A/N I apologize about a thousand times for the longer than usual wait for this chapter. My excuses are five-fold : 1) finals week 2) really sick 3) had a "fun" Friday night and, therefore, a "rough" Saturday morning 4) got my dream internship 5) hated how it was written at first and had to rewrite it all. By the way, if I never update again, it's because this Art History class finally killed me.

Martha came around to the pounding of her own heart in her ears, bringing with each beat a snap of pain to the side of her head. The world was rocking around her, though not from the concussion she was pretty sure she had. Maybe it was an earthquake. But as she lay there the rocking continued more or less rhythmically, far longer and less chaotic than any normal earthquake. The surface she was laying on jolted and shifted slightly, dragging her further into consciousness. Whatever was beneath her and against her back was soft, but something smooth and hard pressed against her cheek. It was incredibly uncomfortable, especially the bit jutting out and bruising her side, but she couldn't be bothered to try moving.

The world suddenly jumped and Martha was fully jolted awake. With a quick glance she realized she was in the backseat of a car and after another moment her slow brain recognized it as the interior of the Torchwood vehicle. Light was pouring in from the window and stabbed her painfully in the eyes. She cringed as the pain in her head spiked. What had happened? How'd she get in the car? Why did her head hurt so much?

When she tried to cradle her throbbing forehead in her hands and realized they were actually tied tightly behind her back, she remembered. Her eyes flew open as the memories came rushing back, now ignoring the effect the sun was having on her minor concussion. She could see Jack's profile from where he was sitting in the driver's seat, eyes intent on the road. He didn't seem to have noticed her wake up. The motorway was flying passed the window and any distinctions about where they were blurred together in a mess of gray and green. Martha tried and failed miserably to decipher the smeared words on the signs they passed, her head beginning to hurt even more from the effort and confusion.

That was when she heard the strangled whimper from the seat next to her and spun around, jaw falling open. "Doctor?" She gasped. The Doctor lay sprawled across the seat, his long legs folded uncomfortably against the car door and head practically in Martha's lap. His face was contorted with pain, tear streaks marking his cheeks and nose bleeding lazily as he squirmed and twitched half-heartedly. Hs hands, too, were bound behind his back, though Martha doubted that was necessary considering his state. She doubted he was even conscious at all.

"Ah, good morning!" Martha jumped as Jack's voice wafted into the backseat. She looked up and was met with an impossible icy blue gaze through the rearview mirror. The sudden shock of indefinable dread reminded her sharply that this…this was not Jack. Not her Jack, anyway, just a monster wearing his face. But through the terror she could still hear the Doctor's feeble moan from beside her, sending fire through her veins and drowning out the icy fingers of fear.

"What did you do to him?" Martha demanded, her voice not coming out quite as strong as she had hoped.

Jack – or rather the thing inside Jack: Sir – chuckled. "Nothing our little Time Lord doesn't deserve. Believe me, when he wakes up, I'm sure he'll agree he had it coming."

"Deserves it?" Martha spat back. "There are a lot of things the Doctor deserves, but the hell it's this!"

Her outburst was punctuated by a sudden shout from the Doctor, who struggled weakly against his binds as if not sure they were really there. Martha turned back to him, wishing her own hands were free so she could take the Doctor in her arms, show him some sort of comfort from the Hell he was reeling in, when she heard him gasp two words. "Blodevin-Rose." Martha frowned, not recognizing his words. "Koshei, treo. Eya meim'Idne." It certainly wasn't any human language, but her breath hitched as she realized what it was. He never spoke it before – never let himself out of shame – but the words flowed perfectly and fit together as effortlessly as puzzle pieces and there was no mistaking what it had to be.

"Nanoi'Envae'Dosh kui'lal, Koschei, yea meim'Idne-so." The Doctor sobbed, fresh tears falling from beneath his eyelids. Martha had to force back her own as the Doctor shouted out in pain, arching his back and quivering violently.

"Oh look, he's dreaming." Jack – no, Sir – cooed with a chuckle. "Adorable little time-tot, isn't he?"

"What do you want?" Martha ground out as she forced her eyes away from the Doctor.

"What do I want? Nothing. I'm just bored and vindictive. Unfortunately, books don't do it for me. I need more hands-on entertainment. Besides," He glanced back in the rearview mirror, catching Martha in a terrifying glare. "The Doctor's been bad. I need to punish him, like any good master would do."

