Spoilers: None, unless you count the flashbacks in, um Fragments? Exit Wounds? Please correct me!
A/N: Have to update the Spoilers, silly me - of course Small Things (now that the story actually has a plot!)

Characters: Jack for now, Ianto for sure later, Torchwood Team, The Card-Reading Girl, some Thugs

Owners: BBC, Mr. Davies, everyone except me. I'm just messing around with them. And they are making me very VERY happy.

Hades

Jack felt the sunlight beating down on his face warning him not to open his eyes without protecting them. But when he tried to move, he simply couldn't. He could wriggle his hands but something bound his wrists. His ankles were also bound, and he felt himself rocking side-to-side and bobbing about. This just made no sense, so he carefully squinted his eyes open to get a look around.

Not much help. Most of what he could see was obscured by a glaring sun, but around that was a blue sky streaked with wispy white clouds. He could turn his head but that gave him a close-up look at some kind of wooden structure, probably the side of a boat. He also began to notice his back was in horrible pain as he was draped across some kind of bar. He rocked forward as best he could, which made the boat bob around wildly, so he moved more carefully and eventually came to a sitting position.

Surrounding him was a glass-calm lake, shrouded in what must be morning mist, bordered by trees decked out in glorious reds, golds and greens. The beauty did nothing to lighten his mood or ease his pain. His hands were almost numb, his legs were useless, his back still spasmed horribly, and he could now see it was duct tape binding him. It bound him to a long, very thick chain, which was connected to an anchor - one which looked plenty big enough to secure him to the bottom should he and it fall out of the boat. Oh, and to make things perfectly dreadful, his mouth was taped as well, and as time went on that soon became chapped and soaked in blood with his futile attempts at biting a hole through it so he could call out, or at least breathe better.

So someone had devised a new trap for him, containing him instead of killing him, although a bloodstain on his shirt hinted killing had also been involved. He snorted, frustrated at the slight admiration he felt for his captor, and at their lack of consideration in leaving him covered in his heavy wool coat in this heat. It might have been a cool night (he had no recollection of that), but the day was becoming painfully hot, and he knew his face and hands would be turning red soon, then blistering, if he didn't protect them. So he kept his head down and concentrated on trying to remember - remember anything from the previous night. Who had he been with? How had he gotten here? And while they were at it, what was the motive?

He had hours to consider the situation and was bathed in sweat just to add to the discomfort. His breathing was becoming laboured and he knew sun stroke would soon be a danger. He surprised himself by seriously considering going into the water, anchor and all, and see how many times he would have to drown before reviving enough times to drag himself to shore.

When the mist lifted he had the distinct displeasure of being able to see a short pier a mere 10 or 20 meters away from him. He tried to rock the small boat tin that direction, but it was tethered to the lake bottom by another anchor.

The sun was at its apex and still no one came by to taunt him, feed him, or finish him off. His hands were blistering both from the sun and from trying to work at the unforgiving duct tape - the cuffs of his shirt and coat were soaked in his blood. The splintered wood of a seat in front of him was too soft to cut with, and only served to cause more wounds. He was hot, hungry, bloodied and becoming uncharacteristically desperate. Then he heard footsteps on the pier and turned his head as far as he could (the boat had drifted and his back was to the shore). All he could see was a figure dressed in loose white clothing - couldn't tell if it was male or female.

He didn't have the energy to make futile noises. This person was close enough to see he was in dire straits. They just stood there, seeming to study him. They seemed satisfied and he heard footsteps again as they left. Great. I've been taken by a clever, mute, and slightly sadistic maniac who really doesn't want anything except to disable me…and make me suffer.

And that's when he finally realized what was going on - memories came flooding back of a backroom meeting with the young girl with the cards, and the moment when she grabbed her cards and tore out of there like lightning, her dark eyes showing fear for the first time in the hundreds of years he'd known her. He thought he heard her faintly as she left, "Help us, Jack…" and then something crashed against the back of his neck, beating him to the floor, but not rendering him unconscious. He fought back but was weakened by the first blow. So he got a severe beating and lost anyway, and eventually someone - familiarly dressed in white - came into the dark room, gleaming in contrast to the shadows. The figure raised a shrouded arm and the gunshot went off, killing Jack so they could take him captive at their leisure.

So, now, in the middle of a friggin lake, Jack was losing his temper and patience. He decided on the absolute worst and most painful course of action, and started rocking the boat until at last he fell into the water, dragging the chain and anchor behind him. He'd only been able to teke in a limited amount of air in his lungs, breathing only through his nose, but he put it to the best use, and wriggled in the direction of the pier as much as he could before the anchor hit bottom. Then he felt the world going black and knew the first round was over. The air left his lungs and he died.

Then he came to, deep in the lake and unable to see which direction led to the pier. He knew he'd have to give himself guidance because with each rebirth he'd have lost his senses again, so he shoved some rocks into a line pointing in the direction he'd chosen, hopped a few hops, dragged the anchor to him with his last ounce of strength.

And died again.

And again. He didn't count how many times before he felt something slipping under his arms in a loop and pulling him out of the water. He was dragged through the water towards the pier - having wandered far away from it - and then up onto it. Three muscular men were needed for this task, and one brandished a knife, but Jack didn't flinch. He was ready to suffer anything to get his hands on that white-robed demon. But they just cut the duct tape from his still-bleeding wrists and ripped it from his mouth (he wished he could have kept from screaming but it's a law of duct tape that you have to yell when it's ripped from your face, with or without wounds). He lay on the dock panting and waiting. At last White Robes appeared, and resisting the weakness of multiple deaths and pain, he leapt to he feet, stumbling towards it. It didn't take much effort for the 'handlers' to stop him, and they held him as the mysterious person stood in front of him.

She removed a white hood from her head and Jack gasped in disbelief. It was – at least it was the face of – his card-telling girl he'd known for hundreds of years!

And then he saw on the shore behind her dozens more who looked and dressed just like her. So he, Jack the Immortal Harkness, found it a good time to faint. And he did.

This is just the beginnings of an idea and I need to know if I should go on. And please, do review and give me some tips on what would make it a better beginning if needed. I wouldn't mind suggestions on where to go next, either….and, well, thanks in advance!