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wintercompanion2012-12-28 03:23 pm
eloriekam.livejournal.com) wrote in wintercompanion2012-12-28 03:23 pm
eloriekam: Double Pain, Bound Hearts (Ten/Jack) [Teen] 1/2
Title: Double Pain, Bound Hearts (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloriekam
Challenge: Amnesty 2012: Law.
Pairing: Ten/Jack
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: A few references to "Utopia"; Doctor whump
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm just taking them for a spin, and will return them,perhaps slightly battered.
Word Count: ~4,400
Summary: Everyone was on the wrong side of the law this time because they couldn't let something stand. Vigilantes meet vigilantes for vengeance.
Author's Notes: So the 'law' challenge bit me twice. Set after Last of the Time Lords and before Partners in Crime. Doctor whump in this chapter and angst, hurt/comfort should be along in the second chapter. I'm not entirely happy with either chapter of this, but I also don't want to sit on it for an entire year; all mistakes are mine and I may edit before posting elsewhere after the challenge.fogsblue and I were virtually squishing each other during the writing of most of this story!
It took the Doctor a moment to remember why his head ached, and who exactly was groaning softly. As soon as he recalled being whacked over the head, he clamped his mouth shut, and the groaning stopped. His arms and shoulders ached too, he noted... well, actually, he'd definitely felt better overall, if he was honest with himself. His wrists were shackled above his head, and he breathed slowly and deeply for a few minutes, concentrating on wiggling his fingers and flexing his arms as much as he could without triggering too much discomfort. His shoulders still ached enormously; he could feel that he was dangling forward a little, his ankles cuffed to something several centimeters up the wall rather than the floor. A very likely effective method of preventing prisoners from gaining any balance to try a counterattack, he suspected.
Prisoners.
The Doctor's eyes snapped open, and he looked around in the dim light.
Jack. Dinner. Planet. A slaver's tattoo on a wrist coming toward him.
He squinted at the shape hanging on another wall until it resolved itself into the Captain, breathing slowly with his eyes closed, a couple of trails of blood on one cheek. Blimey, that looked to be a miserable position. Small wonder his shoulders ached, and he was more flexible than Jack. He wiggled his toes a little, which twinged up in his calves, and then looked around the cell.
Oh, a slaver's tattoo. He pondered that, tried to rub his nose, and winced. The reason he knew it was a slaver's tattoo in this time period was that he and Jack had seen it before. Quite a number of them, actually, all proudly displayed along with the whips and shackles and swaggering twirl of keys as men walked past small cages stacked four high in which the inhabitants couldn't even sit up properly or stretch out. The TARDIS had dropped them almost in the middle of the complex, Jack responding with even swifter anger than the Doctor. Thin, frightened, hopeless faces had greeted them through the small windows of the cages as the sonic started humming away.
They had separated for a while, Jack returning with blood on his clothes. "They're done," he had said quietly. The Doctor had looked at him.
"They weren't going to change."
"No, they weren't." Jack had looked straight ahead, then, as one bright explosion bloomed.
"Some of them were dead."
"Yeah, I saw." Jack's jaw had clenched, and they had run for the TARDIS as fires began sparking.
A groan interrupted his pondering. "Ohhh," Jack let out as he slowly lifted his head and clenched his hands. "Ow."
"Are you all right?" the Doctor asked, trying not to sound too absurd.
"Great. Thanks. Oh, ow."
"Jack."
The other man pried his eyes open and made contact. "I haven't been dead, no." He wriggled a little in the shackles, futilely. "Damn, this is a bit clever."
"Yep."
"Are you all right?" The Captain tossed the question back at him.
"Well, the accommodations are terrible, and my head aches a bit, but other than that... I'm fine, Jack, honestly."
"Yeah, that crack on the head wasn't the most pleasant thing ever."
"Did you see the tattoo?" the Doctor asked suddenly, hearing footsteps approach.
"What?"
"Slaver's tattoo. Remember? We destroyed their complex."
"But not all of them?" Jack asked, as the door rattled.
"Nope." The Doctor shut his mouth as the door opened.
"Hello," greeted two of the men in the doorway, their arms crossed.
"Hello," the Doctor returned. One of them walked up to him and held his face in one hand. Jack pulled at his shackles.
"You remember us," he accused.
"Not you specifically," the Doctor admitted, eyes flicking to the other's arm.
"Heh." His hand clenched, but the Doctor just kept watching them. Jack's chains clinked.
One of the other men strode to Jack, drawing his weapon. The Doctor sucked in a breath, but the shot echoed around the cell as he tensed.
"We heard this one got shot a few times," the shooter explained. "He looks very, very good for a dead man."
"You didn't have to-" the Doctor was cut off as the hand on his face clamped hard on his jaw, joined by one around his throat.
"We'd like to thank you for coming to enjoy our hospitality," the slaver said, stepping back. The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it. On the other wall, Jack's eyes snapped open as he gasped a bit, struggling. Another shot sounded in the cell.
The Doctor closed his eyes. He thought of his head resting on Jack's chest, listening to the single thrum as warm, broad hands caressed his back.
"We're not all friends of the people you locked into cages and blew up, by the way," added a man standing near the door. "Some of us," he smiled, "are here for other skills." He drew a remote out of one pocket. "We've handicapped you a bit, but your arms look strong. So..."
Jack came back again, breathing out sharply as he looked at his killer, who simply raised the gun again.
