A/N: I'm currently working on a Rose/10 fic, and it's quite lengthy and involved, and part of its loveliness is that there will be visits from former companions and friends. Jack and Martha will feature heavily, but before they can be introduced, I felt like I had to give them history. If you're reading More Important, this isn't necessary to continuing with it. This just came into my head and it couldn't stay there. To repeat, this is a Jack/Martha story exclusively. It will detail their history together at random intervals, simply as a more complete story to what will be happening in More Important.

A/N 2: This chapter (and its complete arc, maybe two more chapters) took place approximately six years before the first chapter of More Important.

Disclaimer: Neither the Doctor nor Torchwood belong to me in the least. This is a piece of total fiction for my own creative pleasure; I am not making any profit from this material.

Jack was up to his elbows in an alien autopsy, holding what might have been a liver in one hand (definitely the pancreas), what might have been a second liver in his other hand (actually the liver), and looking at what might have been a third (second, really) when his Bluetooth pinged shrilly in his ear.

Gwen stood just beside him, looking more than a little queasy at the viscous green blood. She understood his jerky actions before he could get the words out. She reached over and touched the button on the back of the earpiece, and Jack winked his thanks.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

Gwen rolled her eyes, her back to Jack, Captain Flirt in Charge. The man couldn't even introduce himself decently, she thought.

Jack inhaled sharply, less-than-gracefully tossing the organs he was examining onto a nearby stainless steel tray, struggling to pry his hands out of their elbow-length industrial-grade medical gloves. His voice was hushed, but not secretive – Gwen held herself back from eavesdropping because, if things were this bad, Jack only whispered like this when it was bad, she'd be on the bandwagon soon enough.

"Ten minutes, nightingale," Jack said as he fought with his flight coat. The giant doorway was rolling back and Jack was taking the stairs three at a time before Gwen had even put on her own gloves.

The black SUV sped through the city streets in darkness – Jack knew the backroads and narrow alleys of Cardiff that would keep the Torchwood vehicle undetected, for the most part. Being secretive didn't matter now, no; all Jack had to be now was fast.

Finally, down at the docks in the grungy warehouse district, Jack slowed his reckless hunt. The truck rolled silently down the streets, eyes peeled for the signs he'd been warned of. Dark shed, one red traffic cone, the decoy to catch those too curious for their own good. Go past it, find the alley that's hiding; the warehouse with a battered industrial shipping door and a movie poster, out of place. Jack knew he was in the right place, and rolled the truck up to the wired gate just behind the building. Teams of guards, but they expect lots of traffic. Just look like you know what you're doing.

"I always know what I'm doing, sweetheart."

"Just hurry, Jack."

"Ten minutes, nightingale," he'd whispered back.

Sometimes, Jack ran head-first into situations not knowing what at all what to expect or what might just fall victim to collateral damage. When it was just him, he didn't mind. When it was his team and this was their chosen option, he didn't like it, and so fought harder, maybe harder than necessary. But when someone he loved was on the line, Jack approached the fight like it would be in the last in his life, because it was in these moments that he knew exactly what he was fighting for. Somewhere, behind those doors, Martha Jones was being held and questioned; there was a mole in UNIT feeding information to hostile aliens, somewhere, they think; they don't even know, Jack! and because she'd been known to communicate with the Doctor, Martha wasn't their target, but she was the either their strongest or their weakest link to finding them, and they were draining her of all the information she'd ever held. In her defence, it's a democracy, after all, she was allowed one character witness. And Martha knew that when you needed someone to talk their way out of a situation – and you didn't have the Doctor on hand – there was no better people-person than Captain Jack Harkness himself.

She was tired. God, was she tired. Martha had lost count, but the last time she'd checked she'd been in this room for 26 hours, and that felt like a lifetime ago. They would take her out, sometimes, to question her. Other times, voices would come over invisible speakers and the walls themselves became lights until she was blinded, curled into a ball on the floor, pressing her face into her thighs to block the light. Then, that would end, and there would be silence. Silence in the white.

And then the lights would go out. She'd be in total darkness, touching only the floor and in the kind of blackness that made you so, so scared. She'd remembered words the Doctor had said once. That people were mocked for being afraid of the dark, but how it was the most rational fear of them all. Because it wasn't the dark you were afraid of. No, it was all the monsters that suddenly, you couldn't see.

There was nothing in the room. She couldn't remember where the door was, and there were no light fixtures, the speakers couldn't be seen. It was like, in this room, you stopped existing. Martha supposed that maybe that was the point, to get you so disoriented that you just started talking, filling the room with something other than just your body. There was no point to the sound, Martha had discovered. There was never an echo, the sound never bounced back. She had no idea where she was, and so she did the only thing she thought she could do.

"I am your Chief of Medical Staff!" She roared in the middle of the barrage of questions. The voice stopped.

"Am I wrong?" She asked, tone defiant.

"No," was the response.

