The One's We Need To Exist -- Jack/Doctor/Master

[A Moment In Subtext]

Doctor Who
The One's We Need To Exist
By. A Moment In Subtext

The Doctor was screaming, and it was breaking Jack's heart. His voice was choked with raw emotion, the intensity of which Jack had scarcely believed the man was capable of, and he knew, beyond a doubt (instinctively) that the Doctor needed this strange, terrible alien more than he'd ever needed Rose, (more than he'd ever need any human), and this if the Master died, some substancial, indefinable part of the Doctor would die with him.
He shoved Lucy Saxon, hard, toward the nearest bale-bodied human being, not looking to see who it was or how the assasin (savior, girl) was recieved. His footsteps made virtually no sound as he moved, (as if they seperately understood that he was treading on unsteady ground), and knelt before the Doctor.
For a second, his breath caught. That horrible raw emotion filled not only the Doctor's voice, but his face as well. Normally composed angular features were contorted in a mask of frozen anguish, deeper than Jack could even imagine. (The Doctor wasn't supposed to look like that.) His voice broke as he continued to ask (implore, plead, beg) the other Time Lord to regenerate. He didn't seem to be aware of Jack's pressense.
"Let me help." Jack said softly, in a voice pitched for the Doctor's ears alone.
For the first time, the Doctor looked at him, a wild light in his eyes (so different from his usual manic sparkle), something so deep and ragged it almost made Jack recoild. But he held the other mans eyes, trying to convey his sincerity through his own. After a second, the Doctor's halnd darted to Jack's wrist, his fingers pressing into his pulsepoint hard enough to hurt.
~ Transition ~ Subjective Time ~
-Pulse-
Sadness. Anger. Far. Desperate need.
Words. The Doctors words. Small and quiet and still, so completely unlike the man.
::How?::
Now images, rushed and pasted slightly out of order.
(A woman, maybe thirty years old, slumps against a doorframe, crimson blooming from her chest, staining her meticulously pressed and trimmed white dress.)
(A man, twenty two years old, two identicle blackned bullet-holses in the side of his head. A third appears, fresh blood in stark contrast with the rest.)
(A girl, sixteen or seventeen, black hair, green eyes, and slit wrists, blood trickling onto the floor with a stead drip-drip-drip.)
(A little boy, nine years old, maybe younger, running across an empty street. Now, flying through the air, landing, with a retched snap-crunch-squish, every bone in his body broken.)
Still the immeasurable sadness, still the anger, still the fear and desperate, desperate need. But now; confusion.
From another source: imposed calm, patience. More images, still rushing one on top of the other.
(The woman shrieks, silently, whether in pain or shock uncertain, and falls, sideways, almost out the door. A figure steps in, catches her still standing. Jack. He leans in, presses his mouth to her. Not CPR. The two of them seem to glow faintly golden.)
(And Jack steps in, behind the man, his eyes fixed on some distant point. He brings a gun up, in the direction of his gaze, and of the bullets, and fires it, soundlessly. He drops the gun, pulls the mans back into his chest, tilts the mans head up and kisses him, full on. A dim golden glow spreads outward from their lips.)
(Hands catch the girls wrists, anxious, pressing to stop the blood, but the drip-drip-drip goes on and his hands, Jacks' hands, only become bloodstained. He pulls them away, wipes them on his pants. The girl smiles, leans forward, a chast goodbye kiss, but Jack takes control and an indistinct golden glow covers them.)
(Jack runs to he boy, picks him up, cradles him. The boy doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. His eyes are fixed on Jack. Tenatively, he leans down and kisses the boy, feeling slightly sick inside, because even he has standards, while the weak golden glow envelopes them.)
(He pulls away from the woman and she gasps for breath, on hand panickilly fluttering to the - vanished - hole in her chest. Her dress is still ruined.)
(The man gasps into Jack's mouth as he leans back, a concerned, tender question in his eyes. Their entwined hands brush along the mans temples, now devoid of bullets.)
(The girl pulls back, anger and not a little shock on her face. She snarls and launces herself at Jack, sharp nails tearing at his face, but he can see that her wrists are smooth.)
(Bones stitch themselves together, snap back into place, the boys limp form going stiff and rigid in Jack's arms. Idly, Jack wonders if Geppetto had felt this way when Pinnochio came to life.)
The confusing dissolves, bleeds away to nothing. The sadness and anger fad, still there, but dim, in the background. Fear still holds firm, need never wavers, but. . .something else. Hope? Perhaps hope.
-pulse-
~ Transition ~ Objective Time ~
The Doctor released Jack's wrists, something in his face chenging. For a moment, a small part of his need for the Master to live was transformed to need for Jack to make it happen. The immensity of the trust the Doctor had placed in him wasn't lost on Jack, a small shiver crept up his spine as he realized the price should he fail. He gave a uick half-nod in the Doctor's direction and shifted his eyes to man laying across the Doctor's lap.
His stomach curdled in revulsion and he had to work to fight back the snarl that tugged at his lips, forcing it into an uneasy smile. It wasn't revulsion at the mans appearance, (if they'd met under any other circumstances), but he knew what had been done by his hand. Death was the least of what the Master deserved, in Jack's opinion, but the Doctor had forgiven him, the Doctor needed him, and Jack needed the Doctor safe, sane, and happy.
With that thought, and in image of the Doctor in his minds eye, he leaned down and captured the villians lips.
~ Transition ~ Subjective Time ~
A stong, prevalant sense of truimph fades, changes to dibelief, shock. Indignation. Resentment. Anger.
Opposition. Conflict. Hatred. Pain.
Words. The Master's words, lud, wrathful, dangerous.
::Get out!::
More words, now Jack's. Amused, almost apologetic.
::No. For the Doctor.::
Images, unbidden and slightly inaccurate.
(The Doctor, standing perfectly still, allowing Jack to kiss him goodbye.)
(The Doctor, standing outside a doorway, everything so slighlty tinged in red. He's speaking, but its soundless. He rubs the back of his neck, a rare abashed smile gracing his features.)
(The red tinge has grown stronger. The Doctor, still standing behind the door, is grinning. Cheeky, roguish in a way that makes Jack want to forget the damn end-of-the-world and jump him, his eyes dancing.)
Words, again. Moking, accusing, scornful.
::You love him!::
And the reply, uncomplicated, honsest, serene.
::Yes.::
Followed shortly after, by:
::You'll live.::
Victory, overlaid with relief. Joy, with a tint of regret.
Frustration is response. Screaming. Indignation. Abhorrence. Resignation.
~ Transition ~ Objective Time ~
Jack pulled away from the alien, a metallic taste in his mouth. He turned away and spat blood as his tongue (bitten in half by the Master, in protest) restitched itself. As the Doctor desperately clutched at the Masters side, feeling out the non-existant bullet-hole, Jack pushed himself to his feet. The Masters eyes never left him, burning with the desire to kill.
"Thank you." The Doctor said, subdued.

