Soft you now!

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.

Hamlet, III.1.87-89

How does one fit all the grief and fear one feels onto a page? Lucy stared at the sheet of paper in front of her, not even sure why she was writing. She needed some sort of outlet, and it wasn't as if she had anyone to talk to here on the Valiant. Not even Harry any more.

Her thoughts flashed back to Jack, chained to a pole, as Harry killed him again and again. He was such a brave man, Jack Harkness. He did not cry out, even as his face contorted in pain and his hands clenched into fists. He would not give Harry the satisfaction.

Harry had laughed as Jack's final moments came yet again, and his head lolled in final defeat. Harry took a step back, and grinned manically, his sleeves rolled up so that the blood would not ruin his clean shirt.

"Ready for another go, are we Captain?" he asked, as Jack slowly came back to life and the deep gashes across his face began to heal.

Jack had not said anything through his broken teeth, slowly growing back, but his eyes were on Lucy.

It was his eyes that haunted her. His endless, soul- searching eyes. They looked into her and saw her withered heart.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she had mouthed behind her husband's back, refusing to let the tears fall. If Jack could be brave, so could she.

Jack had given an almost imperceptible jerking nod of his head. He understood. He understood that if she did anything to stop Harry, Harry would kill her. He had come close before. The bruises lingered, and she wore long sleeves and turtlenecks and heavy make up to hide them.

Harry was evil. She knew that now. How had she ever thought that she could love him? It was his power that she was drawn to; his mystery. Now he was not mysterious. She knew what he was now. As he slashed at Jack yet again, she knew that she had always known, deep down inside. He was pure evil.

So now, staring at the blank page, she realized that not even that was enough to contain her hate. Her hate was an endless ocean that threatened to engulf her, and the paper was no life raft.

Lucy crumpled it up and threw it away. What was she thinking? What if Harry found it? Although, he rarely cared what she did nowadays, and never came to her in the night any more. Thank goodness for small mercies. He revolted her now. What she had once thought handsome and strong she now saw for what it truly was: a monster. The image of Jack returned, and she shuddered.

A moment of clarity passed before her eyes. There was one way to end this. She knew about the Jones' plan to rise up against Harry. Jack hadn't exactly told her, but she had read it in his eyes, tasted it in his kiss, felt it in his sad smile. She could help. Harry did not love her any more, but neither did he suspect her as he did the others.

Resolve pounded in her veins. She would kill Harry. Now that she had made that decision, it felt like the most obvious thing in the whole world. Kill Harry, and end all this. For herself; for Jack; for everyone.

With a slight smile, she made her way over to the wardrobe, and pulled out her red silk dress, holding it against herself in front of the mirror. Oh yes, this would do perfectly.

If Jack could be brave, so could she.

Author's Note: I know, this is very strange. But give it a chance. The idea came to me randomly while I was talking to my friend, and it just would not go away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

A warning: this story will be very dark and angsty. The Master abuses Lucy physically and verbally, and her life is not a happy one.