She was up on her feet. "Then grant me this," she said. Pacing the room, I will not die lying down. "As in all internal investigations, the subject is granted one character witness to be called as a defender, regardless of the subject's line of questioning." She was quoting from memory the code of conduct it had been suggested she didn't need to read. What a mistake that had been.

Confrontation with the truth made the voice change tactic. "Who shall we call, Dr. Jones?"

"Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood. Let me speak to him personally." There was no question – Martha was done with questions. This had gone on too long and she was the one making the demands now. I will not die lying down.

Standing in the centre of the room, hands on her hips, Martha waited. There were hushed voices over the speakers – she hadn't been taken out this room since the third round of questioning. Somewhere behind the walls she heard numbers exchanged and mumbles not intended for her ears. Then, suddenly, ringing.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

The relief that flooded through Martha made her bones weak. "Jack."

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. "Martha, sweetie, is that you?" She was nodding, not making a sound, and in the silence she heard a clatter in the background.

"Yeah," she whispered. "'is me."

"What's wrong?" His voice was hard, but not at her. This was Jack, a knight in shining armour for those he loved. Martha imaged the dragons on the other side of the wall had no idea who was coming their way.

"They're listening to us," Martha was succinct. There was no point in not telling him, and if they cut the line now, he'd still be able to trace her. The speakers hummed, still connected.

"Okay," Jack said. "Who's 'they'?"

"UNIT. Things have gone a little… awry."

Jack snorted and struggled into his flight coat. "What can I do for you? Where are you?"

Martha told him what had been going on, where was she being held. She gave him directions, not only how to find her, but also what to do upon his arrival. Speak to someone in charge. Be intimidating. Don't let them put you in a room alone. You're not the object of the investigation, and you're surely not the mole. Neither am I, she'd said. They want someone who they think I might know, even if I don't know I know them.

Jack hated UNIT in that moment. They were good people in general, but someone was pulling strings that weren't meant to be pulled, and they were going to have some serious accusations facing their way soon. Jack already knew what he had to do.

"Just look like you know what you're doing. The guards don't know what they're guarding."

"I always know what I'm doing, sweetheart."

"Just hurry, Jack."

"Ten minutes, nightingale."

Jack jumped out of the SUV as soon as he'd passed through the guarded gateway. Not even glancing at the armed soldiers on either side of his path, he slammed open the door, striding down the corridors with purpose. No one stepped in his way, though several backed down. In any other circumstance it might've been a little gratifying to see people respond to him this way, watching those who had done him wrong recoil from the oncoming rebuttal. In this instance, though, he didn't notice. Jack was too focused on finding Martha.

His instincts led him to a large, open room, its perimeter lined with people in headsets at computers, crunching numbers. The walls are dark and covered in screens. Information in binary scrolled madly before his eyes. Jack searches the room, his gaze landing on a man in full regalia with his back to him. "You!" Jack's voice boomed in the empty air, and the man he addressed turned around slowly, almost as if he could barely be bothered. "You want to tell me exactly what it is that's going on here? You've got a friend of mine detained without any validated cause or reason." Jack stalked closer towards the man, his chest pushed out and his heart hammering in his ears. Jack lowered his voice, but his eyes were still dangerous. "And that is not a good place to be standing when I'm in the room. Am I understood?"

The man looks at Jack coldly. "You know Dr. Jones?" In the corner of Jack's eyes, those slaves at their computers are all posed, ready to record his every word.

"Let me make something clear to you," Jack said, pacing around the uniformed man as he surveyed the room. "Doctor Martha Jones is an extraordinary woman. She's smart. She's resourceful. She's creative. She's the person I would trust if the world was ending – in fact, I did." He came to a standstill directly in front of the other man once again. "And even more than all of those things, Martha Jones is human, and has more humanity than almost everyone I've met. I guarantee you she's got more humanity in her than all the people in this room, myself included."

Silence followed Jack's words; anyone walking down the hallway might've assumed it was empty had they not looked in. The commanding officer turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder. Behind him, a whole team set to work after receiving this invisible cue – wires were connected, switches were flipped, and dials were turned oh so carefully. Martha, inside her glass cell, had heard all of Jack's words and had been yelling ceaselessly for him, but the vinvocci glass only made deafening echoes around her. Then, without warning, the air went thick and the lights came on, hotter and brighter than they'd ever been. A recorded voice somewhere repeated questions and words in no order; who is the Doctor? What was The Year That Wasn't? aliens – stars – weapons – TARDIS - Who is the Master? Where is the Utopia? Martha had collapsed on the floor, the ringing in her head too much to take. She had no words at this point, and she felt like they were pouring out of her without making a sound.