"Not now," interrupted the man at the door. "Welcome back, Captain." He tapped the remote a couple of times, and cuffs snaked around their necks. They looked at one another. "We'll be back later. I'm curious to see how you'll do." The other men started backing out of the cell. "Also, Captain?" he added, pressing more buttons and forcing their legs to dangle, no support reachable. Jack looked over at him, eyes filled with an indescribable mix of emotions, jaw tight, as he tried to hold himself up. "Don't be lazy. You're not the one who will pay for it."
The door closed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pain flooded the Doctor's system, and he jerked awake with a cry, then closed his eyes against the bright light of the box. His breathing echoed in the tiny space, limbs shackled at each end so he could hardly turn any direction, only contact with the outside tiny holes of a window at each end, where they sometimes shoved tubes of fluid at him as he tried to contort himself enough to access it.
He breathed several times, trying to calm down, trying to think. He'd only fallen asleep a few times since being locked in here days ago, each time being prodded awake after a few seconds to a few minutes, even if he tried most of the trance states he knew. He was having trouble focusing, couldn't focus enough to try every method of giving his mind and body some rest, but let his mind poke about for the TARDIS.
Close. She was close, humming angrily. He turned his face to the floor, then winced, squeezed his eyes shut, and looked at the top of the box. At least the lights there were further away, but they weren't the type that trimmed heat production down to almost nothing. He moved his tongue a little in his mouth, generating just a bit of saliva, enough to wet his lips a bit. Jack, Jack was near too, solidity and impossibility forcing itself on him. He could sense some twisting there, and wondered how many times Jack had died since they were separated.
One end of the box opened, and he heard the snick of the leg shackles releasing at the other end. Someone grabbed hold of the chain attached to his wrists, and dragged him out, onto the darker cool floor. The Doctor tried to sit up, but they pulled sharply at his wrists, and he curled on the floor, pressing his cheek against the cool material.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay," a voice boomed above him. Moaning against the sudden intrusion of sound, he tried to wrap his arms around his head. Another harsh tug followed, then someone's boot forced him to roll onto his back. "Because you're going to die there." He felt hands take hold of the chains again, and they hauled him out of the room and down hallways. They passed the cell where he could sense Jack, and he tried to focus, wanting to reassure his impossibility, his so much more. The Captain was pulling at his restraints again, which would probably irritate at least one of their captors. Someone kicked him, and he grunted. Jack shouted.
"You bastards! Where have you been keeping him? Let me see him!"
Jack. I'm all right. Calm down. He could tell the Time Lord wasn't, heard the suppressed gasp at the tail end of the message, felt the effort to send it. But he quieted, and waited.
One of their captors came in with a tray of food and a gun. Jack looked at it and rolled his eyes. A few minutes later, he came out of the darkness to find the tray sitting next to him, his shackles slacked enough that he could reach the food and water if he really wanted to. He licked it up, finally, then shuffled back, waiting again. After a while, he fell asleep, arms aching, and dreamt of gripping the Doctor, holding him perfectly balanced above him as the Time Lord's fingers tangled and combed through his hair and Jack's tongue and mouth worked him, driving the thrusting no matter how the Doctor whimpered and squirmed, breathing and blowing and teasing and swallowing. His arms had ached a little too, with the protracted game, but afterward slim fingers had dug gently into shoulders and upper arms, then slid down to the wrists and worked them gently as lips came down over each of his fingers in turn, tongue swirling before withdrawing and moving to the next.
He woke to a gun in his face again, and sighed to himself. The owner turned away this time, and left. Jack thumped his head against the wall a little and wondered if they would just keep coming in and shooting him or not shooting him until they tired of whatever they were doing to the Doctor. He slowly stretched his neck, working out the kinks and cramps, then started counting the links in his shackles. He lost track a few times, and finally stared at the door, trying to determine possible materials, weaknesses in design, in setup relative to the rest of the cell.
They would escape, somehow. He wasn't sure, but he thought it had been over a week since he'd seen the Doctor. Who knew what they'd done to him... he'd seen, they'd both seen, what they were capable of doing to other sentients.
Jack sat up at the sound of voices in the corridor outside, and a body being dragged. Chains clinked as the other sounds stopped, and he held his breath, then tried to relax. The one who usually shot him, one whom he was fairly sure wasn't a slaver, but hired by them, entered first, staring at him and lifting his weapon. Another man entered, hauling a slim limp pinstriped form by the wrists, another one swaggering behind and suddenly kicking the Doctor partway across the cell. The Time Lord rolled over with a low moan, facing away from Jack, as another man entered and anchored the Doctor's wrists, then his ankles. Someone handed a tray in, and carelessly slid it partway across the floor. Jack glared at them, and with the first man stroking his weapon, they all retreated.
"Enjoy your time together," said the one who had kicked the Doctor, as they left and closed the door. Jack desperately tugged at his shackles, hoping for slack, and found it. He squirmed awkwardly across the floor until he was close to the Doctor, and carefully rolled the Time Lord onto his back.
"No," the Doctor whimpered, eyes still closed, trying to curl back onto his side. His knees drew up a little until the chain drew tight, and he cried out again in protest.
"Doc, it's okay, it's me, it's Jack, you're back in the cell, it's okay, I've got you...." Jack ran his hands frantically along the Doctor, taking in his appearance, the injuries, hoping the Doctor could sense his nature as a fixed point and realize he'd reached safe haven, however temporary. He looked at the Doctor's face and winced: dried blood at his mouth, a bruise on his forehead and an even larger one below one eye. He was noticeably thinner, his unbruised cheekbone jutting out. He kept stroking the Doctor, trying to touch firm enough for the Doctor to recognize him, light enough not to cause him pain from the bruises surely under his suit.
