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wintercompanion2011-03-05 11:48 am
amythest_n_ice: The first cut (Jack/10) (15)
Title: The first cut
Author/Artist/Vidder/...: amythest_n_ice
Challenge: 2011 Doctor/Jack Bingo Fest
Prompt used: Sharp
Rating: 15
Pairing: Jack/10
Spoilers/warnings: Torture, blood
Summary: Jack needs rescuing.
Jack bit his lip, tasting blood as the masked torturer standing beside the bench where he was shackled face down slid the lethally sharp blade once more down his back, peeling another thin strip of skin away from the muscles underneath, flaying him slowly, and seemingly so focused on his enjoyment of his task that he wasn’t even bothering to ask any questions.
Jack could feel blood running down his sides, slicking the bench in cooling, sticky metallic puzzles, and sharp agony thundered along his nerve endings with every beat of his rapidly hammering heart.
Determined not to give his tormentor the satisfaction, the pleasure, of hearing him scream, Jack drew inwards, a defense he hadn’t had to use in such a long time, he was surprised he disconnected from the pain so fast, but then he felt the other presence in his mind, helping to shield him.
/Hello, Old Girl,/ he greeted her.
The TARDIS sent a rush of warmth, comfort and assurance at him, trying to communicate that the others were looking for him, that their Time Lord would find him. Buoyed comfortably in her gentle embrace, he let himself drift, away from the torment of his body.
It didn’t take long for the torturer to realize that his plaything was no longer responding to his attentions, and he snarled, picking up a bowl of sharp salt, and began grinding it into the raw, bloody mess of tattered flesh and exposed muscle of his toy’s back, sure that the increase in the pain would shock his victim back to his senses, but aside from the muscles twitching as the nerves fired randomly, there was nothing, not a whimper, not a groan.
He was so intent on squeezing some sound of agony out of his victim that he never noticed the stranger stealthily closing in on him, and knew nothing at all about the sharp blow to the back of his neck that rendered him unconscious and if he had done it right, paralyzed for the next 12 hours or so.
Martha hurried over from the doorway as soon as the masked thug was down; gagging involuntarily at the sight of Jack’s mutilated back.
The Doctor was more worried about the glassy, unfocussed blankness in Jack’s eyes, his flesh would heal, fast too, if he died, the Doctor thought with a grimace, but if he had snapped under the torturer’s blade, they may never get his mind back.
“What are we going to do?” Martha whispered.
“Get him back to the TARDIS, fix his back, and then hope we can fix whatever else is wrong too,” the Doctor said, a trace of uncertainty that he was unable to completely squelch coming through in his tone as he used the sonic screwdriver to open the shackles.
He eased Jack up, and over his shoulder, nodding to Martha once he had him steadied, and they hurried quickly, but quietly, back the way they had come, stepping over the unconscious forms of the guards they had knocked out on the way in.
/x/
Several long and busy hours later, the Doctor sat on a stool beside the bed in medical where Jack lay, on his side but tilted forward to rest on pillows, keeping him off the fragile new skin that had been painstakingly applied to his back. He would almost rather Jack had been whipped than fallen into the hands of a knifeman, lashes could have been healed so much faster, so much easier, with the dermal regenerator, but this, even Jack was going to be feeling for days, always assuming he ever came back of course.
“Come on Jack, don’t make me come in there after you,” he sighed, carding through the dark hair for a moment, before curling his hand around Jack’s chilled fingers, stroking his knuckles gently and trying to communicate that he was safe now, without having to take the risk of going into a potentially damaged mind without an anchor. Sighing, he settled in for a long wait.
Jack could feel the TARDIS trying to nudge him to reconnect his consciousness to his body, but he was wary, every time he had come close, he could feel the sharpness of the pain that was still there, in his back, and he shied away, not believing he was safe. An image began to form, he could see from her point of view, himself lying in her medical section, and the worried, semi-dejected form of his lover sitting beside him, holding his hand, and a far sharper pain than even the torturer had managed to inflict speared through him, he was worrying his lover, and that just wouldn’t do, and he allowed the old girl to start guiding his consciousness back where it belonged.
The Doctor had fallen asleep, precariously perched on the stool, his hand still wrapped around Jack’s, the other propping his head on the side of the mattress. He didn’t wake when the hand in his warmed, and turned over to twine their fingers, but most of the tension left his wiry frame, and the TARDIS watched protectively as her people slept.
End.
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