when dreams become reality for quitehomoerotic

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follows this.

The Master was patient when he needed to be. Those moments were quite rare but they existed. He had the ability to lie in wait for extended periods until his intended prey was right upon him and then he attacked.

Only it wasn't as fast as one would think. It was a slow descent, insidious. It crept up like a deep cold settling in and leaving you numb. It changed in various, little ways. A coffee cup less full than remembered.

A note on a paper for a case that was being investigated.

The never-ending drum beat worming it's way into your being. Twisting, molding and still, such small changes. The light tap-tap tap-tap against the desktop. Phantom movement out of the corner of your eye.

A reflection in the mirror that isn't yours but disappears the moment you blink.

Despite lacking full control, he remains patient. He will wait.

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Three days that Jack had kept himself awake again. Three days that he refused to sleep in the hope that he could stay away from the living nightmare he found when he did.

But it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever was.

In the day he'd find himself hearing things. Noises that sounded like they were just the other side of his door, but noises he knew weren't real. He found himself tapping the rhythm of the beat that had instilled itself in his mind. He'd stop as soon as he noticed, but the fact it was happening was bad enough.

If it remained in his nightmares he could at least pretend it was just that: a nightmare. Nothing more. Not what it claimed to be. And he could pretend it could stay there, that he could hide it away and it couldn't take over. But here, now, as it seemed to bleed over into the reality of day, his confidence of that seemed to wane.

Another day ended and another day he sent everyone home, left himself alone in the Hub. The silence echoed through the expanse of the building, and if he listened carefully he could hear the dripping of water and the sound of echoes on the street above.

He was tired. So very tired and worn but he couldn't risk sleeping. What would happen? And is him not sleeping even helping at all? Is it stopping him?

He didn't know.

With a laboured breath he stood from his desk and took himself down to his berth beneath. A shower, perhaps, to wake him. To let the water wash over and quiet the silence.

At the sink he splashed water over his face and took a deep breath. "Pull yourself together, Jack," he said to himself in the darkened room.

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Sleeping would actually be better. At least it is something resembling rest whatever nightmare visited aside. Staying up for days on end did little except make it that much easier for cracks in the mold to form on their own. The Master barely had to lift a finger, soon Jack would be tumbling down on his own and scrambling to pick up the pieces.

"It's not going to work, Jack." came his voice as if he stood in that very same room. "You could do yourself and your lovely little family a favor and just give up, already." Despite the words, his tone lacked menace, it wasn't needed. Jack knew the threat existed and that was enough.

His imagination would take care of the rest.

"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep, hm? Three, four days? You're looking a little rough around the edges."

With that there was a light knocking (imaginary of course) against the mirror from the other side from which the Master was peering at him.

"Boo."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack gripped his hands tight on either side of the ceramic sink. He could hear the voice but he wanted to deny it. He wanted to pretend it wasn't there.

It was worse, in many ways, than when he was asleep. He could pass off a nightmare as just that, but this, he was awake and he could hear the voice as clear is if it were coming from within the room beside him. It had to be coming from within his mind, he knew that. It had to.

What he didn't expect though, was to look up from the mirror and see a face that wasn't his own as a reflection.

He didn't flinch, at least not visibly, but inside his muscles tightened.

"I'm not paying attention to you," he said, contradicting himself merely by talking, and all the while fully aware the only person, truly, that he was talking to was himself.

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The Master then proceeded to look back and forth before leaning closer (as much as the illusion of the mirror would allow); his voice low.

"Oh, I see. Who are we ignoring? One of the other voices?" he gave a rather distateful look in Jack's direction. "You really should keep the place more tidy. You never know who will pop in on you and make themselves at home."

And he continued. "Because of course you couldn't mean me. I mean, we're such good friends. I feel like I've known you for ages!"

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Jack flicked his eyes back up to the mirror and saw the other face looking back. No sign of himself. That really wasn't a good thing.

"Enjoying this, are you?" he asked, rubbing a towel over his face.

"Still trapped though. And you can't keep this up forever." Jack would find a way out of this, because he had to. Either him or someone else. Someone who knew and who could help. The Doctor would know but how could he get in touch with him?

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"Just a little, I must admit." he said, chuckling softly.

"Oh, but I haven't been as well caged as I was before. You're losing your touch. And really, I have to agree with you." The Master leaned in for another conspiratorial whisper.

"Ianto's coffee is superb."

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Restraint, Jack told himself. He had to show restraint. He had to block it away. After all he'd done in his life, all he'd been through, he should have what it takes to push this aside.

But it took little more than those few short words to snap him. Reaching his hand out he grabbed a glass that rested on the sink and he threw it at full force at the mirror, cracking it through the middle with breaks that splintered out. The image was still there though, the face distorted through the break.

He never used to snap like that. Not on the Valiant. Not when the Master hurt him with every trick on the book. But then he knew that this was in his mind. He knew that he was arguing with himself. That the room and the Hub was empty but for himself.

It infuriated him.

"You shut up," he hissed. "I swear, if you even try to lay one finger on any of them-"

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The only reply for the longest of moments is his laughter. Head thrown back, however distorted, he laughed, pure and unadulterated glee obvious in the sound of it. It was nothing knew to either of them that Jack was a source of great amusement on the Valiant but this...

Oh this was a new level of fun.

"Wait, I know! This is the part with the empty threats again, right?" he laughed harder, which was a feat considering. He needed that. It'd been a while since he'd been well and truly tickled by anything.

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Jack gripped his hands back to the sink again, and only then did he notice the sting in his hand where the glass had ricocheted back and cut into his skin. As he glanced down he saw a pool of dark blood forming between his thumb and index finger.

He ignored it.

