Title: How Would You Like To Die Today?
Fandom: Doctor Who / Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: The Last of The Time Lords
Warning: Character death, blood and mentions of torture and suicide.

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The balls of his feet tingled with pain and his knees ached as he tried to shift his weight off them as much as possible. It was the kind you experienced after being on your feet all day long and the only thing you wanted to do was sit down and rest. His eyelids felt as though they were made of lead. If he could just close them for a few seconds, he would wake feeling more alive and re-energized, ready to face another day of torture.

Unfortunately, Jack didn’t have that luxury. The chains around his wrists bound him to the wall, forcing him to remain upright and awake. The clock on the wall told him it was almost nine o’clock. Not that time mattered to him now; he had been captive for so long he had lost all sense of hours and minutes. He didn’t even know how long they had been on the Valiant; it could have been weeks or years for all he knew.

He did know that the Master would be along soon. The Time Lord liked to start his day with an unhealthy dose of torturing his immortal prisoner, pushing him to and beyond the brink of death.

Jack wondered how the Master would choose to end his life this time. He had been subjected to so many different forms of murder that they were all beginning to blur into one. But the one the Master seemed to prefer the most was plunging a small blade deep into Jack’s jugular and dragging the weapon from one side of his neck to the other.

As far as Jack was concerned, bleeding to death was one of the worst ways to go. Feeling his body begin to go limp, having nothing but his chains to keep him upright as his life force slowly drained from him body terrified Jack.

He had committed suicide many times in his long life, hoping that eventually one of them would stick, but he had never been able to drag sharp blade across his wrists: Never been able to stomach the sight of his own blood.

Bleeding to death was slow, painful and undignified. One thing Jack had never been able to overcome was his vanity, and lying slumped in a bloodied pile did nothing for his self-image, even if he always came back to life within a few moments.

The gate in front of him opened and the Master entered, wearing his usual smirk and carefully holding a piece of barb wire in his hands.

Jack knew it was useless to struggle as the wire was placed around his neck and tightened painfully. But that didn’t stop his survival instincts trying to kick him. With an internal growl he forced the instincts down and allowed the Master to secure the wire collar, like a twisted version of a loyal puppy and his owner.

“There are things I’ve learnt about you over the past six months, Captain.” His title was used mockingly and Jack had never hated the word so much in his life. “The cocky confidence you display to everyone else isn’t real, is it?”

When he remained silent the Master ran a hand down Jack’s check. The prisoner jerked his head away, feeling bile rise his throat from the familiar touch. Of all the games the Master played, mental mind fucking with Jack was probably his favourite.

“You don’t eat as many vegetables as you should. You need to drink more milk and less coffee,” the Master began to list slowly. “But the most fascinating thing is, how much you care about all these pathetic humans.”

“A little while ago I did some research and found out that you were in charge of a tiny operation called Torchwood Three in Cardiff.” He laughed to himself when Jack’s eyes narrowed in hatred. “Oh, after all this time, the word Torchwood is the only thing that manages to get a reaction from you. I wonder what would happen if I say the name’s of your team.”

The hardened steel gaze returned to Jack’s eyes and he willed himself not to react as the Master began listing his employees.

“Toshiko Sato.” Nothing.

“Owen Harper.” Nothing.

The corners of the Masters lips turned up in a small smile. “Gwen Cooper.” Still he received nothing in response.

Knowing what name was coming next, Jack tried to block out all sounds of the other man’s voice. But it wasn’t possible, he could still hear those two words over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Ianto Jones.”

A laugh escaped the Master and he nodded his head in satisfaction. Jack had no idea what he had seen in his eyes but when he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile phone he knew it couldn’t have been anything good.

“I thought as much,” the Master commented, flipping the phone open and dialling a number, not pressing the call button just yet. “You fifty-first century guys are so predictable. Is there any one straight left in your world?”

The Time Lord rolled his eyes and pressed the call button. “Don’t fret,” he whispered, mockingly tracing Jack’s lips with his index finger. “Pretty Ianto Jones won’t feel anything when the Sphere’s attack.”

Jack growled and lunged forward to attack, ignoring all logic and reason for favour of causing the Master as much pain as possible.

He laughed and shook his head. “That is truly pathetic, Captain. Allowing yourself to be jibed so much you admit your feelings for this young man without saying anything.” He tightened the wire around Jack’s throat, making the spikes sink even deeper into his skin. “I’ll have the footage transmitted into here so you can watch your precious Mr Jones die, knowing that you can’t do anything to stop it.”

The metal gates clanged closed as the Master left Jack alone. The edges of his world began to go black and Jack could feel himself slipping further and further away from the conscious world. He hoped that this time his death would be permanent so he wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that he had killed the one person who loved him despite all his flaws.