bothering him. When he’s done the Master adjusts the chain so the Doctor can bend down and lick his shoes, adding to the humiliation and the foul taste in his mouth. He knows he deserves it. Sarah would agree, wouldn’t she? He cannot tell anymore.
Eventually the Master is satisfied. Before he leaves he places a glass of water in front of the Doctor and forbids him to drink.
-
Hours later the Master returns and allows the Doctor to go and wash himself. His pet moves with difficulty, not only due to the plug still inside him and the broken ankle that hasn’t yet fully healed. He’s pale, ill and tired, only an inch away from breaking down completely. It’s been ages since he’s had a day of rest.
His eyes are dull when he returns; he doesn’t say a word while he dresses into the clothes the Master has fetched for him: tight pants and just as tight a string vest, fitting for the slut he is. The chain is still around his neck and there it will stay.
“Since we’re already in the right place and time I thought we should visit another old friend of yours,” the Master says cheerfully, and horror brings a little life back to the Doctor’s face. Before he can say anything, though, the Master leans against him, presses a kiss to his broken lips and promises: “Just a short visit to say Hi. And when we’re back we'll get to your favourite room and play Master and Servant.” He chuckles as the last bit of colour drains from the Doctor’s face, takes hold of the chain and leads him outside like a dog.
-
The tragedy and chaos that have befallen the universe didn’t change it, not really. Ignorant of the Toclafane and the Master and all that died the rift is still active. It’s a curse, making things so much harder, but sometimes it proves helpful.
Not often.
It was a creature from the rift, not the Toclafane, that killed Toshiko. There’s only the three of them now, all living in the hub since all they have left is each other.
Jack has never stopped looking for information about Martha, but after four years of fruitless searching he’s beginning to lose hope. He never found out what happened to her family either, or anyone else who’s been on the Valiant. Only Lucy showed up again, her decaying corpse literally on their doorstep one morning, and Jack doesn’t have to guess who left her there.
Her almost skeletal hand was closed around a small data-chip, compatible with their computers. Jack was alone when he read it and glad, as it presented him with the Master’s personal home-video: three hours of scattered scenes, showing the insane Time Lord torturing and raping the Doctor in a number of creative positions and environments, making him do disgusting things. In the first film the Doctor, obviously unaware of getting recorded, was wearing Jack’s far too big clothes and Jack knew that was just after he left him. There was no audio, everything happening in ghostly silence and somehow that made it worse. Jack didn’t want to watch but couldn’t stop. When it was over he slowly and calmly went to the bathroom and emptied his stomach into the toilet.
Three days later they lost Tosh.
And now he’s running up the stairs to what might be one of the most important moments for the entire universe, full of concern and hate and anticipation.
Gwen and Ianto come after him and he wants to send them back, tell them it isn’t save but they wouldn’t listen and he won’t waste his breath in a discussion.
When he steps outside the TARDIS is there, as if waiting for him. The Master is standing in front of it, molesting the Doctor against the closed doors, but he turns when Jack comes closer and greets him with a smirk. The Doctor looks at him with fear in his eyes, a plea for forgiveness and nothing else. He’s dressed like a rent boy with a chain around his neck and beneath all the bruises and bloody cuts his skin is ashen. He’s not wearing any shoes, and it’s January.
Two years ago he’s looked healthy and cheerful in comparison.
“Hi there!” the Master calls happily, coming closer and using the chain to pull the Doctor along like a dog. Jack’s friend follows willingly, moving as if in pain, shivering in the icy air.
“It’s been what, two years since our last visit here?” the Master asks. “I thought I’d drop by every two years to show you how much I’ve broken him in the past twenty. Nice idea, isn’t it?” He jerks at the chain. “Doctor, kneel!”
Without hesitation the Doctor falls to his knees, landing with an almost audible crack on the hard ground. He’s looking down, not meeting any of their eyes, and the freezing wind is tearing at his hair.
Jack doesn’t feel the wind.
“What do you think, shall I make him suck me off?” the Master muses. “Or you, perhaps? Well, maybe not the best idea with the spectators, but if you don’t mind - I know the Doctor doesn’t.”
Jack looks around. It’s early morning and the place is deserted. Not even a Toclafane is to be seen, so the Master can only have referred to Gwen and Ianto, who fortunately haven’t so far said anything. Owen would have long since tried to kill that asshole and certainly not improved the situation.
“Oh, by the way, how did you like my little present?” the Master continues. “I send one to every of his old friends I haven’t killed so far. Thought it’d be nice for them to hear from him every now and then.”
At his words the Doctor’s rises his head, stares at him through wide eyes full of horrified confusion. He doesn’t know anything about the records.
Jack glares at the man who’s killed billions of humans and who-knows how many other beings for fun and the hate is stealing his voice.
“Did I mention I destroyed this planet? Watched everything turn to dust and ashes. About four thousand years from now, wasn’t it, Doctor?”
“Yes, Master,” the Doctor whispers.
Jack feels sick.
“And you could have prevented it, had you only tried a bit harder.” The Master shakes his head, ignoring the humans. “I don’t think you like this planet as much as you used to pretend.”
“Why have you come here, you sick bastard? Except for boasting about having caused irreparable damage to the timeline.” Jack finally finds his voice, and the Master snorts.
“I have a paradox machine, what would I care about the timeline?” He shrugs. “Actually I only wanted to leave my pet with you while I pay a visit to a certain Fitzgerald Kreiner,” he explains, presses the end of the chain into Jack’s hand and turns to go back to the TARDIS. The Doctor has half risen by the sound of the name, but a gesture of the Master makes him sink down again. He falls forward, crying out brokenly. The sound seems to draw all strength from Jack’s limbs.
“I’ll be back in a day,” the Master promises, having almost reached the blue box. “The Doctor will tell you how to treat him.” And he reaches for his key. And the Doctor looks up and sees Jack, and cries out in horror. And the Master turns to see what it wrong and Jack shoots him. There is a look of surprise on his face as he falls.
The Doctor screams again, in pain this time. Pressing both hands to his head he also falls and starts convulsing. Jack is beside him in an instant, trying to lift him off the wet, cold ground, and after a moment the Doctor falls still. For one terrible second Jack believes the shock has killed him as well, but then he finds a pulse, finds the Doctor breathing faintly.
Gwen and Ianto just stare, speechless and shocked. They’ve known of Jack’s plan but in the end it was surprisingly easy.
Jack hands the weapon to Gwen before lifting the almost lifeless Time Lord into his arms. The gun has been taken from the shell of Dalek that fell through the rift half a year ago, still functioning but empty. They’ve taken out the weapon technology and given it a more practical form, and added some extras they hoped would enable it to penetrate the force field of the TARDIS, and then they waited.
Jack can only guess what the Master would have done had it not worked.
