What if Captain Jack had been able to intervene? Things could have gone much differently...
The Doctor and associated characters are slave to... er, owned by the BBC.
The beam struck the Doctor. He flailed, spinning, screaming! Faster and faster.
Harold Saxon smirked, and laughed. And laughed.
Jack had really had enough.
He didn't care that this was the Prime Minister.
He didn't care if it was a Time Lord.
He had already flipped the arms of the soldiers holding him and was racing toward Saxon. He was through thinking things over.
The Master glanced over, and grinned, a malevolent smirk. "Ho, Jack. Oh, no, we can't have that!" He whipped his laser screwdriver over and flipped it to its highest setting. "Wither, you roach! Wither and die!"
Jack felt the full power of the age beam slam into his body. He kept going. He felt... stronger?
Saxon gaped and started to stumble back. "That- that isn't fair!" he shrieked. "You can't be- you abomination!" He desperately tried to work the controls, tried to up the power, as a leathery-skinned Captain Jack Harkness charged up. The screwdriver was slapped from his hand, just as a fist to the jaw sent him crashing to the ground.
Jack glared down at the terrified man scrambling about. He noted the screwdriver, and brought his foot down hard.
Jack found himself thrown off his feet and slammed into a far wall.
He awoke ... later.
"Martha... what happened?"
"What the hell are you, mister?!"
Jack smiled. "Thought the Doctor made it clear earlier," he said. "What happened? Where's the Master?"
"Doctor's got him locked up somewhere in the TARDIS, he wouldn't tell me where. After he started regenerating on live TV, his whole Saxon persona fell through, and even the military came over to our side. Long story short, the good guys won."
Jack's grin got wider. "Sounds good." He started to swing himself out of bed.
Martha jumped up. "Oi, mister, you're staying right there and getting some rest! Doctor's orders." She folded her arms and frowned at him.
Jack looked at her, and began to chuckle. He stood up, grabbed his pants and started to put them on.
"Come on," he said, "you think I'm going to let either of us miss the victory party?"
Grabbing a shirt, he latched onto Martha's hand and dragged her, protesting out the door.