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I'm the hunter, I bring back the good

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Jack Harkness flinched the first time he heard it. A drawn out scream so clearly by the Doctor and still a sound he never heard him make. He pulled his restrains but the chains were thick enough even he wouldn't be able to break it. The wall felt so incredibly cold against his bare back as he tried endlessly to break free. The Doctors cries kept coming. There were longer pauses at first but after a while he didn't really stop screaming at all anymore, his voice so rough and unlike the Doctors but still so sickeningly obvious him. Jack stopped struggling by that time. He sank to his knees pressing his back against the cold bricks behind him for support his hands still hold up by the chains. He had his eyes squeezed shut trying to shut out this screams. Its a trick – he thought – he makes it sound like he's screaming and later he comes to me trying to get information or whatever else he wants.

The days went by and everyday Jack heard the Doctor scream. The Master never came to see Jack. A servant came to his room twice a day, giving him food and taking him to the restroom, but that was about it. Every day about an hour after his evening “meal” Jack could hear the Doctor cry out in agony again. He sounded so very close it drove Jack mad, not to be able to help this very important person. Not able to help his Doctor. It took all his strength not to cry out of as well out of frustration. But he knew that the Doctor and possibly Tish as well, would be mortified to hear him scream on top of everything else so he tried to hold back and just silently sobbed to himself. The Master would pay for this. He SO would pay for this, as soon as Jack got out. And that he promised himself would happen sooner or later. There's no way the Master would win. The Doctor had had at least some sort of a plan with Martha and it would work out one way or another. He just had to hold on and wait for this moment. He just hoped that the Doctor would be able to survive this all with his mind in one piece. The screams getting more animalistic every time made him doubt it more and more.


It was the only though that went trough his mind as the Master hovered over him his laser screwdriver in one hand the other on the Doctor's throat. He hasn't done much... yet. Just a few cuts and bruises over his torso and thighs. Still the Doctor had yelled. It was day after day that the Master would bring him here to this room. Wordlessly dragging him out of his cell surrounded by a few Toclafane. They constantly hovered around him anyway so he didn't really mind them anymore. At first he's been so embarrassed that they saw him nude. But now that he'd been nude for days in a row it just became so normal. As became this room with this steel table in the middle and all the different “tools” on the walls the Doctor didn't even dare to take a closer look at. But he couldn't get used to the pain. Every day the Master would find new disturbing ways to make him feel pain he never thought would be possible. He didn't do it for fun though. Well not entirely. Not always. At least not today. Usually he tries to force his way into his mind while physically hurting him to find an opening. The first two or three days he tried to force back the screams and make as little sound as possible. He didn't even want to imagine what his friends would think of him, when they heard him scream. Heard him being so weak. He mustn't be weak. He's the Doctor. But it was no use. The screams would come sooner or later and holding them back just made his torture more violent. He didn't know anymore what day they had and how long he's been there. Was it a week, a month, a year? He honestly couldn't tell. He supposed the Master came to him at about the same time every day but that was the only hint of the time he had. He grew weak, oh so weak both physically and mentally. Today he was as weak as he hadn't been in days. "Don't break" was the only thing he was able to think. You can't break yet, he told himself. You have to wait and trust Martha. She'll make it. He repeated it in his head over and over, but he didn't know how long he would be able to hold on.
The Master was somehow different today. He must have been here for at least twenty minutes, but the Master hadn't drawn as much as a whimper from him. Not because he couldn't, no he would be more than capable of that, no it seems that he didn't want to. Why would he be careful all of a sudden? The Doctor was not the slightest bit reassured by that behaviour. It actually made him even more frightened of what was about to come. Slowly the Master lowered his hand on to the Doctors throat and wrapped it around. Just very lightly, not applying any pressure at all. “You're mine you know?”, he suddenly said. It were the first words he spoke in days. The first thing he said directly to the Doctor and not to one of his Toclafane. The Doctors eyes flew open and widened with surprise and fear. The Master smirked. “Oh I like that look of panic, it's just so beautiful. I think I like this regeneration of yours a lot.” He lightly squeezed his fingers around the Doctors throat, neither hurting him nor shutting off his breathing completely. He wouldn't risk the Doctor to black out, he clearly wanted him conscious. The Doctor wriggled under the touch gasping to get enough air, panic rushing trough his mind making any sane thought impossible. He pulled his restrains and tried to wriggle his throat out of the master grip flinging his head from one side to the other. All of a sudden the grip loosened again. “Hush, hush I wouldn't want you dead or regenerating, I told you I like this from”, the Master mumbled and frowned lightly at the reaction of the Doctor, he didn't expect him to get so panicky. The Doctor panted and tried to fill his lungs with enough air again. He didn't really listen to the Master his mind a rushing mess as he desperately tried to calm down. All of a sudden there was a low voice whispering directly into his left ear. “Does it bother you so much, that I hold the decision whether you live or die Doctor? How pathetic” Suddenly he squeezed the Doctors throat again. More tightly this time. It would most definitely leave bruises. The Doctor was a mess. He couldn't even move his head away as the Masters put the screwdriver back to the table and lightly touched the Doctors temples with two fingers. Then he increased the pressure on the Doctors mind, trying to find an opening, to get in. If the Doctor would pass out in the procedure it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't die from just that. The Doctor was mad in his panic letting his guard down trying to breath again as black spots plopped into his vision. That was when the Master found it. A crack inside the Doctors mental walls. Just a tiny one barely noticeable but enough for someone as skilled as the Master. He attacked it with all his force and the Doctors walls in all of his panic and pain scattered into a thousand pieces. “NOOOOOO,” the Doctor screamed, as the Master removed his hand from his throat. It wasn't necessary anymore he had what he wanted. “Noooo... no...,” the Doctor whimpered. “Shhh... it's OK Doctor, hush now, relax yourself it's over anyway” Why was he so fucking gentle today. It didn't even hurt much that the Master was inside his head. It should hurt like hell. The Master giggled, hearing all of the Doctors thoughts, then he flooded the Doctors mind with pictures of the old Gallifrey. With lawns of red grass and majestic Cathedrals. He send the Doctor a picture of the two of them lying in the grass like they did in their academy days. Their hands entwined. The Doctors breathing hitched and he sobbed violently, tears running down his face as the Master calmly stroked his head. This was all just too much. “We belong together Doctor. We did from the very start. Now the mental Master stroked the Doctors hair as well as the mental Doctor had his eyes shut, his face relaxed slightly smiling an leaning into the touch. The real Doctor did the same, needing this gentleness more that he would ever admit even to himself. Then the Master changed the picture, showing him first the day the Doctor betrayed him, then scene after scene of people the Master killed, sending pain trough the Doctors brain. The Doctor screamed at the top of his voice, completely lost. He didn't know where he was or even who he was anymore, all he knew was this unbearable pain. “You shouldn't have betrayed me like that. You're mine after all.” and he took his laser screwdriver again and began cutting lines into the Doctors chest. Not really deep, but deep enough the would leave scars that would never fade. The Doctor screamed his lungs out, until he lost consciousness. The Master finished his work by then. Over the Doctors chest were six capital letters, bloody an red and oh so beautiful. The Master examined his work silently. He smiled, then he turned around ordering his Toclafane to get the Doctor back into his cell but leave him a bottle of water. Then he left the room. There were things he needed to do, now, that he had access to the Doctors mind. He should go see his never dying freak. After all he didn't really had a lot of fun with the Doctor tonight.