The Doctor weights next to nothing. He has to get him inside, get him to safety before the Toclafane show up and find out what happened.
He looks at Gwen and Ianto, then gestures to the lifeless form of the Master.
“Take that away!” he orders, turns and runs back to the hub.
-
Of course the universe isn’t saved yet. There’s still the Toclafane, and in cleaning up the mess that’s been left they should start on Earth. After all that’s the planet that Master has started with as well, and it happens to be the planet Jack can currently not leave.
Of course they have the TARDIS now, if they manage to turn it back into what it once was. But all of that has to wait. Maybe a long time.
And Jack finds he doesn’t really care. He’ll wait as long as it takes.
What his friends have done with the Master’s body he doesn’t know, couldn’t bring himself to care enough to check - probably put it in the mortuary to the other bodies. He’ll get rid of it for good eventually. When he finds the time and the energy.
He’s taken the Doctor straight to his rooms, has undressed him while he was still unconscious, checked for any dangerous injuries but he isn’t a medic. When he discovered the large, thick plug shoved deep into the Doctor’s arse the world went red for a moment, and he regretted killing the Master instantly, wanted nothing more than to torture him to death nice and slowly and laugh as he watches him suffer.
The thought came to him at some point that breaking the bond of tenure this way could have damaged the Doctor’s mind, followed by the realisation that even if he’d known for sure, he’d still have done it.
Holding the motionless man in his arms he thought, for a second, that maybe it’d be best if he didn’t wake up.
But he did, and he screamed and cried, and fought Jack as he tied to keep him still, and then he simply broke down. Now Jack is lying on his bed, propped up on a multitude of pillows, and the Doctor is sitting in his lab, his face buried in Jack’s shoulder. He’s wearing one of Jack’s shirts and Jack would rather have chosen another since it is black, the Master’s favourite colour, but didn’t feel like searching. The Doctor doesn’t seem to notice anyway. He’s very still, only slightly trembling while Jack’s gently rubbing his back, making soothing noises and feeling strangely desperate and helpless and happy.
From time to time the Doctor sobs harshly, and once or twice his fingers clench into Jack’s shirt and he screams into his shoulder, long and broken and full of loss. The human then holds him a little closer and tells himself that this is just the shock, it’ll pass.
His friend has just been freed after decades of slavery and abuse. He shouldn’t be this miserable.
But Jack begins to wonder what the Master’s death really means to the Doctor, who has lost the last of his species and now has to live on no matter what. Once again trapped in a hell he can’t escape from and Jack has put him there - yet he’d do it again any day.
He hates himself a little for that. Tries to console himself that he was acting for the good of the universe but right now not really able to believe it.
In his arms the Doctor feels brittle and though he’s lying on top of him Jack barely feels his weight.
He’ll have to find someone who can give him a throughout medical check-over, and then he’ll have to find a place for the Doctor to stay, somewhere where he’ll be taken care of until he’s gotten over all this - no matter how long it will take. There’s still a branch of UNIT existing somewhere. They know him, they can care for him. Jack will take the Doctor there as soon as possible, and then he’ll stay with him, weather the Doctor wants it or not. He won’t let him out of his sight again, not anytime soon. He needs to know, needs to see he’s save, needs to be close so he can protect him should the need occur. Even if it meant abandoning his team.
And then, when the Doctor’s fine again and Jack doesn’t have to worry anymore that he might take a knife and slit his own throat the moment he’s left alone (Only he can’t do that anyway, can he? Jack has taken that from him.) they’ll work together on freeing Earth. The Master was able to summon the Toclafane, the Doctor should be able to get rid of them. Somehow. Somehow everything is going to be alright. Eventually.
In his arms the Time Lord is moving slightly. He’s lifting his head a little to look at Jack and for the first time since waking up really sees him. His eyes are full of tears and he’s shivering helplessly but for the first time Jack feels something like optimism.
“Jack,” the Doctor whispers hoarsely, and swallows before he adds: “Fuck me.”
Jack freezes.
“What?”
“Please Jack!” the other man begs, new tears running down his face. “I can’t take it, there’s just nothing there and he’s gone and I can’t… I won’t…”
“I’m not going to,” Jack states, horrified, suddenly aware that the Doctor might simply be broken beyond repair.
“Please! I need you to!”
“I won’t take advantage of your state.” Jack grabs the Doctor’s upper arms and shoves him away gently, brings some distance between then, hoping the other doesn’t feel what hearing those words from him has done to his groin, because he means what he said.
“You wouldn’t! Please, Jack, I’m begging you!”
“No! You’re all torn up inside, and what the hell has gotten into you?” Jack still can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “No-one is going to fuck you ever again, and you should be happy about it!”
But when the Doctor sobs and curls around himself he realises that exactly that might be the problem - that the Doctor needs to forget for one moment that the Master is gone now.
“You are not alone” he adds, lying a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. The Doctor shakes it off.
“I am! They’re all gone, Jack, there’s nothing, nothing! You took them from me!” He rises his head, staring wildly at Jack and in his eyes the human can see a hint of insanity.
“You owe me, Jack!” he hisses. “He was the only one left and you killed him! You murdered my entire species, all of them!” By the end he’s nearly screaming and Jack can’t move, can only stare at him, feeling hurt and guilty.
The Doctor is working open his trousers. It’s enough to restore Jack’s ability to move.
“I’m not him!” he says sharply, taking the Doctor’s pathetically thin hands, stopping them even as his cock twitches in anticipation, for he knows the Doctor is right: it’s his fault and if he can give the Doctor this tiny amount of relief, give him something to cling to for a moment, he’ll do it. If the Doctor insists on it he’ll do it and he can only hope that the Doctor will come to his senses right now or they’re both going to regret it.
The Doctor looks at him, angry and lost.
“You have to be,” he simply says.
-
He presses his face into the covers and closes his eyes, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think (except he can’t stop). Concentrates on the familiar pain, imagines it is the Master causing it, but it doesn’t feel like him - inside him there’s only the echo of nothingness, the endless empty plane that stretches on in front of him, never to be escaped. He doesn’t think of Jack or what he’s doing to his friend, tries to pretend he wasn’t even there. Those aren’t Jack’s hands that bruise his hips, it’s not Jack who’s splitting him apart (but it’s not the Master either and he’s all alone again and this time there’s nothing to shield him from the pain).
Not enough. It’s not enough, and he’s still suffocating, but not from the lack of air.
Harder, the part of him that’s still connected to reality and wants to let go presses out, his voice muffled by the covers.
I’m hurting you, comes a breathless answer and he doesn’t know who’s giving it and doesn’t care.
Not enough!
A pause, then the hands grip harder, digging into his flesh, and as the other rams his cock into him he can feel the anger. It’s still not enough.