On the other side of the wall, Jack pounded his fists into the glass. It was translucent, and he could see the shape of his friend prone on the floor, her hands and arms covering her head and face. The glass itself was teeming with information, and Jack didn't understand the flying mess of images and words until he caught sight of the TARDIS first, and then the Doctor, and then, in the sensation of déjà-vu, saw himself walking hand-in-hand with Martha in a park, Mickey on the edge of the image. They were streaming Martha's memories straight from her head into the computers' processors, with the vinvocci glass acting as a converter – taking her memories from the air around her, using her own emotional energy as the catalyst to charge the exchange. Then, like regular data, it was sent through cables as thick as Jack's fist into the myriad of stations, where the lifeless followers sifted through the information. That they seemed so inhumane to do this to another person made Jack's blood boil. He turned to the commander – the arrogant man in the uniform. Reaching discretely into his flight coat, Jack wrapped his fingers around his Webley. He'd been carrying it since the First World War. More modernized guns were tucked in at his sides in his shoulder holster, and in a pinch, he'd carried a thigh holster for one particularly large gun he was fond of, rescued from the wreck of a Sontaran lifepod. The Webley, however, had its own holster, kept hidden high on his right hip.

Raising the weapon slowly, Jack let out a menacing whisper. "You know she's not what you want, and you know she's not your link," his mind was reeling, putting the pieces together. Around him, guards snapped their weapons to attention, leveling them on Jack. The commander waved his hand dismissively at the room at large.

"Who's going to stop me?"

At his sides, assistants clearly under false pretences looked at each other nervously. Jack noticed their actions.

"You're investigating a mole, aren't you, UNIT?" Jack asked to the room in general. Those watching the situation nodded in agreement or stayed entirely frozen – the dichotomy split between those who held weapons and those who didn't. "Then maybe you should look a little higher, don't you think? Doctor Jones is Medical – that's a level fifteen clearance. But the information you're talking about; did you ever consider that most of that is levelled at twenty and higher?" There were solemn faces around the room. "And look how no one speaks up!" Jack roared, letting his gun sweep in an arc over the room. "So in this room," Jack said as he slowly approached, "there is only one person with clearance that high." Jack continued to pace closer to the uniformed man, who hadn't moved a muscle. Beside him, the assistants were inching backwards, away from him and from Jack. "And who's the person demanding to know everything about Doctor Jones' alien activities?"

There were gasps from all corners of the room. At their positions, the soldiers wavered.

"And who's the person who's going to keep this information, pour over it?" Jack was only a few steps away from the commander now, and he raised his voice to booming. "And who," he roared, "has been stealing memories without account of what happens to them?"

Jack was met by silence.

He turned to face the three men who stood guard over Martha's glass cage. The gun was level and his eyes were cold when he spoke to them. "You're going to let her out," he said calmly, "or," swinging his whole body back around to face the man in uniform, who now had a few stray guns trained on him, "I'll gladly improvise some pest control."

He heard the motions behind him, but was unwilling to turn around fully and take his eyes off the commander. There was the tumble of locks shifting, and then, in a whoosh, the sound of gas leaving the chamber. He could hear Martha panting, as she struggled to sit upright – while the glass was translucent to Jack, it was opaque from the inside. Martha scrambled to her feet and Jack could see the pain etched on her face. She backed away madly as two men entered the cell, and Jack yelled for her benefit. "Martha! Martha!" Confusion was writ on her features. "I'm out here, you're fine." She let herself be supported as the trio made their way slowly out of the room. Clouds of pale gas drifted along the floor and puffed up as they came around the other side of the doorway. When Martha's dizzy eyes found Jack's familiar form in the middle of the room, she gave up the thoughts of caution and ran across the space. He held an arm away from his side and Martha tucked herself in like a child. He could feel her cold, shaky hands through the layers of his shirts and imaged angrily how long she'd been there before she was allowed to make that phone call. With her safe in his arms, Jack's anger roared through his veins like a beast. His voice was cold and quiet as he faced the commander, the blue of his eyes icy.

"Name one good reason why I shouldn't kill you here. C'mon, name something."

The commander responded only with silence, and Martha whispered into Jack's shoulder.

"Oh, she's a smart girl," Jack said proudly, loudly. He kept the gun trained on the commander, but addressed the assistant beside him. "Find your second-in-command. Put him in the room and see what the animal does under pressure. Tell your second that it's been authorized by Captain Harkness. There won't be any questions asked."

A/N: I didn't really want to end this here, but otherwise we'd be looking at a chapter that was well over six thousand words, and that's kind of big. I think I'll post these separately, too, so that if anyone wants quick access to my Jack/Martha chapters/postings they'll be in a big collection of one-shots. How does that sound? Also, I want to apologize for taking so long to post again. This collection of chapters was a hurdle in itself and it didn't come at a good time, so I basically had to write three chapters' worth of stuff and then organize it. Not a whole lot of fun. Anyway, this is done, and now I have to go back in time and finish the previous chapter. Look, Mom, I'm a time-traveller!

Have a lovely day, everyone. Please think about dropping a review or a comment, they really do brighten my days.