Disclaimer: I own neither Doctor who, nor Torchwood, nor Harry Potter.

A/N: Just a random thought I decided to play with a while back, and only just got around to posting. Enjoy!

Lightning Jack

Part One

I've lied and died so many, many times. Will it ever end, this soul-tormenting unending insanity? Oh Doctor, Doctor dear. Doctor mine. I've lied to you, Doctor. Con-man con-this con-that so many, many times. Even after that first time, you know? Two years. Hah. What a lark.

You don't trust me. Didn't – couldn't. So I lied again, said two years instead of more. After all, to a time lord like you, what's two years gone in a lifetime? Nothing, just a blip in the timeline. You could still trust me on that, couldn't you, Doctor?

But a whole childhood? I lied, I lied, then died and died. Don't know how I grew up, and you won't, either. Said I'd come from the fifty-first century. Hell, what do I know? It's as likely as the next year, anyhow.

Dying isn't quite so sad now, you know? It's lost its flair with me. Dull and monotonous, like waking up in the morning or going to sleep at night. Something that happens, Is bound to happen, all the time. I don't feel it anymore; everything heals and goes and fades completely. No heroic scar or broken bone to show for anything – well, almost everything. There's still one scar that won't heal; only, it's not really a scar. More a slice into my skull. A lightning bolt engraving. Doctor dear, you could heal it, couldn't you? You're my Doctor, I trust you.

It's not painful, like that jagged, emotional, soul-carving scar you gave my heart when you abandoned me. It tingles, sometimes. Makes me dizzy. I think that's bad. It might be killing me, not sure. I still wake up every time.

What you looking at me like that for? C'mon, your drink's getting cold – warm – whichever's worse, really. It's good, you know, Doctor. Burns down the throat, I still feel that, I think. Kind of. Maybe. Doesn't burn as good a cyanide, really – no taste, eh? Well, no, but when it gets my heart it burns then, you know? Clenches it tight and freezes my lungs. Which is odd, as they feel like they're on fire.

Fire, fire pants on fire, a dozen burning different lies.

Part Two

A light – piercing, bright, and electric blue – flashed above him, startling him from his half conscious state, slumped sleepily against his desk. He murmured unintelligibly, brilliant green eyes prising open, wearily observing the many foul-smelling bottles that heaped around him. A resigned sigh from above caught his attention.

He leant back slowly, so as to not spin the known world more than he bearably could – the pounding in his ears was painful and dizzying. Raking a hand through his dishevelled, sun-kissed hair, he peered up at Ianto, as he stood at his office door, arms folded, pursing his lip in an unsatisfied manner.

"Jack…" The other man began, tone scolding and unrepentant, monotonous and unsurprised. Ianto had seen his boss in this post-inebriated state many, many times before. He no longer tried to cease the self-destructive cycle; there was only so much he could do, without keeping a vigilant twenty-four hour watch. But it was his boss; a strong, centuries old man. No matter how much he wanted to, there would only ever be so much he could do.

The captain in question rolled his shoulders and straightened his shirt. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I didn't die last night." To Ianto, it was a small, cold comfort, that his boss no longer drowned his sorrows in more ways than one. And it was with a small cold comfort to Jack that he'd already tucked the small bottle of cyanide into his jacket pocket; for him, it was enough that Ianto didn't have to bear that particular knowledge.

"We ready to rumble?" He grinned, American accent joyful and teasing. It tugged Ianto's lips and quirked into a small, sarcastic smile. "Yes, sir. Rumbling it is." From behind, he brought out a steaming cup of smoothly blended coffee, placing it in Jack's waiting outstretched palm.

"Mmm," Jack mumbled, bringing the hot liquid to his nose and inhaling deeply. " 'S good for the soul."

"I'm glad you think so, sir." The smile left Ianto stood there, unsure of what to do next. "Is there… Anything you need, sir?"

A lion, maybe? I've yet to be mauled to death, Jack thought. Ooh, or piranhas. Outwardly, his morbid humour didn't show, but a lecherous wink mad its way onto his features. "Weell… Anything, Ianto? You, me, a pocket watch?"

And – yes, there it was, that lovely, pink blush that crept its way over the collar. "That's harassment, sir."

"You put that lovely ass in harassment, Yan – I'm just doing my duty."