He wanted to escape from hell but never like this, for he’s know it would be worse and oh yes, it is! He doesn’t think of the countless worlds destroyed, not of Sarah and Jamie and Tegan and Anji and Ian, can’t see beyond the void inside of him. Insanity is threatening to tear him apart, and only a very small part of him is aware that he needs to pull himself together, that it’s better this way, that he’s been so worthless for so long, has let so many die, and if an eternity of loneliness and guilt is the price he has to pay to make up for it so be it. But that voice is quiet and doesn’t have the strength to penetrate the haze of terror and madness, not now.
And somewhere, in the darkness, the TARDIS is calling for him.
And he knows what he has to do.
-
Jack does his best, he tries, really does. He swallows his feelings, and his disgust as he pushes into the Doctor, who’s still slick with blood inside, and when the Doctor asks him to hurt him, more, harder, he summons all his rage and hate and anger at the Master and the universe and rams it into the Doctor’s fragile, broken form. When he is done, slipping out exhausted and spend the Doctor just curls up, his body shaking with silent sobs, and falls asleep within a minute. Jack leaves without looking back, shaken and desperate, cursing the Doctor for forcing this on him and himself for giving in.
He needs a long time to calm down.
When he returns the Doctor hasn’t moved at all, looking almost dead. Jack watches him for a long time, unsure what to think, what to feel. He’s afraid of waking him but still covers him with a blanket eventually, carefully. The Doctor doesn’t stir, and when Jack lies down himself he makes sure he doesn’t touch him.
This is his responsibility, he knows - by killing the Master he might just have shattered his friend completely, but still, he’d do it again.
And if he has to tie the Doctor up somewhere and keep him there forever to stop him from harming himself he’ll do so. But never again, he vows, will he agree to take him, or hurt him any other way, not matter how much he’s suffering (and not matter how much Jack himself might want to).
And he won’t leave him alone, ever, even if the Doctor hates him now.
He has a right to, after all.
Jack doesn’t notice himself drifting away until suddenly he comes awake with a start, bolting upright in bed. He’s alone, and in his panicking hurry to get up and dressed he nearly misses the note on the pillow.
His finger shake when he picks it up.
“Jack,” it reads. “I’m very sorry for what happened. I had no right to ask this of you, but I fear I wasn’t quite sane at that moment.
I’m also sorry for what I said to you - you were right to do what you did. And I will now do what I have to do, something I should have done long before.
Everything will be alright soon.”
Jack is out of the room before he’s read the last word.
It’s dark outside, so he must have slept for hours. How long since the Doctor left? He can’t tell, but the doors of the TARDIS are open, ugly red light falling through, and he can only hope he’s not too late.
The Doctor is standing in the console room, dressed in his black pants and Jack’s shirt, the weapon Jack used to shoot the Master with in his hand, and wherever has he found that? The former time agent is searching for words, his throat suddenly too tight to speak.
Does he even have the right?
“Doctor,” he croaks out, feeling helpless. The Doctor whirls around, his eyes impossible wide and full of determination.
“Go away, Jack!” he says. “Everything will be fine if you do.”
“The hell it will!” No, he is going to protect him, weather the Doctor wants him to or not. “What are you doing with that gun?”
“I’ll destroy this abnormity,” the Doctor hisses. It’s not the answer Jack has expected and feared but his voice makes his shiver. He looks at the TARIDS, all dark and red and silent.
“Why?”
“It’s a paradox machine,” the Doctor says and maybe that explains everything, but not to Jack. So the Doctor continues: “The moment it’s destroyed everything done with it will be undone. The cosmos will be reset to the time right before the first paradox.”
“The Toclafane-invasion,” Jack realises.
“Exactly.” Professionalism seems to have replaced the Doctor’s pain and madness but there’s nothing else in his eyes. “But if you stay here, in the eye of the storm, it’ll still have happened to you.”
The thought is tempting. In no time at all Martha will be back, and Owen, Tosh and so many others, and if he leaves he’ll never even know they were gone. He’ll never have raped the Doctor, never have killed the Master, never have felt so utterly hopeless.
And he’ll leave the Doctor to deal with it alone.
“No way,” he says. “How about you give me that weapon and then leave here yourself?”
The Doctor smiles at him.
“No way,” he echoes Jack’s words. “There’s something else I’ll have to do.”
And when Jack jumps forward and reaches for the gun he fires.
-
The Master can feel the world shift and crack around him. For one second it feels like he’s falling and then everything settles and returns to normal. The others have felt nothing, only saw that he announced the immediate arrival of the Toclafane and nothing happened. This is the moment his paradox machine should have done its work and it’s not very hard to figure out what happened. The Master is actually quite pissed.
Everyone is here: Miss Jones and her family, the reporters, the splattered remains of the president. Lucy, looking at him with her wide eyes, confused and disappointed. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence, or anyone else’s. All he’s seeing is that that Doctor is not here, not anymore (For he was here, wasn’t he? Even if no-one else seems to notice his absence.) and it all makes so much sense.
He turns around enraged, faces the doors just in time to see them open. The Doctor comes inside, followed by his freak, and the sight is enough to make the Master forget his anger, replacing it by intrigued curiosity.
One minute ago the Doctor was kneeling aged and weak in front of him. Now he’s young again but his face is bruised, his lips split, his long neck covered in colourful marks and scratches. He’s wearing tight black pants and a long, black shirt that hangs loosely off a body even thinner than the Master remembers. But it’s his eyes that intrigue him most: full of pain and relief and the shadow of insanity, fixed solely him.
There’s also a weapon in his hand. The Master feels it poking into his stomach when the Doctor stops, centimetres away from him, and there’s so much rage and desperation radiating from him the Master nearly moans. Oh yes, he needs to learn all about that timeline he’s missed.
There’s also something else he senses and it explains so much.
“I see,” he murmurs, smiles, regrets a little, but he will make it up to himself soon enough. “The bond of tenure has been activated.” The Doctor says nothing. He’s trembling softly but his hand is holding the weapon steady, so unlike him, so fascinating. The Master can’t wait to find out what he’s done, what he would have done, to push him this far. His hand touches the Doctor’s temple.
“Show me!” he orders.
The images he receives are blurred and confused, full of darkness and pain and hopelessness and fear, guilt, self-hate and humiliation.
“Oh yes!” he purrs. “All that! Now you’re really mine, my creation!” He’s paying no attention to the others watching in stunned silence, only to the beautifully broken creature that’s trembling against his body. All his. “And I can’t wait doing it again.”
“I won’t let you.”
The Doctor’s voice is shaking, quiet. His eyes burn with hate and longing and it’s so perfect that Master could dance. Only there’s still the gun pressed against his body.