"Jack?" the Doctor whispered in query some minutes later. He opened his eyes a little. "Ohh..." He shifted, and winced as the movement tightened the pressure on part of his wrists. "No, Jack, no we have to leave, just go, oh please..."
"Shh," Jack whispered, wishing he could kiss him. Instead, he grasped the tray awkwardly and drew it closer, dampened one of the towels there and touched it lightly to the dried blood on the Doctor's face. The Doctor turned into it, then stuck out his tongue and pressed it briefly against the fabric.
"Water," he gasped. "Jack, I think that's really you..." he coughed, sudden and harsh and dry, gagging. "Water, please..." Jack moved helplessly, then slowly tipped some water into his mouth once he lay still again.
"Doctor..." he leaned a bit closer. "What did..." he stopped and shook his head, then ran his fingers down the Doctor's arm again. The Time Lord flinched. "Shit, sorry, sorry."
"S'all right." Chocolate pools flickered open. "Bruises. Ow. More water?"
"Yeah." Jack let a stream trickle in slowly, trying not to look at the bruising and cuts on his neck, the swollen and bruised right hand. "Do you have any internal damage?" he asked when he paused for the Doctor to swallow. Eyes drooped closed for a long moment.
"I can heal it. It's fine." He drank a little more water, then closed his mouth firmly. Jack caressed his face with one hand, and the Doctor smiled faintly, turning his head to his Captain's palm. "Not now, Jack."
"I just want to touch you," Jack whispered. "I couldn't hear anything for days, then they hauled you past here, and hurt you, and then I couldn't hear anything else. I..."
"Oh, it's all right." The Doctor took a careful breath in and let it out. "They're just... performing the opening act." He smiled again, but it was more pained this time. "I'm sorry, but I need to sleep, Jack."
The Captain wriggled in his restraints. "I wish I could join you. I'm sorry."
"S'all right," the Doctor said again. He closed his eyes and went limp, the rise and fall of his chest slowing.
Healing coma, Jack realized. Or just a trance, more likely. The Doctor would want to be able to wake when they came again. As he'd noted, his injuries weren't really that serious, in light of their captors' anger. After a while, he dozed, waking when his was yanked toward the wall. He reached toward the Doctor, but his fingers slipped past contact. The Time Lord remained still until the door opened, then turned his eyes toward Jack: a little fear, a little pain, but more worry, as they loosed his wrists from the floor and yanked him to his knees. The Doctor winced, and Jack wondered what injuries he'd been able to heal.
"What a romantic scene that was," remarked one of them, pulling out a dark cloth. "I hope you enjoyed seeing him, Doctor." The Time Lord closed his eyes as hands turned him round, bringing the cloth over his eyes and knotting it. Another hand pulled his hair, yanking his head back, and he grunted, then gasped out an "ow" before the gag was stuffed in and secured. Then they took out another length of material and began winding it around his head over his ears. Jack tensed and then jerked forward.
"Stop it!"
"Aww." His usual executioner lifted his firearm. Jack flinched and flicked his eyes to the Doctor.
He had some time to wonder if the Doctor had heard the shot.
They fed him three more times, and killed him twice more. He experimented with getting slack in his restraints, and was pinned to the wall for a while one time he pulled too hard. With some effort, he later slipped a finger or two into the links, flexing his fingers and bruising them, thinking about this time zone, about how fast he revived, about how quickly his injuries might heal. When there was a click from the direction of the ceiling, he looked up quickly, wondering where it was, and why.
Something solid hit flesh above him, followed by a shuffling sound. Then boots, gait steady. Something whistled a little through the air, and hit flesh. It happened again, different each time. He almost didn't recognize the muffled grunt when it came.
Clothes ripped, and he heard metal on metal. Hiss, snap, thwack, hiss, snap, thwack, hiss, snap, thwack, whimper.
He pulled at his wrist restraints, just a little. They gave a few centimeters. He tightened the slack and sat there, listening, making himself listen. It wasn't the Doctor who had set up most of the explosions, and the Doctor... the Doctor had been busy unlocking those awful cages, gently helping people out of them, figuring out where they could possibly go after this, gently carrying people to the TARDIS.
The whimpers and groans came more often now. He got food again, accompanied by a smirk, a leer. Jack ate all of it, and debated using his considerable skills to get some more.
No, no, he would use other skills. He sat there with apparent calm, listening and not listening, concentrating, and got a good 35 centimeters of slack in the chains attaching his wrists to the wall before the sounds above him stopped. Jack looked at the ceiling, and debated letting the slack unwind. He anchored it firmly instead, hoping it would be hidden, and listened, leaning a little toward the door.
The visit was very brief, this time. The Doctor was unceremoniously rolled in--kicked, more likely--and secured to the floor again, fresh and dried blood tracked almost everywhere except his face. The door closed. Jack let out a breath and wondered if they really hadn't noticed or if they had and would take it out on the Doctor or... ohh, the Doctor. He didn't have to force the slack, this time, before sliding across the floor. He touched the Doctor's forehead, then one of the arms stretched above him, skin visible through the shredded pinstripes, and the other flinched away, trying again to curl in harder on his side. He drew his hands back, and projected his voice around the cell, trying to stay soothing, not frighten the Doctor, to see if his beloved could hear him. The Time Lord gave no response. Jack lifted his eyes ceiling-ward and uttered a brief groan of frustration.