Martha swallowed hard, feeling incredibly selfish but asking anyways, "Then what do you want with me?" She found herself trapped in another one of his gazes, frozen against the backrest of the seat. He squinted at her through the mirror, eyebrows furrowing.

"I just told you…I need to punish the Doctor." Martha shivered at the implications, but Sir seemed to think the conversation had come to an end. "Okay, enough talk for now." He mumbled as he purposefully spun viciously around a corner. Martha, unable to brace herself, flew sideways and hit her head on the glass window with a smack, joining the previousconcussion to draw her back into unwilling unconsciousness.

The Doctor rose back to reality with a groan. He tried to pry open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they were being weighed down with lead and crazy glue. He felt weak all over, his body still shivering with the last remnants of the drug and…cold? Why was he so cold again?

The Doctor decided quickly that he didn't want to know why, but of course he couldn't pretend forever that he didn't remember what had happened. He couldn't persuade himself to forget or think it was just another one of his bad dreams. The dulled spike of pain from within his own body as the drugs ran themselves out told him so much.

He heard footsteps coming towards him and he knew what that meant. He tried to back away but found a wall already pressing against his back. His arms were useless as they were pulled uncomfortably above his head, holding most of his weight as his pained legs still failed to find their footing. He shuddered as the rushed footsteps stopped right before him, cornering him.

"Doctor?" The light, concerned voice was not what he had been expecting. He carefully managed to peel his eyes open and came face-to-face with Martha Jones, her dark eyes full of worry and apprehension. "Doctor, it's alright, I've got you." She tried to comfort. She took his face in the palms of her hands and the Doctor felt himself melt into her touch.

"Martha. I am so, so sorry."

"Shh…" Martha hushed softly as she began to massage his cheeks with her thumbs. "It's okay, Doctor. Are you feeling better?"

The Doctor ignored her, closing his eyes and giving a shuddering sigh. "I shouldn't have stayed." He said in little more than a whisper. "I was putting all of you in danger. Now he has you. And Jack. And it's all my fault."

"Hey!" Martha said forcefully. She lifted his head with her hands until he opened his eyes, darkened with sadness and self-hatred. "Listen to me." Martha demanded. "This is not your fault. Do you hear me?"

There was a pause in which the Doctor forced himself to nod, whether he believed her or not – which, of course, he didn't. But Martha seemed to accept it. She looked around the small room quickly, cringing at the low ceiling and stone walls holding in the cold. "I don't know where we are, he knocked me out before I could see."

"We're back." The Doctor interrupted solemnly. "Same cellar, same everything. I don't know where either, but I don't think it's too far from Cardiff."

Martha nodded towards the steps leading out. "I tried the hatch, but it won't budge. I also couldn't find anything to break the chains to let you down."

"No, you wouldn't be able to, would you?" The Doctor mused as he looked up at the chains securing his wrists to the wall. "Soverulsen steel. Not from anywhere around these parts – and by these parts I mean this galaxy. Someone's been keeping busy while I was gone." He tugged on them experimentally, not altogether surprised when he achieved nothing from it. "Soverulsen steel comes from the planet Soverulsiaron," He told a confused looking Martha. "and it's one of the strongest substances in the universe. Will only open if you have the exact right shaped key. He had to have found someone here to trade it to him since he can't get off-planet. But that's not what's important."

He fixed her with an intense look, his eyes suddenly clear and burning. "Are you alright?" His voice was tight with concern. "Did he hurt you?"

Martha shrugged, amazed, but honestly not really surprised, that he was worrying more about her than himself. There's her Doctor. "I'm fine. Just a bit of a concussion and a wicked headache. Give me some aspirin and I'll be good as new." The Doctor continued to stare at her deeply as if trying to tell if she was lying or not. She decided it'd be a bad idea to admit that she was fighting to not see him double at the moment. "Look, we're going to get out of here, alright. You did it once before, and know people know about it. Gwen. Ianto. Mickey, though not really enough to be that helpful, honestly."

The Doctor laughed shortly. "Mick-Mick-Mickidy." He mumbled, his words a ghost of his former self. "Now I'd like to see him face down Sir. That would be interesting."