"Oh laugh all you want," Jack said, rough and angry. "But you're still trapped. Because see you're forgetting something, aren't you? Just what I'd do to stop you. I could freeze myself. Then what would you do?"

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That there might have sobered him but not in any fearful manner. No, that was anger. Cold rage and he was glaring at him through the distortions.

"My sweet Captain, didn't anyone ever teach you not to back a wild animal in a corner?" He kept his voice soft. He hadn't even truly been fighting to gain control yet. He had hoped Jack would save him the trouble. If it came down to a matter of pure survival...

The Master remained quite calm. "You do that and we'll see how many team members you have left to put you into stasis by the time I'm through." They weren't on the Valiant anymore and all promises that were made during that time were forfeit. This was a new game.

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"And now who's turn is it with the empty threats?" Jack said with his own laugh. He shrugged his shoulders back and started unbuttoning his shirt, paying little heed to the mirror and the face within it.

"You're trapped in my mind. You're stuck in a mirror. If you haven't got me, you've got nothing. If I'm not around what do you really expect to do? You know what your problem is? You think you can scare me. You can't. And you won't."

Jack could be so good at lying, when he needed to.

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"You know, your lack of fear is understandable. I haven't exactly been forthcoming with the examples but thank you, for helping me to realize my mistake." His voice was still eerily calm. "Because, all I truly want is to be able to grow as a person."

And his right arm, the one unbuttoning might feel a bit tingly, like the feeling one gets when a limb has fallen asleep. It took quite some effort on his part but most of his energy was expended by the quickness of the movements.

Jack's hand would snake out and enclose over a jagged edge of glass that had fallen into the sink, fist closing tightly around it and making it creak. "Think very hard about who you are dealing with, Jack Harkness. Your memory might be fuzzy but perhaps this will clear things up. All I need is the barest of seconds, much like these, and one or two of your team members would be clutching at an artery in vain."

The Master made his hand squeeze harder, ignoring the rivulets of blood and the drips dotting the floor. "Shall I lie in wait for the teaboy? Or maybe the blushing bride-to-be?" he hissed.

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Jack's hand moved and it wasn't at his will. His body shifted against his instruction and try as he might he couldn't fight against it.

He felt the burn as the glass pushed into his skin and the blood rushed to the surface and poured from his hand. But he couldn't stop it.

It was a shock, to see that he could do this. To know that he could access him like this, and that it wasn't as restricted as he had thought. It sent a cold chill through him.

The grip was relentless and the sharp broken glass pushed further into his hand. Painful, but he wouldn't acknowledge that.

"I won't let you," Jack hissed out, ignoring the pain in his hand. "I'll do it now. I'll freeze myself. Then what will you do? Trapped forever."

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"And how do you know that I haven't prepared for that eventuality, hm? How certain are you, in your moments of weariness induced haze, that I didn't find a way to keep that from happening?" he asked, sounding quite pleased with himself.

"Do you remember precisely where you've been in the Hub throughout these past few days? Think about it for a moment." And he released his control of the hand gripping the glass.

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He couldn't have that sort of control. He couldn't, could he?

Jack wanted to believe it. He truly did, but as the glass bit into his hand he couldn't quite bring himself to agree that he was safe here. That anyone was safe.

This was getting way out of hand.

He considered the words and... oh no. He remembered it now. Just the day before he'd had Owen start an audit in the morgue. That included the cryo chambers. All of the unused of which were currently out of commission until the audit was complete.

He let go of the glass and immediately his hand was his own again. He opened it and the blood poured. Glass had embedded itself deep into his skin and he tugged it out with his other hand

"You know I won't give in," he said, "you know that."

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But it was more than obvious that he did have that sort of control.

Even if it was only for a few seconds, the Master could take control and that was more than enough time for him to wreak havoc there in the safety of the Hub. The Master destroyed countless lives, Jack's team would mean nothing to him.

"That's a nasty cut. Wonder what happens if you die." he mused aloud. "Which one of us gets control when you pop back into being?"

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Jack' heart was beating ten to the dozen, and he hated that the Master must have known that. He hated how he must be able to see.

"That a risk you're willing to take?" Jack hissed.

But he could, couldn't he? He could kill him like this. In his dreams he could kill him and hurt him but it was locked in his dreams. But this, this was real.

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He chuckled lowly. "It is. What about you, Jack? Care for a game of chance?"

That tingling feeling might be felt along his arm again, creeping further into his being.

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Jack tried to fight against the feeling. He found he could, a little. He could push it away, and use his own strength to ward off the Master's opposition.

But only to a degree. It was too inbuilt, too deep down, and he couldn't fight something that deep inside of him.

"So kill me," Jack said, "that doesn't scare me. I'm an old hand."

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"It isn't your lack of fear that interests me. It's the possibility of freedom. I like my chances, I'll have you know."

The feeling crept further up.

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Jack all but growled as he fought against the feeling.

"No" he hissed out. "Stop."

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"No. Stop." he mocked, trying to procure another piece of glass.

"We could decide to be emo about this or we can go grab your gun. Of course the gun might send anyone that's in here running." the Master mused. "Would be akward if I had to go and murder someone so quickly."

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"Leave them alone," Jack warned again. "They don't need this."

His hand clasped around a piece of glass again, and he gritted his teeth as it bit into his skin.

"Fine," he said, hating himself for saying it. "Fine. Tell me what you want me to do. But you don't go near them. You promise me that. None of them, you don't touch them."

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"Oh, you mean because they've already been through enough, what with you abandoning them and all?"

He gripped it a bit tighter.

"Jack, the time for compromise has passed. You missed that train."

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With a burst of any energy Jack could muster, he threw the glass across the room and away from his hand.

"Then you don't get me."