“I’ve seen what you did to the universe! I’ve seen you murder my friends. You’ll do it again, you damn bastard, I know it! And I’d rather kill you than let that happen. You can’t stop me - the bond has not yet been activated on your side.”
He means it. The Master looks into his eyes and sees the determination behind the madness. And maybe this is the sweetest triumph of all, having driven the Doctor, the eternal pacifist, to murder.
To the murder of the last of his kind.
It will break him completely, leave nothing to be fixed. And still he’ll live on, as is his obligation as the last one, shattered beyond repair and utterly without hope. He will live on and be there, waiting for the Master when he returns, as he knows he will, for he has prepared for this moment. That day the Doctor will fall into the Master’s arms and together they will fly out into the universe and watch it burn.
“Do it,” he says.
He’s still looking into the other’s eyes and can see him shatter as he pulls the trigger.
The shot echoes loud in the room. He can hear a woman’s voice - a short, shocked scream. It sounds like the Doctor’s little friend.
His first thought is not that he doesn’t feel pain. It’s that the Doctor is holding a ray-gun and it should not have made any noise. He doesn’t understand even when the Doctor falls against him, and he catches him instinctively and lowers him to the ground. Not even when the last echo of another Time Lord disappears. He feels the loss before he knows what caused it.
His hands are covered in blood and the Doctor is already gone.
The Master looks up.
Jack’s face is blank as he lowers the weapon.
-
He’s feeling strangely calm and distant as he watches the Doctor fall. His hands do not tremble. He feels no satisfaction at the realisation in the Master’s eyes, and the disbelief and the pure and simple agony. It will come, and so will the guilt and the doubt, but right now Jack feels only the certainty that what he did was right.
He feels no shame when Martha screams at him, when she runs to see if she can help and is pushed away by the Master, and when the Master jumps to his feet and throws himself at Jack, his face a mask of fury and hate, he simply closes his eyes and lets it happen.
There are some startled gasps when he comes back to life, but most of the people here see only the Master, struggling furiously in the grip of two soldiers, cursing and screaming, and now there are tears running down his face and there’s madness in his eyes. Jack very calmly picks up his gun and points it at the last Time Lord’s head.
“Go ahead!” the Master yells. “Kill me as well, you fucking murderer!”
They stare at each other for a long time. Jack doesn’t even blink while in his mind he relives a conversation he’s had with the Doctor a long time ago, when the Doctor (his beloved Doctor, oh god, what has he done?) told him that killing him would be the only way to destroy the Master. Looking into the other’s eyes Jack knows it is true.
“No,” he says, and throws the gun away. “I want you to live. I’ll make sure you’ll be kept save and alive for as long as I am alive.” He doesn’t sneer and there is no cruelty in his voice. “An eternity without him, Master. Look forward to it.”
He gestures to the soldiers to take him away and they obey his authority without question. Jack doesn’t watch as they leave the room, closes his ears to the Master’s screams as the full realisation hits him. Instead he goes back to where Martha is sobbing quietly beside the Doctor’s body, gently pushes her away, takes the vortex manipulator and picks up the corpse that lies in his arms like a child. Doesn’t listen when Martha asks why he’s done that, I thought you loved him, how could you? (I still do, Martha, I’ll never stop.) She doesn’t understand - like all the people here she has no idea what fate she has been spared.
Jack doesn’t know if the Doctor’s lived long enough to understand what he’s done for him, but his face shows something like relief and Jack likes to imagine he has. No-one tries to stop him as he walks away with the Time Lord cold and lifeless in his arms. Him the realisation has not yet hit and he wants to be as far from this place as possible when it does.
This is what he’ll have to live with. Just like the Master. They are now in hell, with only each other for company.
Still, Jack knows he has done the right thing.
Hasn’t he?
December 6, 2007
Prompt: #060 - Relief
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Season 3 Finale
Warning: shady consent, torture, character death
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Doctor (10), Simm!Master/Doctor, TARDIS/Doctor
Summary: Sequel to Catch 22. In the end it all comes down to Jack and a gun.
Eventually the Doctor begins to fear the times when the Master is away more than his presence. It’s not just that he doesn’t know what the other man is up to while he’s not watching but knows that it’s something bad and that he’s sooner or later going to learn about it - after all, what’s the point in using all his dark and twisted genius on the universe if the Doctor doesn’t appreciate it? The uncertainty of what he’s going to find out is making him sick and the eventual revelation is always worse than he expected, but what the Master does would be no less terrible were the Doctor present while he does it. There was a time when he was glad to be left alone, for it meant a brief pause - even if the Master tied him up or pushed something large into him with the order to leave it inside. At least for a while he knew that nothing worse would happen to him. Until one day, many years back the (TARDIS) paradox machine decided to join in the game.
And when the Master is away she (it) is the one in power, the one that takes him and uses him and makes him see how very vulnerable he is, and how helpless and lost and so terribly, devastatingly alone. It’s always worse with her, somehow, because she knows no evil, and in another life, once upon a time she used to love him so very, very much.
Now she invades his mind through the bond that used to be so precious and shows him what’s become of her and he can feel all her desires, her wish to own him, her desire to break him and hurt him and make him see he’s hers. It’s dark and terrible, frightening and always, always calling for him. She gets into his body, tearing him apart from the inside (and there are no words in the universe to describe that pain), taking control of his hearts, his lungs, keeps them working when they should fail, and she gets into his mind - he can feel her happiness whenever she makes him scream, whenever he wishes he she’d let him die and she makes him know that she’ll never let him go. He can feel the darkness where once has been a warmth that welcomed him, always. It was there when he woke up after the war, in a new body and a universe of nothing and maybe it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. He believes he can still feel it sometimes, behind all that darkness and madness, her very core trapped behind the blood-red shadows, calling for him and just as lost. He can not reach her, and sometimes he doesn’t know if she’s even there.
Maybe it’s just his imagination, his mind making up things because he cannot accept that this twisted, sadistic creature is the same being that once sang him to sleep.
Once the Master left to play his games with the inhabitants of a world in the eastside of Andromeda and chained the Doctor to the cage that surrounds the console. He laughed when the Doctor screamed in horror and begged, pleaded to be let go. Then he left and didn’t return for four days while the paradox machine invaded the Doctor’s body and soul, wiring him into her system and abusing him until he reached his limit, one very small step away from dying - the one step she never went. She enjoyed that power, kept him conscious all the time and invited him into her dark world, let him know what she’d do next. Just like once she was his he now is hers as he is the Master’s and he can not tell what is worse.
And she tries to pour her essence into him the way he has willingly taken it once before, take him over completely, make him her vessel. He’ll be free from the Master the moment he lets her in, will become a god, and she’ll make sure it won’t destroy him, not this time. He’d be above the Master and the bond that makes him his slave, would be above everything, but he’d still be just a tool, her tool, twisted by her insanity and she’d turn him into a god of darkness and the universe would fall. And so he fights her with all he has left but the temptation is still there, every time, for this hell is so much more than he can bear and he’s longing for relief. He doesn’t know how much longer until he’s willing to pay any price.