The Welshman cleared his throat. He was just so cute when he got embarrassed, Jack thought with a grin. "Go on then, Yan. The others ought to be here soon, they'll probably need some of your hot lovin' to feel fresh and frisky to face the day. Don't let me stand in the way of your duty, ey?"

The smile was back. "Very well, sir. I'll be seeing you."

After he'd left, the smile still lingered on Jack's face. Ianto… He was such a butler. An amusing, cute, adorable one; he mentally applauded himself on his choice of employee. A damn fine choice, at that.

Jack straightened in his seat, logging onto the mainframe through his computer. Well damn, where had all that paperwork come from? It was then, as he lounged relaxed in his seat, feet propped up on his desk, warm coffee in his hand that a cold slick shock made its way down his spine. Eyes wide, he stared at the monitor where a feed of CCTV was showing live.

No, no, it couldn't be! But, there it was, plain as day – slowly materialising right in front of him, right by the building. The TARDIS. It was here.

Quickly, with the manic, hurried pace of a possessed man, he dropped the cup and grabbed his backpack – oh, he'd been preparing for this! – and shot out of the building, as fast as he could.

Something propelled his feet – he felt himself speed up, the walls zooming past him – and then, there he was, in the open – the TARDIS, it was right there in all its blue glory – he ran with all the force he could muster, and just as that oh-so-familiar techno grating sound welled up and around him, he leapt – clung to dear life – because finally, he'd found him, his Doctor. And he was never, ever letting go again.

Part Three

Oxygen burned through his lungs as he gave a heaving gasp, drawing in the air like a lifeline. A face above his own blurred into focus, features twisting in disgust.

"Disgusting," The Master spat, and kicked Jack where he lay. The time lord turned to where The Doctor was chained, and looked down at him with puzzlement. "I just don't understand why you keep this mangy mutt around. Brrr, what a wrong-man con-man. Nasty."

"Fuck off," Jack managed to grind out, sick and tired of the alien already. And it had only been, what, three days? Come on Martha, his mind whined, before the tip of a gun whipped into his line of sight, and a loud, sick bang exploded in his head and he knew no more.

"Welcome, come one, come all! Come and see the fantastic, doesn't-stay-dead-man!"

Jack ground his teeth together as he was thrown into the room, walls and floor gleaming hard metal. How original, he thought scornfully; he'd already been a circus act before. A camera was mounted above the door beside a speaker, The Master's voice emitting in tinny, distorted waves.

"Just stop it, Master! Stop playing these sick games!" The Doctor's voice could be heard through the hum, although the only answer was a rumbling laugh.

"Ah, but it's so entertaining, Doctor dear." Fingers rapped in a steady rhythm against the microphone, before the voice came again, leering with amusement. "Bring out the lion!"

The door opened behind Jack and he turned, face going white at what he saw. Snarling and raging, a thin, half-starved feral looking beast of a feline was forced into the room. It immediately paused, staring at him with wide eyes, a deep growl building up behind powerful jaws as it lowered itself, ready to pounce.

"What a show!" The Master laughed in glee. "No!" echoed the Doctor.

The lion pounced, and Jack struggled against it – the sturdy teeth ripping into his forearm as he locked the maw in place, arms shaking with the strength it took to try and keep the lion from locking around his throat.

Claws scraped against him, and with a yell he threw it off and scrambled away, bloody and terrified, but determined not to give up so easily. The lion came at him again, and this time he managed to get behind it, arms encircling the animal's neck in a stranglehold. In his effort to break it, the lion managed to twist around and snap, mauling him into the ground.

Everything burned and he let out a hoarse scream as the beast ripped into him, drowning out the sounds of The Master's laughter.

Drowning. Electrocution. Poison. Sometimes a sick, drawn out carving, butchered like an animal. Under The Master's progressively creative hands, Jack had stopped counting how many times he'd died. Every time he came back only brought on a new round of pain, and he'd started taking a strange comfort in the few moments where his body shut down and everything was numb.

"Jack," came a hiss from ahead. Blearily, he cracked open an eye, looking up to see Tish, Martha's sweet sister, standing before him with a bowl full of soup. "You okay?"

Somehow, he managed a smile for her. "I'm more than good for you, sweet-cheeks."