He had to let the Doctor know he was there, that there was a little bit of safety for the moment. Jack gently lifted torn clothing, peering through to bloodied and bruised flesh underneath, looking for an unmarked expanse, even a little spot, of skin like that he would lick and kiss and gently mark. He knew their love, their touching, was from loyalty and longing and regrets and, yes, suppression, alteration, of the Doctor's instincts and senses. Finally, he pressed his fingers gently at a spot just above the Doctor's left knee, and briefly prayed, to the TARDIS perhaps.
Half a minute later the Doctor tensed under him, then tried to move away from Jack. Jack followed, careful not to press too hard on the bit of unbruised flesh. The Doctor whimpered and moaned behind the gag, and the Captain winced, then followed the Time Lord when he squirmed away again. He lay still for a moment after that, and the fixed point wondered if he'd been recognized, but then the Doctor began outright thrashing, opening whip wounds and yanking at his wrist and ankle restraints. Jack yanked his hand back this time, terrified he'd frightened the Doctor into hurting himself, might scare him into that or worse. He clenched his fists, horrified. A seeming eternity later, the Doctor calmed and lay still, gasping behind the gag, fresh trails of blood around him.
The Doctor breathed two hundred fifty-three times before the door opened again. Jack knew because he'd counted each one, almost afraid to blink as he stared down at the Time Lord's thin, abused body and wondered if they would hold each other again.
On the two hundred fifty-sixth breath, he was left in the cell with a heap of ruined suit and puddles of dried blood. Where the two hundred fifty-ninth breath belonged, he pulled on his restraints again, first wrists, then ankles, and smiled grimly.
It was set on automatic, or they were leading him into a trap. Jack turned the smile into a toothy wolfish grin, and kept going. The speaker clicked above him again. Electricity hummed across it, creating feedback. He heard the multi-chorded voice raised in a scream, then more screams as he found the end and began working at the links, thinking of more pleasant tones, of teasing the Doctor, of feeling those complex vocal chords work, spilling out liquid words, chimes and notes and.... he couldn't remember all of the sounds anymore.
Jack sat and waited, the slack drawn up tight, links weakened (at least it wasn't smart metal, that would have been a bit much for him) to near breaking, fingers broken and bruised, healing. His hair was ragged and he was rather dirty and so were his clothes, but he looked very predatory as he sat there, meditating, assessing himself. His deaths would be an advantage, now; they'd help keep him stronger than he otherwise would be after being locked in a cell for so long. He forced his eyes to open and follow his lover's body as it was carelessly tossed into the cell and secured again, observed the Time Lord's strained breaths as he assessed the men who brought him there, their weapons, their body language, where they reached just before the door closed.
He stared up when food was brought, and didn't move. The gun came out. The shot was louder than usual, and Jack jumped. The Doctor twitched, fresh blood spilling from his thigh; his brow might have furrowed for a moment, but his face was still almost entirely hidden. The tray was kicked closer. He leaned down, and slurped and bit, then looked up, to see the weapon pointed at the Doctor's other leg. He slurped and bit and chewed again, then leaned back and fidgeted. His fingers reached for the links he'd loosened.
Feet still shackled together kicked up, followed by the tray smashing into the other's face. Hands quickly followed, wresting the gun away, and a headbutt to the chest sent his executioner staggering back, looking slightly shocked. Jack stood there, still shackled, but to nothing, ice and fire and vengeance in his eyes.
Hands reached for a pocket, and Jack fired once, twice, watching the body drop. He looked at the weapon, thumbed a control, and pointed it at the chain anchoring the Doctor's feet. The door burst open, then closed, and he shot again, then was tackled by someone with too much self confidence. He took advantage of the lengths still connecting his hands and then his feet, and the other tumbled to one side, dead. Jack knelt and scrabbled for keys, firing at the cable and chain above the Doctor's hands. He had an excess of endorphins in his system now, but he knew how to channel it into crisp movements, plans, and to worry later if there was a later. He snagged weapons and stuffed them wherever he could easily reach, then lifted the Doctor, eager to get out of what could fast become a dead end trap.
He had dropped two more of their captors and run around four corners before he realized he didn't know where the TARDIS was, if she was even nearby. Jack paused, then started moving again, shooting at motion. He stopped again, briefly, letting the Doctor's long awkward form slide down, holding him up with one arm. He could hear the Doctor's breath wheezing, the strain and the pain from each inhale and exhale.
Someone came up behind him. He tried to turn around, but it was a terrible angle. A bruised, bloody, burned arm suddenly wrapped itself around his waist and fingers fumbled for half a moment before closing around the weapon, removing it, and aiming it unerringly down the hallway. It fired, and the Doctor went limp again for a moment, coughing and gagging. Jack could feel him tense with every new contact with his own body before the Doctor turned his head slightly and pulled toward a side corridor. His legs folded under him almost immediately, and Jack caught him again, lifted him. The Time Lord twisted, pointing the same direction, and Jack promised himself that later he'd weep and stroke the Doctor with gratitude, before he set off that way.
Such signs led him through twists and turns, through a room with most of the contents of their pockets (Jack doubted that was coincidence as he frantically grabbed what he could), and through more levels and intersections before he opened a door over a newly shot guard and spied the blue box, so very beautiful.
Beware, a voice snapped in his head, and he wondered who it was because it wasn't the Doctor's, at least not one he'd ever heard before, but came back to the moment anyway to fight again. He patted one door as he found the key, and stumbled inside, closing and locking the door as he let the Doctor slide out of his grasp again. Shaking, Jack dropped to his knees and carefully laid the Doctor on his side before unwrapping the material that bound his face, silencing him and depriving him of sight and hearing. The Time Lord coughed as the gag came away, a dry sound that led to gagging before he relaxed, still wheezing.