He’s seen too many die, has suffered too much, and he can see no end to it. Eventually something inside him will die and at some point he starts longing for the day when he can watch another get tortured and killed and just don’t care.
But he’s seen Sarah die yesterday and knows the day hasn’t yet come.
He’s on his knees in the console room, waiting for the next blow. It splits the skin of his back, and when another lands in the same spot he gasps and falls forward, the choke-chain around his neck strangling him. He can’t get up until the Master grabs his hair and pulls him upright. He looks at the Doctor with contemplation and doubt, takes a long drag from his cigarette, then slaps him so hard his lip splits. The Doctor just takes it without a sound, looks at him waiting for more. There’s always more.
“Open your mouth,” the Master commands. When the Doctor does so he lets the ashes of his cigarette fall onto his tongue and the Doctor swallows obediently, gagging a little, longing for water he’s not going to get.
“You didn’t save your friend,” the Master muses, and stubs out the cigarette on the other’s naked chest.
“I tried,” the Doctor whispers.
“Then why did she die?”
He can hear her scream even now.
“I was too weak.”
“Oh yes, it seems to me you were. Or you just didn’t try hard enough, what do you think?”
The Master’s smile is cruel. The Doctor says nothing.
One Moment later the Master presses a stun gun against his chest and when the shock makes him fall over the chain chokes him again.
“Really, Doctor, if you can’t even save a singe life, then what are you good for?”
The Doctor can’t breath and can’t answer.
Another electric shock runs through his body. His arms don’t have the strength to support his weight. Before he can pass out from lack of oxygen, though, the Master pulls him up again.
“So,” he says. “Again: What’s your use?”
“I… don’t have any.”
“Oh, come on, that’s not true. How sad!” The Master shakes his head in mock sympathy. “You know that’s not true. So, what is you purpose?”
“To… to serve you…” the Doctor chokes out. In his mouth the taste of the ashes mingles with the taste of blood and semen. He’s long past feeling ashamed for his words.
The Master pats him.
“That’s right. And why?”
“Because you are my master.” Tears are running down his cheeks but he doesn’t feel them, notices only the blurring of his vision.
“Then why did you fight me yesterday?”
“Because I… I wanted to…”
“To help her?”
“Yes.”
“So helping a human is more important that serving your master?”
“I…”
Another hard slap, but the Master keeps him from falling.
“You disobeyed me, and for nothing. Do you deserve this punishment?”
“Yes.” It’s the only answer he can give.
“Good. Now on your hands and knees.”
“You already did punish me,” the Doctor manages to protest weakly through his dry throat while he watches the Master take another object from his bottomless little box. He can feel bile rise as he moves but manages not to throw up.
“That was for the disobedience,” the Master points out. “This is for letting down a friend.” Without preamble he moves behind him and pushes the large plug into his arse. Ramming it in brutally since he is aware he can never cause as much pain as the ship does and the Doctor knows it’s bothering him. When he’s done the Master adjusts the chain so the Doctor can bend down and lick his shoes, adding to the humiliation and the foul taste in his mouth. He knows he deserves it. Sarah would agree, wouldn’t she? He cannot tell anymore.
Eventually the Master is satisfied. Before he leaves he places a glass of water in front of the Doctor and forbids him to drink.
-
Hours later the Master returns and allows the Doctor to go and wash himself. His pet moves with difficulty, not only due to the plug still inside him and the broken ankle that hasn’t yet fully healed. He’s pale, ill and tired, only an inch away from breaking down completely. It’s been ages since he’s had a day of rest.
His eyes are dull when he returns; he doesn’t say a word while he dresses into the clothes the Master has fetched for him: tight pants and just as tight a string vest, fitting for the slut he is. The chain is still around his neck and there it will stay.
“Since we’re already in the right place and time I thought we should visit another old friend of yours,” the Master says cheerfully, and horror brings a little life back to the Doctor’s face. Before he can say anything, though, the Master leans against him, presses a kiss to his broken lips and promises: “Just a short visit to say Hi. And when we’re back we'll get to your favourite room and play Master and Servant.” He chuckles as the last bit of colour drains from the Doctor’s face, takes hold of the chain and leads him outside like a dog.
-
The tragedy and chaos that have befallen the universe didn’t change it, not really. Ignorant of the Toclafane and the Master and all that died the rift is still active. It’s a curse, making things so much harder, but sometimes it proves helpful.
Not often.
It was a creature from the rift, not the Toclafane, that killed Toshiko. There’s only the three of them now, all living in the hub since all they have left is each other.
Jack has never stopped looking for information about Martha, but after four years of fruitless searching he’s beginning to lose hope. He never found out what happened to her family either, or anyone else who’s been on the Valiant. Only Lucy showed up again, her decaying corpse literally on their doorstep one morning, and Jack doesn’t have to guess who left her there.
Her almost skeletal hand was closed around a small data-chip, compatible with their computers. Jack was alone when he read it and glad, as it presented him with the Master’s personal home-video: three hours of scattered scenes, showing the insane Time Lord torturing and raping the Doctor in a number of creative positions and environments, making him do disgusting things. In the first film the Doctor, obviously unaware of getting recorded, was wearing Jack’s far too big clothes and Jack knew that was just after he left him. There was no audio, everything happening in ghostly silence and somehow that made it worse. Jack didn’t want to watch but couldn’t stop. When it was over he slowly and calmly went to the bathroom and emptied his stomach into the toilet.
Three days later they lost Tosh.
And now he’s running up the stairs to what might be one of the most important moments for the entire universe, full of concern and hate and anticipation.
Gwen and Ianto come after him and he wants to send them back, tell them it isn’t save but they wouldn’t listen and he won’t waste his breath in a discussion.
When he steps outside the TARDIS is there, as if waiting for him. The Master is standing in front of it, molesting the Doctor against the closed doors, but he turns when Jack comes closer and greets him with a smirk. The Doctor looks at him with fear in his eyes, a plea for forgiveness and nothing else. He’s dressed like a rent boy with a chain around his neck and beneath all the bruises and bloody cuts his skin is ashen. He’s not wearing any shoes, and it’s January.
Two years ago he’s looked healthy and cheerful in comparison.
“Hi there!” the Master calls happily, coming closer and using the chain to pull the Doctor along like a dog. Jack’s friend follows willingly, moving as if in pain, shivering in the icy air.
“It’s been what, two years since our last visit here?” the Master asks. “I thought I’d drop by every two years to show you how much I’ve broken him in the past twenty. Nice idea, isn’t it?” He jerks at the chain. “Doctor, kneel!”
