The factory closed, the workers left, the guards leaving by their own exit. The silence was broken by a figure moving through the abandoned workbenches, heading towards the terminal used by Shaku.
Jack had timed it scrupulously. Hide, allow himself to be locked in. He estimated ten minutes maximum to hack the system and find the information he was looking for, and no more than another five to pick the lock and exit the building, locking it behind him. Plenty of time to make it back to chattel quarters before lockdown.
His goal was the records of the Temple storehouse, and one item in particular, a plan he had been considering for some time. He had finally decided to proceed with it the day Ruth died, when the Doctor had told him how to find the TARDIS, as if he wasn't expecting to be there. This had disconcerted Jack so much that he knew he was going to have to make some backup plans of his own.
He accessed the system easily, having gleaned enough information from Shaku and the Doctor to be able to do so quickly. As he expected, what he wanted was easily found, a convenience of the Jantuc obsession with record keeping. Quickly he shut down the system and turned to leave, walking straight into a baton to the side of the head.
Jack was a victim of an appalling case of bad luck. A Jantuc guard, half way to his home, remembered he'd forgotten an item he had in his locker, which he'd picked up on his meal break that day. It was a gift for his wife, to be given to her that evening, so reluctantly he turned back to get it, only to find a chattel somewhere it definitely wasn't supposed to be.
Consequently Jack found himself in the back of a Jantuc vehicle being driven towards Chattel quarters 2 and a punishment he'd observed done to others and which he was quite sure he wasn't going to appreciate.
The Doctor entered the gate of the compound with other workers, noticing that the Jantuc had some hapless prisoner up on the platform, who was currently removing his clothes while the guards stood around waiting. A small group of prisoners gathered outside the proximity detector that circled the platform. It wasn't until the now naked prisoner was pushed towards the pillar and chained to it that the Doctor suddenly realised with a shock who it was, and began to move rapidly in that direction.
Shaku met him. "What …. What …?" exclaimed the Doctor in agitation, as one of the Jantuc took out a metal tipped whip.
"Unauthorised computer using," said Shaku. The whip cracked, and Jack screamed.
"What? Why? What was he doing?"
"Not me telling," shrugged Shaku. "Catching they bad luck."
"Bad luck?" gasped the Doctor, turning away from the sight of the blood and the sound of his friend's screams, running his hands through his hair in distress.
"Not watching you going now?" suggested Shaku gently.
The Doctor shook his head. "I can't leave." He turned resolutely towards the scene with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his shoulders wincing in sympathy with every crack of the whip.
He barely noticed the rest of the group also stayed put, and further away more people stood outside the blocks. It was probably the largest amount of chattel staying to witness such a punishment this enclave had seen, a testament to Jack's popularity among the group.
Blood was covering the base of the platform by the time the Jantuc were done. They unfastened the chains and dragged the semi-conscious Jack over to the stocks. "Wakey wakey," said one of the Jantuc, slapping him across the face, and he whimpered. "We wouldn't want you to choke too soon." The others laughed, and pushed his head and arms into the stocks, locking down the heavy wooden frame.
"Let that be a lesson to all of you!" one of them shouted at the watchers as they left the platform and activated the proximity detector. They were already chatting about other things as they headed towards the gate.
The Doctor looked down at the glowing line that circled the platform, marking the proximity detector. With his sonic screwdriver he could have made short work of the mechanism, and go help Jack, but without it crossing this line would only mean his ending up in the same position. And that wouldn't help either of them. The other watchers began to disperse. "Nothing doing here coming away?" asked Shaku.
The Doctor shook his head, and moved to a spot directly in front of the stocks, sitting down on the ground. "I'm here," he called towards the bowed head, unable to keep the anguish from his voice, as he watched Jack's blood continue to drip from the open wounds in his back. "I won't leave."
"Magic Jack surviving," said Shaku. "Not dying like others. Not worrying needing."
"That's not the point, Shaku," said the Doctor.
Shaku, realising that he would not change the Doctor's mind, sighed and left, returning later with the Doctor's meal. He stayed until the watery soup was eaten, then took away the mug. The siren sounded for lockdown, and the compound gates were sealed. The Doctor sat there all night, ignoring the cold, knowing from previous reports that the neck and wrist holes in the stocks were quite restrictive, so Jack would not be able to speak to him. He just sat and listened to him breathe.
The following morning Shaku again made an appearance with the morning meal and some water. The Doctor only left his post when the work siren sounded. "I'll come back when shift's over," he said, and reluctantly turned away.
At sunset as the workers returned the Doctor again went straight to the platform. He stood for a moment, once again listening to Jack breathe. "I'm here," he called. One of Jack's hands twitched slightly. He chose to think of it as a wave, an acknowledgement of his presence. By this time the wounds on Jack's body were closed, and the Doctor in a perverse way was thankful for the dried blood covering him, as when the Jantuc released him, especially with their failure to look directly at the chattel, they would not notice the injuries were gone. He prepared himself for another cold night, and again only left with the work siren the following day.
Late that afternoon Jack was wondering how much longer it would be before he succumbed to sleep, unconsciousness or just plain weakness and throttled in the wooden frame. It felt as if every muscle in his body was on fire. Breathing was difficult, he couldn't move his head at all, the stench of blood and his own waste was overpowering, he was cold and extremely thirsty. And so tired. He wanted Ianto, he thought, a thought quickly followed by denial. The thought of Ianto anywhere near the Jantuc made his blood run cold.
He thought about the Doctor sitting there all night for the last two nights, and felt simultaneously guilty for putting him through it, exasperated that he would do something so crazy, and enormously grateful that he'd been there.