Jack looked down at the Doctor's face, caressed it lightly with his fingertips, and kissed his forehead before he started to cry.
Author:
eloriekamChallenge: Amnesty 2012: Law.
Pairing: Ten/Jack
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: A few references to "Utopia"; Doctor whump
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm just taking them for a spin, and will return them,
Word Count: ~4,400
Summary: Everyone was on the wrong side of the law this time because they couldn't let something stand. Vigilantes meet vigilantes for vengeance.
Author's Notes: So the 'law' challenge bit me twice. Set after Last of the Time Lords and before Partners in Crime. Doctor whump in this chapter and angst, hurt/comfort should be along in the second chapter. I'm not entirely happy with either chapter of this, but I also don't want to sit on it for an entire year; all mistakes are mine and I may edit before posting elsewhere after the challenge.
fogsblue and I were virtually squishing each other during the writing of most of this story!It took the Doctor a moment to remember why his head ached, and who exactly was groaning softly. As soon as he recalled being whacked over the head, he clamped his mouth shut, and the groaning stopped. His arms and shoulders ached too, he noted... well, actually, he'd definitely felt better overall, if he was honest with himself. His wrists were shackled above his head, and he breathed slowly and deeply for a few minutes, concentrating on wiggling his fingers and flexing his arms as much as he could without triggering too much discomfort. His shoulders still ached enormously; he could feel that he was dangling forward a little, his ankles cuffed to something several centimeters up the wall rather than the floor. A very likely effective method of preventing prisoners from gaining any balance to try a counterattack, he suspected.
Prisoners.
The Doctor's eyes snapped open, and he looked around in the dim light.
Jack. Dinner. Planet. A slaver's tattoo on a wrist coming toward him.
He squinted at the shape hanging on another wall until it resolved itself into the Captain, breathing slowly with his eyes closed, a couple of trails of blood on one cheek. Blimey, that looked to be a miserable position. Small wonder his shoulders ached, and he was more flexible than Jack. He wiggled his toes a little, which twinged up in his calves, and then looked around the cell.
Oh, a slaver's tattoo. He pondered that, tried to rub his nose, and winced. The reason he knew it was a slaver's tattoo in this time period was that he and Jack had seen it before. Quite a number of them, actually, all proudly displayed along with the whips and shackles and swaggering twirl of keys as men walked past small cages stacked four high in which the inhabitants couldn't even sit up properly or stretch out. The TARDIS had dropped them almost in the middle of the complex, Jack responding with even swifter anger than the Doctor. Thin, frightened, hopeless faces had greeted them through the small windows of the cages as the sonic started humming away.
They had separated for a while, Jack returning with blood on his clothes. "They're done," he had said quietly. The Doctor had looked at him.
"They weren't going to change."
"No, they weren't." Jack had looked straight ahead, then, as one bright explosion bloomed.
"Some of them were dead."
"Yeah, I saw." Jack's jaw had clenched, and they had run for the TARDIS as fires began sparking.
A groan interrupted his pondering. "Ohhh," Jack let out as he slowly lifted his head and clenched his hands. "Ow."
"Are you all right?" the Doctor asked, trying not to sound too absurd.
"Great. Thanks. Oh, ow."
"Jack."
The other man pried his eyes open and made contact. "I haven't been dead, no." He wriggled a little in the shackles, futilely. "Damn, this is a bit clever."
"Yep."
"Are you all right?" The Captain tossed the question back at him.
"Well, the accommodations are terrible, and my head aches a bit, but other than that... I'm fine, Jack, honestly."
"Yeah, that crack on the head wasn't the most pleasant thing ever."
"Did you see the tattoo?" the Doctor asked suddenly, hearing footsteps approach.
"What?"
"Slaver's tattoo. Remember? We destroyed their complex."
"But not all of them?" Jack asked, as the door rattled.
"Nope." The Doctor shut his mouth as the door opened.
"Hello," greeted two of the men in the doorway, their arms crossed.
"Hello," the Doctor returned. One of them walked up to him and held his face in one hand. Jack pulled at his shackles.
"You remember us," he accused.
"Not you specifically," the Doctor admitted, eyes flicking to the other's arm.
"Heh." His hand clenched, but the Doctor just kept watching them. Jack's chains clinked.
One of the other men strode to Jack, drawing his weapon. The Doctor sucked in a breath, but the shot echoed around the cell as he tensed.
"We heard this one got shot a few times," the shooter explained. "He looks very, very good for a dead man."
"You didn't have to-" the Doctor was cut off as the hand on his face clamped hard on his jaw, joined by one around his throat.
"We'd like to thank you for coming to enjoy our hospitality," the slaver said, stepping back. The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it. On the other wall, Jack's eyes snapped open as he gasped a bit, struggling. Another shot sounded in the cell.
The Doctor closed his eyes. He thought of his head resting on Jack's chest, listening to the single thrum as warm, broad hands caressed his back.
"We're not all friends of the people you locked into cages and blew up, by the way," added a man standing near the door. "Some of us," he smiled, "are here for other skills." He drew a remote out of one pocket. "We've handicapped you a bit, but your arms look strong. So..."
Jack came back again, breathing out sharply as he looked at his killer, who simply raised the gun again.
"Not now," interrupted the man at the door. "Welcome back, Captain." He tapped the remote a couple of times, and cuffs snaked around their necks. They looked at one another. "We'll be back later. I'm curious to see how you'll do." The other men started backing out of the cell. "Also, Captain?" he added, pressing more buttons and forcing their legs to dangle, no support reachable. Jack looked over at him, eyes filled with an indescribable mix of emotions, jaw tight, as he tried to hold himself up. "Don't be lazy. You're not the one who will pay for it."