Martha laughed at the expense of her husband. "For what it's worth, you're sounding better." The Doctor became solemn once again and Martha bit her lip hard for saying something wrong.

"Adrenaline." The Doctor said simply. "Denial, I suppose, too. There's no chance I'm still asleep in Torchwood and just dreaming, is there?"

Martha shook her head, unable to bring forth words.

There was silence for a moment between them. The Doctor closed his eyes, leaning his head back and rolling it gently across the stone wall behind him, feeling every bump in the stonework on the back of his head. Despite the situation, he could feel something different. Something good he hadn't been able to detect before. He let his mind lazily drift and reach out for whatever it could be, afraid that at any moment it would hit the terrifying essence that was his captor's.

"Doctor?" He snapped out of his hunt, not having the energy or concentration to hold onto it without his full attention. He opened his eyes to find that Martha had positioned herself against the opposite wall, cross-legged and leaning back against the stones, looking exhausted. "Why didn't he chain me up?"

The Doctor honestly had no answer. And quite frankly he didn't really want to delve into psyche of the motivations behind what that man does.

But he was spared that by the sounds of footsteps approaching. The Doctor perked up, trying to keep his rapidly fragmenting breath even as he stared at the door at the top of the stairs. Martha had jumped up as well, walking cautiously into the middle of the room. The sound of metal on metal came from the other side of the hatch as the locks began to come apart. Martha glanced quickly at the Doctor before pressing herself closely to the wall that jutted out from the stairs, creating a blind spot from the door.

"Martha!" The Doctor hissed as he pulled himself up further in his bonds, straining to reach her. She was going to try something. Why were they always so brave? Sometimes he wished they would just sit down and accept what was coming, save themselves the pain. But then again, would the Doctor's friends ever be ones to just give up?

Martha nodded shortly at the Doctor, trying to reassure him. They heard the final lock slip open and the metal hatch creaked open. The Doctor fought not to look at Martha and give her away, but keep his eyes on the one thing he wanted to run away from instead.

Martha let out a long, silent breath to steady herself. She counted the steps he was taking down the stairs, trying not to look at the Doctor and the slowly growing uncertainty in his features. Finally the intruder took the last step and came slowly into view, his back to Martha. She could see the familiar World War II coat, all hopes of only having imagined it being Jack vanishing instantly. Martha flipped over the stone she'd managed to loosen out of the wall earlier, feeling for the sharpest edge and pushing all regret for what she was about to do to Jack from her mind.

Jack's form stopped a few feet in front of the Doctor, neither of them saying a thing. And Martha took her chance. She leapt forward from her hiding place, swinging her right arm with the rock viciously at the back of Jack's exposed neck, the edge of the stone aiming for the base of his spine.

It never hit its mark. He spun around surprisingly fast, grabbing her wrist just as it was arching towards his neck and bringing his other elbow down on the crook of her arm. Her elbow buckled and she fell forward from the force, but used the momentum to bring her leg around towards his knees, trying to sweep him off his feet. But he still had her wrist and spun her around viciously. Off balance from her failed kick, Martha stumbled as he whirled her around quickly and she slammed into the wall, her head ringing from the earlier strikes. Stunned, she could do nothing as she felt fingers pull at her hair, dragging her away from the wall forcefully and tossing her across the room, where she staggered and fell onto her knees from the sudden motion.

"Jack! Stop it!" The Doctor yelled before he could stop himself. The man he thought was his friend, who had been slowly approaching the fallen girl, slowly turned around, drowning the Doctor in a glare that reminded him quickly that this was not Jack.

The Doctor regretted having spoken as 'Jack' came striding towards him, reaching into the pocket of his large coat. He stopped in front of the Doctor and didn't pause for a second as he pulled out Jack's old revolver, pressed the nozzle to the Doctor's shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

"AGHHH!" The Doctor cried out in agony as the bullet tore through the skin and muscles and tendons in his shoulder, chipping a bone on its way out the back. His vision blurred white for a moment as he fought off the wave of sudden nausea. A hand grabbed his chin and forced his gaze upwards, straight into the electric blue abyss.

"Seems you still haven't remembered our lessons, Doctor. Jack's not hear any more. It's allllllll me. And you will refer to me in the proper manner." He growled into the Doctor's face.