Without hesitation the Doctor falls to his knees, landing with an almost audible crack on the hard ground. He’s looking down, not meeting any of their eyes, and the freezing wind is tearing at his hair.
Jack doesn’t feel the wind.
“What do you think, shall I make him suck me off?” the Master muses. “Or you, perhaps? Well, maybe not the best idea with the spectators, but if you don’t mind - I know the Doctor doesn’t.”
Jack looks around. It’s early morning and the place is deserted. Not even a Toclafane is to be seen, so the Master can only have referred to Gwen and Ianto, who fortunately haven’t so far said anything. Owen would have long since tried to kill that asshole and certainly not improved the situation.
“Oh, by the way, how did you like my little present?” the Master continues. “I send one to every of his old friends I haven’t killed so far. Thought it’d be nice for them to hear from him every now and then.”
At his words the Doctor’s rises his head, stares at him through wide eyes full of horrified confusion. He doesn’t know anything about the records.
Jack glares at the man who’s killed billions of humans and who-knows how many other beings for fun and the hate is stealing his voice.
“Did I mention I destroyed this planet? Watched everything turn to dust and ashes. About four thousand years from now, wasn’t it, Doctor?”
“Yes, Master,” the Doctor whispers.
Jack feels sick.
“And you could have prevented it, had you only tried a bit harder.” The Master shakes his head, ignoring the humans. “I don’t think you like this planet as much as you used to pretend.”
“Why have you come here, you sick bastard? Except for boasting about having caused irreparable damage to the timeline.” Jack finally finds his voice, and the Master snorts.
“I have a paradox machine, what would I care about the timeline?” He shrugs. “Actually I only wanted to leave my pet with you while I pay a visit to a certain Fitzgerald Kreiner,” he explains, presses the end of the chain into Jack’s hand and turns to go back to the TARDIS. The Doctor has half risen by the sound of the name, but a gesture of the Master makes him sink down again. He falls forward, crying out brokenly. The sound seems to draw all strength from Jack’s limbs.
“I’ll be back in a day,” the Master promises, having almost reached the blue box. “The Doctor will tell you how to treat him.” And he reaches for his key. And the Doctor looks up and sees Jack, and cries out in horror. And the Master turns to see what it wrong and Jack shoots him. There is a look of surprise on his face as he falls.
The Doctor screams again, in pain this time. Pressing both hands to his head he also falls and starts convulsing. Jack is beside him in an instant, trying to lift him off the wet, cold ground, and after a moment the Doctor falls still. For one terrible second Jack believes the shock has killed him as well, but then he finds a pulse, finds the Doctor breathing faintly.
Gwen and Ianto just stare, speechless and shocked. They’ve known of Jack’s plan but in the end it was surprisingly easy.
Jack hands the weapon to Gwen before lifting the almost lifeless Time Lord into his arms. The gun has been taken from the shell of Dalek that fell through the rift half a year ago, still functioning but empty. They’ve taken out the weapon technology and given it a more practical form, and added some extras they hoped would enable it to penetrate the force field of the TARDIS, and then they waited.
Jack can only guess what the Master would have done had it not worked.
The Doctor weights next to nothing. He has to get him inside, get him to safety before the Toclafane show up and find out what happened.
He looks at Gwen and Ianto, then gestures to the lifeless form of the Master.
“Take that away!” he orders, turns and runs back to the hub.
-
Of course the universe isn’t saved yet. There’s still the Toclafane, and in cleaning up the mess that’s been left they should start on Earth. After all that’s the planet that Master has started with as well, and it happens to be the planet Jack can currently not leave.
Of course they have the TARDIS now, if they manage to turn it back into what it once was. But all of that has to wait. Maybe a long time.
And Jack finds he doesn’t really care. He’ll wait as long as it takes.
What his friends have done with the Master’s body he doesn’t know, couldn’t bring himself to care enough to check - probably put it in the mortuary to the other bodies. He’ll get rid of it for good eventually. When he finds the time and the energy.
He’s taken the Doctor straight to his rooms, has undressed him while he was still unconscious, checked for any dangerous injuries but he isn’t a medic. When he discovered the large, thick plug shoved deep into the Doctor’s arse the world went red for a moment, and he regretted killing the Master instantly, wanted nothing more than to torture him to death nice and slowly and laugh as he watches him suffer.
The thought came to him at some point that breaking the bond of tenure this way could have damaged the Doctor’s mind, followed by the realisation that even if he’d known for sure, he’d still have done it.
Holding the motionless man in his arms he thought, for a second, that maybe it’d be best if he didn’t wake up.
But he did, and he screamed and cried, and fought Jack as he tied to keep him still, and then he simply broke down. Now Jack is lying on his bed, propped up on a multitude of pillows, and the Doctor is sitting in his lab, his face buried in Jack’s shoulder. He’s wearing one of Jack’s shirts and Jack would rather have chosen another since it is black, the Master’s favourite colour, but didn’t feel like searching. The Doctor doesn’t seem to notice anyway. He’s very still, only slightly trembling while Jack’s gently rubbing his back, making soothing noises and feeling strangely desperate and helpless and happy.
From time to time the Doctor sobs harshly, and once or twice his fingers clench into Jack’s shirt and he screams into his shoulder, long and broken and full of loss. The human then holds him a little closer and tells himself that this is just the shock, it’ll pass.
His friend has just been freed after decades of slavery and abuse. He shouldn’t be this miserable.
But Jack begins to wonder what the Master’s death really means to the Doctor, who has lost the last of his species and now has to live on no matter what. Once again trapped in a hell he can’t escape from and Jack has put him there - yet he’d do it again any day.
He hates himself a little for that. Tries to console himself that he was acting for the good of the universe but right now not really able to believe it.
In his arms the Doctor feels brittle and though he’s lying on top of him Jack barely feels his weight.
He’ll have to find someone who can give him a throughout medical check-over, and then he’ll have to find a place for the Doctor to stay, somewhere where he’ll be taken care of until he’s gotten over all this - no matter how long it will take. There’s still a branch of UNIT existing somewhere. They know him, they can care for him. Jack will take the Doctor there as soon as possible, and then he’ll stay with him, weather the Doctor wants it or not. He won’t let him out of his sight again, not anytime soon. He needs to know, needs to see he’s save, needs to be close so he can protect him should the need occur. Even if it meant abandoning his team.
And then, when the Doctor’s fine again and Jack doesn’t have to worry anymore that he might take a knife and slit his own throat the moment he’s left alone (Only he can’t do that anyway, can he? Jack has taken that from him.) they’ll work together on freeing Earth. The Master was able to summon the Toclafane, the Doctor should be able to get rid of them. Somehow. Somehow everything is going to be alright. Eventually.