The door closed.
Pain flooded the Doctor's system, and he jerked awake with a cry, then closed his eyes against the bright light of the box. His breathing echoed in the tiny space, limbs shackled at each end so he could hardly turn any direction, only contact with the outside tiny holes of a window at each end, where they sometimes shoved tubes of fluid at him as he tried to contort himself enough to access it.
He breathed several times, trying to calm down, trying to think. He'd only fallen asleep a few times since being locked in here days ago, each time being prodded awake after a few seconds to a few minutes, even if he tried most of the trance states he knew. He was having trouble focusing, couldn't focus enough to try every method of giving his mind and body some rest, but let his mind poke about for the TARDIS.
Close. She was close, humming angrily. He turned his face to the floor, then winced, squeezed his eyes shut, and looked at the top of the box. At least the lights there were further away, but they weren't the type that trimmed heat production down to almost nothing. He moved his tongue a little in his mouth, generating just a bit of saliva, enough to wet his lips a bit. Jack, Jack was near too, solidity and impossibility forcing itself on him. He could sense some twisting there, and wondered how many times Jack had died since they were separated.
One end of the box opened, and he heard the snick of the leg shackles releasing at the other end. Someone grabbed hold of the chain attached to his wrists, and dragged him out, onto the darker cool floor. The Doctor tried to sit up, but they pulled sharply at his wrists, and he curled on the floor, pressing his cheek against the cool material.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay," a voice boomed above him. Moaning against the sudden intrusion of sound, he tried to wrap his arms around his head. Another harsh tug followed, then someone's boot forced him to roll onto his back. "Because you're going to die there." He felt hands take hold of the chains again, and they hauled him out of the room and down hallways. They passed the cell where he could sense Jack, and he tried to focus, wanting to reassure his impossibility, his so much more. The Captain was pulling at his restraints again, which would probably irritate at least one of their captors. Someone kicked him, and he grunted. Jack shouted.
"You bastards! Where have you been keeping him? Let me see him!"
Jack. I'm all right. Calm down. He could tell the Time Lord wasn't, heard the suppressed gasp at the tail end of the message, felt the effort to send it. But he quieted, and waited.
One of their captors came in with a tray of food and a gun. Jack looked at it and rolled his eyes. A few minutes later, he came out of the darkness to find the tray sitting next to him, his shackles slacked enough that he could reach the food and water if he really wanted to. He licked it up, finally, then shuffled back, waiting again. After a while, he fell asleep, arms aching, and dreamt of gripping the Doctor, holding him perfectly balanced above him as the Time Lord's fingers tangled and combed through his hair and Jack's tongue and mouth worked him, driving the thrusting no matter how the Doctor whimpered and squirmed, breathing and blowing and teasing and swallowing. His arms had ached a little too, with the protracted game, but afterward slim fingers had dug gently into shoulders and upper arms, then slid down to the wrists and worked them gently as lips came down over each of his fingers in turn, tongue swirling before withdrawing and moving to the next.
He woke to a gun in his face again, and sighed to himself. The owner turned away this time, and left. Jack thumped his head against the wall a little and wondered if they would just keep coming in and shooting him or not shooting him until they tired of whatever they were doing to the Doctor. He slowly stretched his neck, working out the kinks and cramps, then started counting the links in his shackles. He lost track a few times, and finally stared at the door, trying to determine possible materials, weaknesses in design, in setup relative to the rest of the cell.
They would escape, somehow. He wasn't sure, but he thought it had been over a week since he'd seen the Doctor. Who knew what they'd done to him... he'd seen, they'd both seen, what they were capable of doing to other sentients.
Jack sat up at the sound of voices in the corridor outside, and a body being dragged. Chains clinked as the other sounds stopped, and he held his breath, then tried to relax. The one who usually shot him, one whom he was fairly sure wasn't a slaver, but hired by them, entered first, staring at him and lifting his weapon. Another man entered, hauling a slim limp pinstriped form by the wrists, another one swaggering behind and suddenly kicking the Doctor partway across the cell. The Time Lord rolled over with a low moan, facing away from Jack, as another man entered and anchored the Doctor's wrists, then his ankles. Someone handed a tray in, and carelessly slid it partway across the floor. Jack glared at them, and with the first man stroking his weapon, they all retreated.
"Enjoy your time together," said the one who had kicked the Doctor, as they left and closed the door. Jack desperately tugged at his shackles, hoping for slack, and found it. He squirmed awkwardly across the floor until he was close to the Doctor, and carefully rolled the Time Lord onto his back.
"No," the Doctor whimpered, eyes still closed, trying to curl back onto his side. His knees drew up a little until the chain drew tight, and he cried out again in protest.
"Doc, it's okay, it's me, it's Jack, you're back in the cell, it's okay, I've got you...." Jack ran his hands frantically along the Doctor, taking in his appearance, the injuries, hoping the Doctor could sense his nature as a fixed point and realize he'd reached safe haven, however temporary. He looked at the Doctor's face and winced: dried blood at his mouth, a bruise on his forehead and an even larger one below one eye. He was noticeably thinner, his unbruised cheekbone jutting out. He kept stroking the Doctor, trying to touch firm enough for the Doctor to recognize him, light enough not to cause him pain from the bruises surely under his suit.
"Jack?" the Doctor whispered in query some minutes later. He opened his eyes a little. "Ohh..." He shifted, and winced as the movement tightened the pressure on part of his wrists. "No, Jack, no we have to leave, just go, oh please..."
