A.N.

Summarry: What frightened the Doctor most were not the physical injuries that Jack was describing in hushed tones to Martha and Gwen. What frightened him most was the fact that as he spoke, tears were welling up in his eyes. Jack Harkness had never had it easy. But the Jack that the Doctor knew looked death in the face, gave it his business card and walked away; he had other things to attend to. He had never once imagined that he would ever see Captain Jack Harkness cry. And that scared him more than anything.

Yep. That's what this is all about. My twisted compadre X my heart . hope 2 die is helping me out by Beta-ing this. If you like what you see here, go check her out, too!

Another shot ran through Jack's body and he groaned in pain, slipping closer and closer to death's grasp. He could feel the darkness edging in on him, and he desperately wished for anything to make it faster. Even if it only lasted a few seconds, it was still a chance for relief. It was still a moment to forget where he was. To forget how long he'd been there. To forget that his friends hadn't found him. That they'd probably stopped looking.

Every fibre in him hurt. For the most part, his healing powers were focused on injuries that could, would, or had killed him. Because of this restriction, most of the bones his captor had broken remained as such, his over-stretched muscles continued to burn, and various other cuts and bruises gave him greif to no forseeable end.

"Jack, Jack, Jack..." His tormentor purred. "I've tried whipping. Electrocution. Deprivation. Water torture. Breaking bones. And yet even at gunpoint you won't tell me where he is."

"I- told you..." Jack forced his tounge to cooperate with him, despite the fact that it seemed like all it wanted to do was adhere itself to the top of his bone-dry mouth.

He knew that the inadequate answer he was about to give would result in less punishment than no answer at all.

"It's...impossible-" He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, frustrated that it took this much work to form the simple sentence. "to know... I. Don't. Know..."

His captor sighed, and shook his head.

"Oh, Jack. You know I hate it when you do that." He said, sounding like a dissappointed mother. "Can't you get it through your head that you make me do this when you refuse to answer my questions?"

And with that, he brought the butt of the gun in a powerful arc down on Jack's head, pushing him that last distance into death.

-0l0l0-

Gwen gasped when she heard the gunshot.

"Doctor?" She looked to him, worry in her eyes.

The Doctor grimaced as he tried to find the proper setting to open the lock on the door. He couldn't imagine that he had very much time. If the gunshot had been aimed at Jack who knew what other torments he'd been through in the month and a half that he'd been gone.

A sickening crack came from the other side of the door; Gwen pushed the Doctor out of the way and rammed her foot into the door above the lock, breaking it open.

"That's how you open a locked door, Doctor." She said, entering the room with her gun ready.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and followed her into the room.

"Oh, it is, is it?" He muttered under his breath, "How kind of you to pass on that invaluable tidbit of-" He stopped short, eyes widening when he caught a glimpse of Jack behind the tall, blond figure that obscured him.

He was thin. Too thin. He'd clearly been starved, and was very likely dehydrated, too. His skin was riddled with cuts and bruises, and many of his bones were clearly broken. It sickened him to even think it, but the Doctor was slightly grateful that Jack was as malnourished as he was. It meant that as long as the bones had been broken recently, there would be very little chance that they'd need to be re-broken. He wouldn't have had the resources to start healing wrong.

All this registered in the Doctor's mind in a split second before Jack's captor whirled around at the sudden disturbance, earning a hot led bullet through each leg for the trouble he'd caused.

The Doctor and Martha ran over to Jack, who appeared to be dead. The Doctor couldn't help himself wondering how many times he'd died just to wake up again in this hell hole.

Martha undid the clasps on his wrists and ankles, revealing skin that had been scraped raw. Despite how thin he was, she still almost crumpled under his deadweight.

"Doctor... Little help... would be nice!" She grunted, struggling to stay upright.

The Doctor took Jack and began to carry him toward the door, motioning to Gwen to stop beating the living daylights out of Jack's captor and leave.

Gwen jerked the blond man up by his arm, and, keeping a firm grip on him, assisted him in getting out of the hellish pit in which he'd kept her friend. After all, he could no longer walk.

As they were getting into the van Jack woke with a gasp and cringed, nearly making the Doctor drop him.

"Woah, there! Easy!" The Doctor exclaimed, setting Jack on one of the van's seats and helping him sit up.

"Wha...?" Jack looked around, confused. "Where...?"

"Jack!" Gwen came running around the back of the van. "You're okay!"

"Gwen?! What's going on?"

"We sprung you. We're taking you home."

Jack went weak for a few seconds, seeming to melt with releif. He was going home. They'd found him. He was going home.

His eyelids suddenly felt leaden, and he realized how long it had been since he'd slept. Properly, mind you, not just the momentary respite of death.

"Get some rest, Cap." Gwen said, her face softening. "We'll get you home safe, and Martha will do any fixing up she needs to."

Almost as soon as he was laid out in the van, Jack was fast asleep.

I will do my best to make updates regular. Reviews are not required, but they are greatly appreaciated, especially if they AREN'T flames! Oh, and I don't own Dr. Who. No matter how slim and a little bit foxy the Doctor is, and no matter how much I've been looking and like it.