--

Later, leaving the Master securly locked deep within the Tardis, the Doctor sought Jack out.
"Why did you do it?"
"What?" Jack asked, deliberately misunderstanding.
"You saved him. Why?"
"Because you need him."
The Doctor's brow creased in puzzlement. "But you hate him."
"But you don't." Jack countered.
Fora moment, the Doctor stared at Jack, his face undreadable, then he broke into a brilliant grin and drew Jack into a bone-melting kiss.
"What are you doing?" Jack asked, slightly breathlessly, when he was finally able to support his own weight again.
The Doctor blinked. "Thanking you. I thought this was what you wanted?"
"It is. . .but not like this. Not out of charity, or. . .or gratitude." He stared at the Doctors (maybe) uncomprehending face. "I want you to want me for me, not because of some misplaced loyalty or because you think you 'owe' me something. I saved the Master because you need him, and I need you. Out there, saving the world."
The Doctor smiled, a real smile, the likes of which Jack hadn't seen in far too long, pride shining through his eyes. "Good man."
"So." Jack said after a moment. "I suppose this is goodbye, then."
"Oh, I don't know. Its a big universe. I reckon we'll cross paths again, someday. In a month, or a thousand years."
"Or both." Jack half-quipped, thinking of the Tardis and time-travel.
"Or both." The Doctor repeated, nodding in agreement.