"Shh," Jack whispered, wishing he could kiss him. Instead, he grasped the tray awkwardly and drew it closer, dampened one of the towels there and touched it lightly to the dried blood on the Doctor's face. The Doctor turned into it, then stuck out his tongue and pressed it briefly against the fabric.
"Water," he gasped. "Jack, I think that's really you..." he coughed, sudden and harsh and dry, gagging. "Water, please..." Jack moved helplessly, then slowly tipped some water into his mouth once he lay still again.
"Doctor..." he leaned a bit closer. "What did..." he stopped and shook his head, then ran his fingers down the Doctor's arm again. The Time Lord flinched. "Shit, sorry, sorry."
"S'all right." Chocolate pools flickered open. "Bruises. Ow. More water?"
"Yeah." Jack let a stream trickle in slowly, trying not to look at the bruising and cuts on his neck, the swollen and bruised right hand. "Do you have any internal damage?" he asked when he paused for the Doctor to swallow. Eyes drooped closed for a long moment.
"I can heal it. It's fine." He drank a little more water, then closed his mouth firmly. Jack caressed his face with one hand, and the Doctor smiled faintly, turning his head to his Captain's palm. "Not now, Jack."
"I just want to touch you," Jack whispered. "I couldn't hear anything for days, then they hauled you past here, and hurt you, and then I couldn't hear anything else. I..."
"Oh, it's all right." The Doctor took a careful breath in and let it out. "They're just... performing the opening act." He smiled again, but it was more pained this time. "I'm sorry, but I need to sleep, Jack."
The Captain wriggled in his restraints. "I wish I could join you. I'm sorry."
"S'all right," the Doctor said again. He closed his eyes and went limp, the rise and fall of his chest slowing.
Healing coma, Jack realized. Or just a trance, more likely. The Doctor would want to be able to wake when they came again. As he'd noted, his injuries weren't really that serious, in light of their captors' anger. After a while, he dozed, waking when his was yanked toward the wall. He reached toward the Doctor, but his fingers slipped past contact. The Time Lord remained still until the door opened, then turned his eyes toward Jack: a little fear, a little pain, but more worry, as they loosed his wrists from the floor and yanked him to his knees. The Doctor winced, and Jack wondered what injuries he'd been able to heal.
"What a romantic scene that was," remarked one of them, pulling out a dark cloth. "I hope you enjoyed seeing him, Doctor." The Time Lord closed his eyes as hands turned him round, bringing the cloth over his eyes and knotting it. Another hand pulled his hair, yanking his head back, and he grunted, then gasped out an "ow" before the gag was stuffed in and secured. Then they took out another length of material and began winding it around his head over his ears. Jack tensed and then jerked forward.
"Stop it!"
"Aww." His usual executioner lifted his firearm. Jack flinched and flicked his eyes to the Doctor.
He had some time to wonder if the Doctor had heard the shot.
They fed him three more times, and killed him twice more. He experimented with getting slack in his restraints, and was pinned to the wall for a while one time he pulled too hard. With some effort, he later slipped a finger or two into the links, flexing his fingers and bruising them, thinking about this time zone, about how fast he revived, about how quickly his injuries might heal. When there was a click from the direction of the ceiling, he looked up quickly, wondering where it was, and why.
Something solid hit flesh above him, followed by a shuffling sound. Then boots, gait steady. Something whistled a little through the air, and hit flesh. It happened again, different each time. He almost didn't recognize the muffled grunt when it came.
Clothes ripped, and he heard metal on metal. Hiss, snap, thwack, hiss, snap, thwack, hiss, snap, thwack, whimper.
He pulled at his wrist restraints, just a little. They gave a few centimeters. He tightened the slack and sat there, listening, making himself listen. It wasn't the Doctor who had set up most of the explosions, and the Doctor... the Doctor had been busy unlocking those awful cages, gently helping people out of them, figuring out where they could possibly go after this, gently carrying people to the TARDIS.
The whimpers and groans came more often now. He got food again, accompanied by a smirk, a leer. Jack ate all of it, and debated using his considerable skills to get some more.
No, no, he would use other skills. He sat there with apparent calm, listening and not listening, concentrating, and got a good 35 centimeters of slack in the chains attaching his wrists to the wall before the sounds above him stopped. Jack looked at the ceiling, and debated letting the slack unwind. He anchored it firmly instead, hoping it would be hidden, and listened, leaning a little toward the door.
The visit was very brief, this time. The Doctor was unceremoniously rolled in--kicked, more likely--and secured to the floor again, fresh and dried blood tracked almost everywhere except his face. The door closed. Jack let out a breath and wondered if they really hadn't noticed or if they had and would take it out on the Doctor or... ohh, the Doctor. He didn't have to force the slack, this time, before sliding across the floor. He touched the Doctor's forehead, then one of the arms stretched above him, skin visible through the shredded pinstripes, and the other flinched away, trying again to curl in harder on his side. He drew his hands back, and projected his voice around the cell, trying to stay soothing, not frighten the Doctor, to see if his beloved could hear him. The Time Lord gave no response. Jack lifted his eyes ceiling-ward and uttered a brief groan of frustration.
He had to let the Doctor know he was there, that there was a little bit of safety for the moment. Jack gently lifted torn clothing, peering through to bloodied and bruised flesh underneath, looking for an unmarked expanse, even a little spot, of skin like that he would lick and kiss and gently mark. He knew their love, their touching, was from loyalty and longing and regrets and, yes, suppression, alteration, of the Doctor's instincts and senses. Finally, he pressed his fingers gently at a spot just above the Doctor's left knee, and briefly prayed, to the TARDIS perhaps.
