Chapter Text
Jack hisses as the foreman's laser whip lashes across his back with an electric crackle, leaving a finger-wide shallow burn right across his shoulder blades. The tool is adjusted to hurt but not injure severely. This ensures prisoners can still work, but makes it agonizing. The newest mark crosses the half-dozen or so he already has. It takes all his willpower to bite back a curse. Beside him, he feels the Doctor tense, ready to turn and give the guard what-for. Jack grabs his wrist and urgently shakes his head.
It's not worth it. They've seen where it leads. More beatings, and water and food rations cut for their whole unit. As if the nature of their offense doesn't already make them unpopular enough with the other convicts.
Jack grits his teeth, grabs the shovel more tightly and picks up his pace. He feels the Doctor's concerned gaze but keeps his eyes on the ditch. It's only two more hours till the end of their twelve hour shift, and with any luck they might even be granted a short water break before that. He can get through this.
Rose puts on her most polite smile as she finally reaches the front of the queue. It's taken her days to get to this office. She was given the bureaucratic run-around, paying countless visits to the High Prefecture to find out where Jack and the Doctor were taken, and what crime they were charged with. She had fruitless consultations with a lawyer who basically told her a crime as disgusting as theirs deserves no defense — though he at least told her whom to bribe to get their possessions back and who would sell her their prison ID numbers for the right price. The bribes have almost depleted the generous stack of credit crystals the Doctor had slipped her on what was supposed to be a fun little shopping trip. About a week ago now. Seems like years.
But now she's finally in the right place, finally at least in the same building with them. If nothing goes wrong now…
"What is it?" The young officer behind the counter looks at Rose through thick glasses, his tone somewhere between bored and challenging. His sallow skin is spotted with greenish blemishes. In Earth terms, he seems barely more than a teenager.
Rose curls her hands into loose fists and touches the knuckles together — a gesture of respect that she's picked up since their arrival. "Hello. I would like to visit two of your prisoners. Please." She hands over the paper with the ID numbers.
The officer frowns as he looks down at the numbers. "Relation?" he asks, taking a form from a drawer and fishing for a pen.
Rose considers. She can't risk being turned away for not being related. And she doesn't know if a flash of the psychic paper stuck in the back pocket of her jeans will be enough, or if they will do a DNA test.
Jack and she are the same species, so she might be able to claim he's a cousin or something. But there's really only one way she could be related to a member of another species. "I'm the Doctor's wife."
The officer sneers. "Not anymore, you aren't."
Rose stares. What the hell is that supposed to mean? "But I…"
"Due to the gravity of his crime, any marriage he may have been in was dissolved when he was sentenced."
Oh god. That makes a terrible kind of sense.
"It was done to free you of his unholy sway. You should be grateful."
What would the Doctor do? Rose thinks frantically. Act stupid, a little voice inside her head whispers.
Right. Play the tourist.
"I'm sorry," Rose says, faking a French accent. She has no idea what the TARDIS translator will do with that, but she hopes it'll be something plausible. "We're not from here. I must be using the wrong word. We're not married. He's my… my… the man of my mother? I'm of his blood?" If they do do DNA tests here, she's screwed now, but she had to take the risk.
"Your father? You're his daughter?" The officer's eyes are suddenly full of pity.
"Right! Thank you," Rose nods.
"I'm so sorry. To be born the innocent child of such a-"
The TARDIS doesn't translate the next word, and Rose is grateful.
The officer's eyes suddenly fill with suspicion. "You're not related to that other one too, are you?"
Rose is about to say yes, but the expression on the officer's face makes her hesitate.
"Why?" she asks slowly, hoping it will be taken as a foreigner's confusion, not insolence.
"Because that would also make him related to your father, and given the nature of their crime…" The officer's voice trails off. He performs a hand gesture that Rose doesn’t know, but that certainly seems very rude.
"No." She shakes her head. "He's just a… family friend."
The officer sneers. "You mean he's your father's-" Again, the TARDIS doesn't translate the last word, but Rose can imagine only too well what it was.
She nods, looking away in a gesture that's meant to conceal her anger, but she hopes will look like shame. She feels like she's betraying Jack, but if she can only see one of them, it has to be the Doctor. Not that she's any less worried about Jack, but the Time Lord is the one who probably already has a plan and can tell her what to do to get them out of there.
"Can I see my… father, then?" she asks weakly.
The officer punches a number into his terminal and studies the data that pops up. "The prisoners of his unit are on work detail. You can see your father on Templeday." The last day of the week, which occurs every eight days here. Two days from now.
Rose sighs, but nods. She's already learned there's no point arguing with the bureaucracy of this world. "Thank you." She performs the respectful hand gesture again, then turns and leaves. She'll just have to find a constructive way to use the time. Make preparations.
