Ego, Immortality and Trust
Summary: The battle inside the Master's mind and the three things that keep Captain Jack Harkness fighting.
Spoilers: Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords
Warnings: Graphic violence.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and the plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: This one-shot was written just before watching The End of Time for the first time. Now, after crying my eyes out, I have to admit the Master is no longer the villain, the bad guy, at least not for me.
My beta is Feralness Is Me. My friend R. also looked over this, though she isn't a DW fan. Thank you both!
Enjoy!
He wouldn't let him know how much it hurt, nor would he beg for mercy. Jack Harkness knew exactly how much the Master would love to hear his screams; to see him thrash around in pain; to smell his fear.
But he wouldn't do any of these.
Partly because of his ego. What kind of man would he be if he showed pain in front of the enemy? He was trained better than that. After all, he wasn't just Jack Harkness. He was Captain Jack Harkness.
Partly because he knew that he wouldn't die forever. Whatever the Master did to him, he would come back to life. Rose had made it possible, without actually wanting to, when she brought him back to life. That particular memory seemed a long way ago, when he had just met both Rose and the Doctor; albeit the Time Lord had regenerated since then. Even then, Jack had died with honour, fighting against the Daleks.
Nevertheless, he hoped the Master would get bored of him.
Partly because he trusted the Doctor with his life. He inwardly let out an ironical laugh. Even though the Time Lord was captured and locked inside a cage and the Master had shown everyone the Doctor's real age, making it impossible for him to fight, it didn't matter. Jack knew he would find a way. He always did.
The Master stepped inside the room and approached Jack slowly, not once taking his eyes off the Doctor. He loved to see how Jack's pain, in fact, everybody's pain affected the Doctor.
The Doctor... stupid old man, merciful and haunted by what he had done. Always trying to make it better, to repair his mistakes. It was his fault that they were the only two left of their species. He had stopped the Last Time War, but at what cost? Now, he had to pay and watch as the Master won everything, starting with the Doctor's beloved Earth.
There were times when the Master wanted to let the other one win. He wanted to surrender. He wanted to let the Doctor do anything he wanted. He knew the Doctor would make it better. He almost... almost...
But then, the drumming would begin once more.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
And the peaceful thoughts would vanish just as they had appeared. His mind would hold only thoughts of revenge and ruling the Universe, fuelled by the drumbeat. The never ending drums.
The Master was rather delighted to know the other Time Lord's thoughts. Using telepathy, he had managed to see quite a few things, just before the Doctor sealed his mind. The Master didn't know everything, but he knew enough to make him suffer.
Besides, he enjoyed hurting the immortal freak anyway.
He stopped observing the Doctor and paid attention to the man on the cold, hard table. His joints were held in place, as well as his head, by leather restraints. Albeit the Master wanted Jack to be able to squirm, he also knew he wouldn't. He hadn't given him credit for his stamina, though. He hadn't thought Jack would have lasted so long.
This time, he pulled a shiny knife out of his pocket. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie. Common sense required him to match the colour of Jack's blood with a piece of clothing. The tie did it.
He watched as Jack's eyes widened when he understood the Master's plans. The initial shock wore off after just a second, but a lazy, satisfied grin stretched on the Master's face. Oh, he would have so much fun.
He could almost imagine how the blade would cut Jack Harkness's skin and the crimson liquid would stain the former silvery knife. He could almost hear Jack whimpering, failing to remain silent. He could almost see how the prisoner's face would twist in pain and disgust, failing once more to hide the pain. He could almost sniff the metallic, salty smell of blood.
But that was the key word.
Almost.
He wanted to see, not to imagine.
He put the blade on Jack's chest, tearing it apart quite literally. It didn't have the precision of a scalpel, but it would do its job rather nicely. He smirked when the weirdo closed his eyes. He knew the man would never let him see his pain, but he hoped he could make him... change his mind.
Jack had felt worse pain than this one and besides, his pain threshold had always been very high. It wasn't that easy to keep quiet, but it wasn't very hard either. Besides the tightly shut eyes and the clenched jaw, there was no obvious sign that he was physically aching.
After a while, he could feel his body giving up the fight; he knew he was going to die soon. The mad Time Lord was now laughing hysterically and making patterns on his abdomen, his arms, his legs...
It was too much.
The Master looked at his handiwork quite pleased. He had killed Jack Harkness once more.
He glanced down at his suit and saw the still fresh blood staining it.
Black and red.
It did match with his tie. He turned around and saw sorrow written across the Doctor's features.
Oh, well.
He deserved it.
Smiling, he headed for the door and randomly thought of all the stupid human addictions. Drinking, taking drugs, smoking.
Smoking.
Time Lords were immune to these things. They could get drunk or high only if they wanted to, and they could easily detoxify themselves after. As Harold Saxon, he had tried these once and never saw the point. Of course, nobody knew, except for Lucy. It would have ruined his career as a prime minister.
And that just wouldn't be right, would it?
He smirked.
But smoking... he had never tried smoking, but it would do no harm to him. Of course, what he didn't own was an ashtray. Not the typical ashtray, anyway.
Nevertheless, he had Captain Jack Harkness. He mentally spat on his rank.
The Master's fun for that day had ended. He just had to find some cigars and wait until the next day.
He glanced once more behind him, in Jack Harkness's eyes, as he had just revived, and felt a twinge of guilt. He felt sorry for the tortured man and he felt that overwhelming urge of letting it go, of surrendering.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
The sound of drums. He hated the drums.
It had to end. Maybe it would end tomorrow, after murdering the Captain again. He stepped outside the room, into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
From the other room, Captain Jack Harkness reminded himself of the three things that had to keep him fighting the Master, even though his efforts were rather futile.
Ego.
Immortality.
Trust in the Doctor.
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