Half a minute later the Doctor tensed under him, then tried to move away from Jack. Jack followed, careful not to press too hard on the bit of unbruised flesh. The Doctor whimpered and moaned behind the gag, and the Captain winced, then followed the Time Lord when he squirmed away again. He lay still for a moment after that, and the fixed point wondered if he'd been recognized, but then the Doctor began outright thrashing, opening whip wounds and yanking at his wrist and ankle restraints. Jack yanked his hand back this time, terrified he'd frightened the Doctor into hurting himself, might scare him into that or worse. He clenched his fists, horrified. A seeming eternity later, the Doctor calmed and lay still, gasping behind the gag, fresh trails of blood around him.
The Doctor breathed two hundred fifty-three times before the door opened again. Jack knew because he'd counted each one, almost afraid to blink as he stared down at the Time Lord's thin, abused body and wondered if they would hold each other again.
On the two hundred fifty-sixth breath, he was left in the cell with a heap of ruined suit and puddles of dried blood. Where the two hundred fifty-ninth breath belonged, he pulled on his restraints again, first wrists, then ankles, and smiled grimly.
It was set on automatic, or they were leading him into a trap. Jack turned the smile into a toothy wolfish grin, and kept going. The speaker clicked above him again. Electricity hummed across it, creating feedback. He heard the multi-chorded voice raised in a scream, then more screams as he found the end and began working at the links, thinking of more pleasant tones, of teasing the Doctor, of feeling those complex vocal chords work, spilling out liquid words, chimes and notes and.... he couldn't remember all of the sounds anymore.
Jack sat and waited, the slack drawn up tight, links weakened (at least it wasn't smart metal, that would have been a bit much for him) to near breaking, fingers broken and bruised, healing. His hair was ragged and he was rather dirty and so were his clothes, but he looked very predatory as he sat there, meditating, assessing himself. His deaths would be an advantage, now; they'd help keep him stronger than he otherwise would be after being locked in a cell for so long. He forced his eyes to open and follow his lover's body as it was carelessly tossed into the cell and secured again, observed the Time Lord's strained breaths as he assessed the men who brought him there, their weapons, their body language, where they reached just before the door closed.
He stared up when food was brought, and didn't move. The gun came out. The shot was louder than usual, and Jack jumped. The Doctor twitched, fresh blood spilling from his thigh; his brow might have furrowed for a moment, but his face was still almost entirely hidden. The tray was kicked closer. He leaned down, and slurped and bit, then looked up, to see the weapon pointed at the Doctor's other leg. He slurped and bit and chewed again, then leaned back and fidgeted. His fingers reached for the links he'd loosened.
Feet still shackled together kicked up, followed by the tray smashing into the other's face. Hands quickly followed, wresting the gun away, and a headbutt to the chest sent his executioner staggering back, looking slightly shocked. Jack stood there, still shackled, but to nothing, ice and fire and vengeance in his eyes.
Hands reached for a pocket, and Jack fired once, twice, watching the body drop. He looked at the weapon, thumbed a control, and pointed it at the chain anchoring the Doctor's feet. The door burst open, then closed, and he shot again, then was tackled by someone with too much self confidence. He took advantage of the lengths still connecting his hands and then his feet, and the other tumbled to one side, dead. Jack knelt and scrabbled for keys, firing at the cable and chain above the Doctor's hands. He had an excess of endorphins in his system now, but he knew how to channel it into crisp movements, plans, and to worry later if there was a later. He snagged weapons and stuffed them wherever he could easily reach, then lifted the Doctor, eager to get out of what could fast become a dead end trap.
He had dropped two more of their captors and run around four corners before he realized he didn't know where the TARDIS was, if she was even nearby. Jack paused, then started moving again, shooting at motion. He stopped again, briefly, letting the Doctor's long awkward form slide down, holding him up with one arm. He could hear the Doctor's breath wheezing, the strain and the pain from each inhale and exhale.
Someone came up behind him. He tried to turn around, but it was a terrible angle. A bruised, bloody, burned arm suddenly wrapped itself around his waist and fingers fumbled for half a moment before closing around the weapon, removing it, and aiming it unerringly down the hallway. It fired, and the Doctor went limp again for a moment, coughing and gagging. Jack could feel him tense with every new contact with his own body before the Doctor turned his head slightly and pulled toward a side corridor. His legs folded under him almost immediately, and Jack caught him again, lifted him. The Time Lord twisted, pointing the same direction, and Jack promised himself that later he'd weep and stroke the Doctor with gratitude, before he set off that way.
Such signs led him through twists and turns, through a room with most of the contents of their pockets (Jack doubted that was coincidence as he frantically grabbed what he could), and through more levels and intersections before he opened a door over a newly shot guard and spied the blue box, so very beautiful.
Beware, a voice snapped in his head, and he wondered who it was because it wasn't the Doctor's, at least not one he'd ever heard before, but came back to the moment anyway to fight again. He patted one door as he found the key, and stumbled inside, closing and locking the door as he let the Doctor slide out of his grasp again. Shaking, Jack dropped to his knees and carefully laid the Doctor on his side before unwrapping the material that bound his face, silencing him and depriving him of sight and hearing. The Time Lord coughed as the gag came away, a dry sound that led to gagging before he relaxed, still wheezing.
Jack looked down at the Doctor's face, caressed it lightly with his fingertips, and kissed his forehead before he started to cry.