"Y-yes, Sir." The Doctor forced himself to gasp and Sir tossed his face aside, causing the Doctor's neck to crack. Martha had pulled herself up and was standing, horror-struck, watching the two men. Sir raised the revolver to aim straight at her.

"Fight. I like it. Not many of the other ones had it in them. No wonder you like her, Doctor." He shot a glance over his shoulder at the bleeding Time Lord. "Now, I personally am not a big fan of guns, but this body seems to have a bit of a trigger finger. Of course, I think he's trying to shoot himself more than you two, but that's the good thing about being in control, I can make him aim exactly where I want it to and make him watch it all."

He snickered darkly before nodding at Martha. "Now, Miss Jones, if you don't mind. Against the wall."

Martha's shoulders slumped as she raised her hands, backing up until her shoulders struck the stone wall. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched up as Sir made him smile. He reached into another of his deep pockets and pulled out a pair of thick, strong looking handcuffs. Keeping his gun trained on Martha he began to go towards her while looking back over at the Doctor. "Had to run out and grab larger cuffs. Those last ones were just so tiny. We'll she was a tiny one though, wasn't she, Doctor?" He pulled the cuffs through an iron loop attached to the wall and grabbed one of Martha's wrist, snapping it securely in the shackles before starting on the other one. "What was her name…Jenny? Jennet? Juliet! That's the one! Nice girl. Bit thin though, didn't you think?"

Martha watched as the Doctor raised his head, his eyes almost black with pain and anger. "You bastard." He growled through his teeth.

Having finished chaining Martha to the wall, Sir strode across the short expanse of the cellar dangerously. "I'd be careful, Doctor." He warned. "I'm not done punishing you for running away on me." He put his hand carefully on the Doctor's injured shoulder. The Doctor winced as the weight pulled on the hole in his skin. "And I don't appreciate your tone."

Sir suddenly dug the heel of his palm into the Doctor's shoulder, pressing against the fresh wound. The Doctor screamed out, his back arcing off the wall as the pressure sent the bullet hole searing, pulsing, roaring in agony! His scream was cut short though as Jack covered his mouth with his hand, silencing him with the movement.

"I don't want to hear your excuses anymore, Doctor. I've heard 'sorry' one too many times from you. Now I don't want to hear you say anything." He took a step back, deliberately pressing both hands harder against the Doctor to make him suck in a deep breath of pain. The Doctor slumped forward, the chains being the only things holding him up as he struggled to find his footing again. Sir picked up the gun, checked it was load, and grabbed the Doctor roughly by the throat again, dragging him upright.

"Okay, Doctor, now we're going to play a little game. You missed our games, didn't you? I call this one 'Sir's Got Your Tongue'. And here's how it goes."

He blindly shot the gun in the opposite direction. Martha shouted as the bullet embedded itself just a foot aware from her stomach. "Stop!" The Doctor gasped, but Sir placed Jack's finger to his lips, quieting him.

"I don't have to miss, Doctor. And I won't miss unless you follow my rules."

He stared intently at the Doctor, who forced himself to stand on his weak legs. After a moment of silence he realized what he was supposed to do. "What are your rules, Sir?" He asked slowly, the words rolling off his tongue as slowly as molasses.

Jack's face smiled. "I already told you. I don't want to hear your excuses. I don't want to hear your pleas. I don't want to hear your voice. If I do hear so much as a gasp, a sob, a strangled scream rip out of your throat and roll off your tongue, I'll put a bullet between Martha Jones' eyes."

The Doctor blanched. His hearts seemed to go a hundred miles and hour and then stop suddenly and then start back up again, leaving him feeling like his chest was being ripped out. Not a single sound? He looked over at Martha, who was breathing hard from shock, watching him with an expression he couldn't read in his panicking state. He knew what he was going to do. Not a single noise would escape his lips. No matter what, he would not allow himself to be the cause of Martha's death. Would not allow Jack – the real Jack, the one that had to be in there somewhere fighting against this monster – to carry the guilt of pulling the trigger on his friend.

His eyes were brought back to the impossible man before him as Sir snapped his fingers suddenly before the Doctor's eyes. "Do you understand and acknowledge my rules, Doctor?" Swallowing hard, the Doctor forced his answer down before it could rise to his lips, compelling himself to nod. Sir reached into his belt and pulled out a long, wickedly sharp knife. "Good, then let's begin, shall we."

TBC