She gave a wary smile, and led the spoon into his mouth. It was cold, as usual. As nice as it was to get something to eat, it rarely happened anymore. The Master more than half starved him, so when the time to eat actually came, having to take anything in was painful. The energy helped him not faint from hunger, so his body would last longer until death wore it out again. Well, there had been that one time where the bastard had tried to starve him to death, but that debacle was quickly struck off The Master's list of "death-ideas"; it took far too long for the monster to sit with. Idle minds are the devil's playthings; suffice to say, the way he'd ended up dying that day was something he wouldn't wish on anyone. Except maybe The Master.

"How is everyone?" Jack rasped between mouthfuls.

Tish snapped to attention, having been lost absently in the task. "Oh," she started. "Fine."

It was one of Jack's only solace's to know that, since The Master was always busy with him, everyone else was spared the pain. Taking over the world was interesting; but once you had it, most of the excitement bled out. Experimenting with Jack had become The Master's favourite past-time.

Tish's whole body froze, arm raised half-way to his mouth when a pale horror swept across her face. He looked up – and heard a unique set of footsteps, tapping a well-known rhythm against the floor as they got closer.

Tish locked eyes with him, sorrow and sympathy overpowering. "I'm so sorry, Jack…"

He pasted on the best, reassuring smile he could manage. "Don't worry, I'll live."

She tried to return the smile, but it was strained and brittle; she fed him the last spoonful, before kissing his cheek and quickly leaving through the front door. Jack closed his eyes and sighed as the horrible footsteps got closer to the back door; heavier, this time, as if they were supporting a greater weight. He tried to focus on a numbness, cringing as The Master's laugh entered the room.

Part Four

They knew. Icy cold fear gripped his heart, as its throbs began to quicken. Adrenaline pumped through his body, and his war-trained mind forced it to follow the instinct to flee - to run as far as he could, get a galaxy away, or on another planet – although that wouldn't deter them, they'd just keep chasing him.

Because they knew. How, he had no idea; so sure he had let nothing slip, always covering his tracks, leaving nothing behind. Because if they knew, they would capture him. And he would not become their warrior, or assassin, or whatever it is they would be sure to cook up, just for him, because he was so special.

It terrified him, what they might to do his mind – his memories – as they had so often threatened before. It had all seemed like a joke then; because that would never happen, it needn't to. Because he'd never thought they'd find out.

He knew this in the deep chill of his bones. He hadn't waited around to be clarified on how much they knew – because it was far, far too late already. The warning had come at the terrifying moment when he'd felt his wand snap – the magic leaving its container and escaping to the dusts of the universe. He'd felt the pang – the shock – at such a loss, a tingle running down his spine in a horrible way that made his toes curl. And they had to have known what, maybe even who he was, for no one else would know where to look to even begin searching for holly and phoenix.

He was left with one option, and that was to run. And run he did – straight to a shuttle he hotwired and clambered inside, and not a moment to soon as he flickered on a weak shield as bullets – or something like them – impacted with the vehicle. It shuddered, but held together as he dabbled with the controls and tried to get it to jump-start and into the air before they managed to get closer. With a quick glance, he could see that they weren't anywhere near him – their bullets far-reaching – but they were gaining, and fast.

Luck, as damning as it had always been to him, wasn't on his side tonight. They had backup, and they were running to him on the other side. The shuttle managed to rise at least three stories, before the shots finally wore it down, the shields blanked, and it was brought down with a crash. He deployed the safety – managed to jump out – but it was no use. One of them tackled him, rough and heavy as he impacted harshly against the cold concrete. Before he had the chance to struggle, he felt something sharp pierce the skin of his neck, and suddenly felt drowsy in the wake of the sting.

He hadn't been prepared for this, any of this – had nothing, really, but a few moments notice after his wand had been snapped, before they came for him. They'd planned it too well. He couldn't get out in time. And now, they had him.

His eyes, heavy, drooped dangerously as he fought to keep them open, but it was no use; his whole body was shutting down, head lolling to the side as his limbs fell limp. A cruel, leering face loomed over him, a harsh scowl on its features.

"Harry Potter," the man sneered, the sound of his true name freezing his insides at the realization of just how deep in the proverbial compost heap he was in. "You know what happens to Time Agents when they lie to us, don't you?"

Shit.

- And then, with a heaving gasp, Jack woke up, hands clenching the sheets. What on earth - ?

But, everything was fine. He was back in bed, in the hub. He frowned, trying to focus on his dream – but the memories quickly slipped away faster as he tried to hold onto them. All he could remember was the name Harry, and wondered why the word made him feel lost and lonely and right. A smile teased his lips. Harry. Just Harry. He liked the sound of that.