He heard footsteps, several of them, moving up onto the platform. Jantuc, then. One of them approached the stocks, and undid the lock. Hands roughly pulled him free, dragged him from the platform, and threw him onto the ground outside the proximity detector. As he lay crumpled up in the dirt, his clothes were thrown at him, and then he heard footsteps move around behind him. A savage kick landed on his back, and he gasped in pain.
"Hope you learned your lesson, animal!" one of them snarled, and then the footsteps receded. Lesson? he thought in confusion, waiting for the footsteps to vanish altogether. Umm … don't get caught? He giggled silently, slightly hysterical. After some minutes he forced himself to a sitting position and looked around. The sun was near to setting, so the others would be returning soon. He wanted nothing more but to curl up in the dirt right where he was and go to sleep, but glancing down at his blood and filth encrusted body he realised he couldn't let the Doctor clean this lot up, not after what he'd already put him through.
He looked toward the pump house, which seemed a million miles away. OK, Harkness, he told himself. You can do this. Go now and you'll have the place to yourself, which would be preferable. Step one. Get up. Precariously Jack lurched to his feet. Every muscle in his body felt like it was spasming and cramping, and he promptly fell over with a gasp. That's when he realised he hadn't screamed with the pain because he couldn't. Stocks must have bruised his larynx or something. Oh well. On the second attempt he managed to keep his feet, but found he was unable to straighten up completely. One thing at a time, he told himself. Step two. Pick up clothes. He managed to scoop them off the ground without falling over again, a feat he was quite proud of. Step three. Walk. He began tottering towards the pump house, every step agony.
It took him nearly ten minutes to cross that short space, but finally he staggered into the darkened interior. The main pump was in front of him, but he bypassed this, staggering down the side corridor to one of the washrooms at the back, grateful for once that the Jantuc did not deprive their captives of water (if only because they didn't want the chattel who served them to stink). He made the relative security of one of the washrooms, and turned on the tap, kneeling and putting his face under it, guzzling the water avidly. The coldness of the water made him shiver and wasn't helping his cramped muscles, but he ignored this, instead starting to scrub at his body with his fingers, watching blood and dirt disappear down the drain. He heard voices, as one of the groups that hauled water for the blocks entered the main pump room. He hoped no one would come down here. He didn't want company, not until he felt a little less like the animal the Jantuc called him and more human again. Finally he turned off the water, his teeth chattering, and sat on the cold stone floor for a while, until his body dried off in the air. Finally he struggled with some difficulty into his clothes, and exited the washroom. The other washrooms were in use by then, and as usual there was a queue. He ignored the amazed looks and offers of help, looking at no one as he hobbled, trembling, back to the door, holding onto the wall to steady him. No pity, he thought. Last thing I need. Just need sleep. He emerged into the outside, and his legs nearly gave out again. As he stumbled, suddenly hands caught him.
"Lean on me," said the Doctor quietly, and Jack didn't argue, just put his arm around the Doctor's shoulders. They made their way back to the block in silence. Jack had been expecting a rant, or at least a lecture, and was surprised on some level by the Doctor's silence, but as he couldn't have framed a coherent sentence to save his life or summon enough voice to speak, he didn't think about it too much.
As on the first day the Doctor made him lie down and brought him his meal. It was a measure of his exhaustion that it didn't occur to him til next morning that the meal was larger than usual and he hadn't seen the Doctor eat.
Morning came, and Jack got up cautiously, stretching. Apart from some minor stiffness and tiredness he seemed fine. He saw a few people nearby looking at him with awestruck faces, and heard whispers of 'Magic Jack', which made him grimace. The nickname was getting a little ridiculous. Though he supposed he was virtually coming back from the dead again, though he hadn't actually died this time. He'd seen this punishment doled out to someone the first week he'd been there, and the man had died of blood loss.
The Doctor appeared at that moment with two tin cups of the watery soup, and handed him one. "Good morning," he said quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, thanks," said Jack, wolfing down the food hungrily. The Doctor sat next to him on the bunk and consumed his own meal.
"I'm glad you're feeling better, Jack," he said, just as calmly.
Jack looked sideways at him. Oh, here it comes, he thought suddenly. Brace for the Oncoming Storm.
"What possessed you?" The Doctor's voice was still quiet, but so laced with anger that Jack winced. "What if they'd executed you?"
"I'd have got over it," said Jack.
"Oh, good plan, Jack!" the Doctor retorted. "And then what? Suppose they did find out you can't die? What would they have made of that, do you think? You know what these people are like! They'd have decided you were a demon or something! And Rassilon alone knows what they'd have done then!" He looked away, and just as suddenly as it had come the storm was gone. He doesn't have the energy to stay angry, Jack realised, and thought he'd rather have him furious than so exhausted. "What were you doing there, anyway?" the Doctor asked.
"Being nosey," said Jack. "It doesn't matter."
"It was damned stupid," said the Doctor.
"Just as stupid as losing sleep two nights running to stay with me and giving up your food ration last night?" The Doctor didn't answer. Jack smiled, and on an impulse reached forward and embraced him. "Thank you," he whispered in his ear, and sat back. "I'm really sorry I scared you," he added.
The Doctor turned to look at him. "We're so close now, Jack," he pleaded. "I need you in one piece. Please …"
"I'll stay out of trouble. I promise." He watched the Doctor silently for a moment, and realised that he could barely remember his old energetic self. He could use some cheering up, if just for a moment. He remembered Ruth talking about moments, and thought she would approve. He shook his head sadly. "I don't know, the things I have to do to spend the night with you."
The Doctor chuckled, and shook his head at him. Mission accomplished, thought Jack.