In his arms the Time Lord is moving slightly. He’s lifting his head a little to look at Jack and for the first time since waking up really sees him. His eyes are full of tears and he’s shivering helplessly but for the first time Jack feels something like optimism.
“Jack,” the Doctor whispers hoarsely, and swallows before he adds: “Fuck me.”
Jack freezes.
“What?”
“Please Jack!” the other man begs, new tears running down his face. “I can’t take it, there’s just nothing there and he’s gone and I can’t… I won’t…”
“I’m not going to,” Jack states, horrified, suddenly aware that the Doctor might simply be broken beyond repair.
“Please! I need you to!”
“I won’t take advantage of your state.” Jack grabs the Doctor’s upper arms and shoves him away gently, brings some distance between then, hoping the other doesn’t feel what hearing those words from him has done to his groin, because he means what he said.
“You wouldn’t! Please, Jack, I’m begging you!”
“No! You’re all torn up inside, and what the hell has gotten into you?” Jack still can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “No-one is going to fuck you ever again, and you should be happy about it!”
But when the Doctor sobs and curls around himself he realises that exactly that might be the problem - that the Doctor needs to forget for one moment that the Master is gone now.
“You are not alone” he adds, lying a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. The Doctor shakes it off.
“I am! They’re all gone, Jack, there’s nothing, nothing! You took them from me!” He rises his head, staring wildly at Jack and in his eyes the human can see a hint of insanity.
“You owe me, Jack!” he hisses. “He was the only one left and you killed him! You murdered my entire species, all of them!” By the end he’s nearly screaming and Jack can’t move, can only stare at him, feeling hurt and guilty.
The Doctor is working open his trousers. It’s enough to restore Jack’s ability to move.
“I’m not him!” he says sharply, taking the Doctor’s pathetically thin hands, stopping them even as his cock twitches in anticipation, for he knows the Doctor is right: it’s his fault and if he can give the Doctor this tiny amount of relief, give him something to cling to for a moment, he’ll do it. If the Doctor insists on it he’ll do it and he can only hope that the Doctor will come to his senses right now or they’re both going to regret it.
The Doctor looks at him, angry and lost.
“You have to be,” he simply says.
-
He presses his face into the covers and closes his eyes, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think (except he can’t stop). Concentrates on the familiar pain, imagines it is the Master causing it, but it doesn’t feel like him - inside him there’s only the echo of nothingness, the endless empty plane that stretches on in front of him, never to be escaped. He doesn’t think of Jack or what he’s doing to his friend, tries to pretend he wasn’t even there. Those aren’t Jack’s hands that bruise his hips, it’s not Jack who’s splitting him apart (but it’s not the Master either and he’s all alone again and this time there’s nothing to shield him from the pain).
Not enough. It’s not enough, and he’s still suffocating, but not from the lack of air.
Harder, the part of him that’s still connected to reality and wants to let go presses out, his voice muffled by the covers.
I’m hurting you, comes a breathless answer and he doesn’t know who’s giving it and doesn’t care.
Not enough!
A pause, then the hands grip harder, digging into his flesh, and as the other rams his cock into him he can feel the anger. It’s still not enough.
He wanted to escape from hell but never like this, for he’s know it would be worse and oh yes, it is! He doesn’t think of the countless worlds destroyed, not of Sarah and Jamie and Tegan and Anji and Ian, can’t see beyond the void inside of him. Insanity is threatening to tear him apart, and only a very small part of him is aware that he needs to pull himself together, that it’s better this way, that he’s been so worthless for so long, has let so many die, and if an eternity of loneliness and guilt is the price he has to pay to make up for it so be it. But that voice is quiet and doesn’t have the strength to penetrate the haze of terror and madness, not now.
And somewhere, in the darkness, the TARDIS is calling for him.
And he knows what he has to do.
-
Jack does his best, he tries, really does. He swallows his feelings, and his disgust as he pushes into the Doctor, who’s still slick with blood inside, and when the Doctor asks him to hurt him, more, harder, he summons all his rage and hate and anger at the Master and the universe and rams it into the Doctor’s fragile, broken form. When he is done, slipping out exhausted and spend the Doctor just curls up, his body shaking with silent sobs, and falls asleep within a minute. Jack leaves without looking back, shaken and desperate, cursing the Doctor for forcing this on him and himself for giving in.
He needs a long time to calm down.
When he returns the Doctor hasn’t moved at all, looking almost dead. Jack watches him for a long time, unsure what to think, what to feel. He’s afraid of waking him but still covers him with a blanket eventually, carefully. The Doctor doesn’t stir, and when Jack lies down himself he makes sure he doesn’t touch him.
This is his responsibility, he knows - by killing the Master he might just have shattered his friend completely, but still, he’d do it again.
And if he has to tie the Doctor up somewhere and keep him there forever to stop him from harming himself he’ll do so. But never again, he vows, will he agree to take him, or hurt him any other way, not matter how much he’s suffering (and not matter how much Jack himself might want to).
And he won’t leave him alone, ever, even if the Doctor hates him now.
He has a right to, after all.
Jack doesn’t notice himself drifting away until suddenly he comes awake with a start, bolting upright in bed. He’s alone, and in his panicking hurry to get up and dressed he nearly misses the note on the pillow.
His finger shake when he picks it up.
“Jack,” it reads. “I’m very sorry for what happened. I had no right to ask this of you, but I fear I wasn’t quite sane at that moment.
I’m also sorry for what I said to you - you were right to do what you did. And I will now do what I have to do, something I should have done long before.
Everything will be alright soon.”
Jack is out of the room before he’s read the last word.
It’s dark outside, so he must have slept for hours. How long since the Doctor left? He can’t tell, but the doors of the TARDIS are open, ugly red light falling through, and he can only hope he’s not too late.
The Doctor is standing in the console room, dressed in his black pants and Jack’s shirt, the weapon Jack used to shoot the Master with in his hand, and wherever has he found that? The former time agent is searching for words, his throat suddenly too tight to speak.
Does he even have the right?
“Doctor,” he croaks out, feeling helpless. The Doctor whirls around, his eyes impossible wide and full of determination.
“Go away, Jack!” he says. “Everything will be fine if you do.”
“The hell it will!” No, he is going to protect him, weather the Doctor wants him to or not. “What are you doing with that gun?”
“I’ll destroy this abnormity,” the Doctor hisses. It’s not the answer Jack has expected and feared but his voice makes his shiver. He looks at the TARIDS, all dark and red and silent.
“Why?”
“It’s a paradox machine,” the Doctor says and maybe that explains everything, but not to Jack. So the Doctor continues: “The moment it’s destroyed everything done with it will be undone. The cosmos will be reset to the time right before the first paradox.”
“The Toclafane-invasion,” Jack realises.
“Exactly.” Professionalism seems to have replaced the Doctor’s pain and madness but there’s nothing else in his eyes. “But if you stay here, in the eye of the storm, it’ll still have happened to you.”
The thought is tempting. In no time at all Martha will be back, and Owen, Tosh and so many others, and if he leaves he’ll never even know they were gone. He’ll never have raped the Doctor, never have killed the Master, never have felt so utterly hopeless.
And he’ll leave the Doctor to deal with it alone.
“No way,” he says. “How about you give me that weapon and then leave here yourself?”
The Doctor smiles at him.
“No way,” he echoes Jack’s words. “There’s something else I’ll have to do.”
And when Jack jumps forward and reaches for the gun he fires.
-
The Master can feel the world shift and crack around him. For one second it feels like he’s falling and then everything settles and returns to normal. The others have felt nothing, only saw that he announced the immediate arrival of the Toclafane and nothing happened. This is the moment his paradox machine should have done its work and it’s not very hard to figure out what happened. The Master is actually quite pissed.
Everyone is here: Miss Jones and her family, the reporters, the splattered remains of the president. Lucy, looking at him with her wide eyes, confused and disappointed. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence, or anyone else’s. All he’s seeing is that that Doctor is not here, not anymore (For he was here, wasn’t he? Even if no-one else seems to notice his absence.) and it all makes so much sense.
He turns around enraged, faces the doors just in time to see them open. The Doctor comes inside, followed by his freak, and the sight is enough to make the Master forget his anger, replacing it by intrigued curiosity.
One minute ago the Doctor was kneeling aged and weak in front of him. Now he’s young again but his face is bruised, his lips split, his long neck covered in colourful marks and scratches. He’s wearing tight black pants and a long, black shirt that hangs loosely off a body even thinner than the Master remembers. But it’s his eyes that intrigue him most: full of pain and relief and the shadow of insanity, fixed solely him.
There’s also a weapon in his hand. The Master feels it poking into his stomach when the Doctor stops, centimetres away from him, and there’s so much rage and desperation radiating from him the Master nearly moans. Oh yes, he needs to learn all about that timeline he’s missed.
There’s also something else he senses and it explains so much.
“I see,” he murmurs, smiles, regrets a little, but he will make it up to himself soon enough. “The bond of tenure has been activated.” The Doctor says nothing. He’s trembling softly but his hand is holding the weapon steady, so unlike him, so fascinating. The Master can’t wait to find out what he’s done, what he would have done, to push him this far. His hand touches the Doctor’s temple.
“Show me!” he orders.
The images he receives are blurred and confused, full of darkness and pain and hopelessness and fear, guilt, self-hate and humiliation.
“Oh yes!” he purrs. “All that! Now you’re really mine, my creation!” He’s paying no attention to the others watching in stunned silence, only to the beautifully broken creature that’s trembling against his body. All his. “And I can’t wait doing it again.”
“I won’t let you.”
The Doctor’s voice is shaking, quiet. His eyes burn with hate and longing and it’s so perfect that Master could dance. Only there’s still the gun pressed against his body.
“I’ve seen what you did to the universe! I’ve seen you murder my friends. You’ll do it again, you damn bastard, I know it! And I’d rather kill you than let that happen. You can’t stop me - the bond has not yet been activated on your side.”
He means it. The Master looks into his eyes and sees the determination behind the madness. And maybe this is the sweetest triumph of all, having driven the Doctor, the eternal pacifist, to murder.
To the murder of the last of his kind.
It will break him completely, leave nothing to be fixed. And still he’ll live on, as is his obligation as the last one, shattered beyond repair and utterly without hope. He will live on and be there, waiting for the Master when he returns, as he knows he will, for he has prepared for this moment. That day the Doctor will fall into the Master’s arms and together they will fly out into the universe and watch it burn.
“Do it,” he says.
He’s still looking into the other’s eyes and can see him shatter as he pulls the trigger.
The shot echoes loud in the room. He can hear a woman’s voice - a short, shocked scream. It sounds like the Doctor’s little friend.
His first thought is not that he doesn’t feel pain. It’s that the Doctor is holding a ray-gun and it should not have made any noise. He doesn’t understand even when the Doctor falls against him, and he catches him instinctively and lowers him to the ground. Not even when the last echo of another Time Lord disappears. He feels the loss before he knows what caused it.
His hands are covered in blood and the Doctor is already gone.
The Master looks up.
Jack’s face is blank as he lowers the weapon.
-
He’s feeling strangely calm and distant as he watches the Doctor fall. His hands do not tremble. He feels no satisfaction at the realisation in the Master’s eyes, and the disbelief and the pure and simple agony. It will come, and so will the guilt and the doubt, but right now Jack feels only the certainty that what he did was right.
He feels no shame when Martha screams at him, when she runs to see if she can help and is pushed away by the Master, and when the Master jumps to his feet and throws himself at Jack, his face a mask of fury and hate, he simply closes his eyes and lets it happen.
There are some startled gasps when he comes back to life, but most of the people here see only the Master, struggling furiously in the grip of two soldiers, cursing and screaming, and now there are tears running down his face and there’s madness in his eyes. Jack very calmly picks up his gun and points it at the last Time Lord’s head.
“Go ahead!” the Master yells. “Kill me as well, you fucking murderer!”
They stare at each other for a long time. Jack doesn’t even blink while in his mind he relives a conversation he’s had with the Doctor a long time ago, when the Doctor (his beloved Doctor, oh god, what has he done?) told him that killing him would be the only way to destroy the Master. Looking into the other’s eyes Jack knows it is true.
“No,” he says, and throws the gun away. “I want you to live. I’ll make sure you’ll be kept save and alive for as long as I am alive.” He doesn’t sneer and there is no cruelty in his voice. “An eternity without him, Master. Look forward to it.”
He gestures to the soldiers to take him away and they obey his authority without question. Jack doesn’t watch as they leave the room, closes his ears to the Master’s screams as the full realisation hits him. Instead he goes back to where Martha is sobbing quietly beside the Doctor’s body, gently pushes her away, takes the vortex manipulator and picks up the corpse that lies in his arms like a child. Doesn’t listen when Martha asks why he’s done that, I thought you loved him, how could you? (I still do, Martha, I’ll never stop.) She doesn’t understand - like all the people here she has no idea what fate she has been spared.
Jack doesn’t know if the Doctor’s lived long enough to understand what he’s done for him, but his face shows something like relief and Jack likes to imagine he has. No-one tries to stop him as he walks away with the Time Lord cold and lifeless in his arms. Him the realisation has not yet hit and he wants to be as far from this place as possible when it does.
This is what he’ll have to live with. Just like the Master. They are now in hell, with only each other for company.
Still, Jack knows he has done the right thing.
Hasn’t he?
December 6, 2007