The Doctor sits down with a grunt of exhaustion, leaning against the enclosure's wall. Jack is next to him, morosely chewing on the small piece of takré — hard, grainy bread fortified with some sort of multivitamin — that he's been given. The Doctor tries to share his own with him, but Jack just shakes his head. He leans against the Doctor's shoulder tiredly.
The one small mercy in all this is that once they throw someone in prison, the Itawambi really don't care what becomes of them. He was worried, initially, that Jack and he might be separated, put into different units or even different penitentiaries. But it appears that no one cared enough.
His chest is itchy with sweat. He rubs it, tugging on his grey uniform shirt. The orange 24-601 on the front stains his sweat-drenched fingers. The 601, he knows, is to ID him, just as Jack has 602. But it's the 24 that makes them particular targets for the guards', and even the other prisoners', scorn and cruelty.
24, for the law they broke. The 24th law of Itawamba: "Men shall not have relations with men, nor women with women, for the gods look upon such acts with scorn." If only he'd known that nine days ago.
It was a beautiful day — a sunny violet sky, the two green suns pleasantly warm but not too hot, and a pleasant breeze playing through the yellow trees. The bazaar was dotted with multicolored tents and booths, offering everything from the spicy deep-fried cakes Jack is so fond of to the artfully spun silk garments they'd promised Rose.
Jack had just talked him into sampling another one of those cakes — ants and guguberries, a combination that managed to be at once too sweet and too sour for his liking — when Rose came running up to them, brandishing a pink and orange piece of glossy silk — the colors hurt his eyes too badly to be quite sure, but he thought it might be a skirt.
"Doctor, Jack, look! Isn't this gorgeous?" The bright smile on her face made him like the skirt quite a bit better. He beamed and nodded.
Jack looked at the garment with appreciation. "That'll look stunning on you. Do they have a top to go with it?"
Rose grinned. "Nope. But they have great scarves. I want to get one for Mum. Can I have some more of those crystals, please?"
The Doctor handed over an assortment of the crystal cubes that passed for currency here. "There. Enough to buy most of the bazaar, this, so don't lose them," he grumbled, but with a grin to show he really was pleased. It had taken him a long time to get both of his companions to the point where they unabashedly asked him for money if they wanted something. They both had their pride, and it had taken numerous explanations of how little money mattered to him, and finally a threat of starting to pay them salaries for the work they did on board — Jack's technical expertise would qualify him for substantial wages on any other ship, and Rose frequently took care of the more domestic side of things. And that was just on board — once he reminded them how often they'd all saved each other's life and pointed out the sheer number of times he'd asked them to risk theirs, the ridiculousness of being ashamed about sharing money had finally sunk in.
"Wanna help me pick something nice for her?" Rose asked, her tongue curled around her teeth.
The Doctor groaned.
"Later, hon," Jack chuckled. "I want to try a few more of these cakes first. I think I saw some with sheep eyeballs!"
"Ew. Have fun with that." Rose turned and disappeared in the direction of a large saffron-and-peach tent.
"Nice save." The Doctor smiled. "Just what I need, being asked my opinion on Jackie Tyler's complexion or somesuch. Surest way to get smacked."
Jack laughed. "Aw, c'mon. No one buys the grumpiness act, y'know?" He leaned in and kissed the frown right off him, playing his tongue over all the most sensitive spots in the Doctor's mouth.
And that's how the misery started. Burly soldiers with laser weapons, the two of them being shackled and stripped of their possessions right there next to the deep-frying booth, Rose's terrified face as they were dragged away, and all his demands for an explanation being met with complete silence.
The "trial" had taken five minutes. Several soldiers had testified to their "unnatural aberration." They hadn't even got a chance to defend themselves.
"These aliens are sentenced to hard labor for life for violation of the 24th law of Itawamba, with no appeal, pardon, or parole." The judge had sounded almost bored when he said it, but the corners of his mouth had been turned down with disgust.
And two hours later, they were here.
Of course, he planned to escape. Well, in theory he's still planning to. He pulls Jack closer to him and kisses his neck gently. Dirty looks be damned.
With every day that passes, with every new fact he learns about the prison, with every wound and every sparse meal and every freezing night, one realization edges closer and closer to his mind:
He can't get them out of here. Not by himself. It'll take some outside influence, some extraordinary stroke of luck. That doesn’t mean he'll stop trying, but it does mean that for now, keeping them alive and hoping for something to turn up is pretty much the only plan he's got.
Jack snuggles closer and strokes a hand across the Doctor's chest tenderly. His hand is trembling.
He looks at Jack worriedly. "All right?"
Jack nods. "Muscle fatigue. Just need some rest."
Yeah. A few hours' sleep on the hard ground, in the biting cold. Jack won't feel better by morning. The Doctor gently cups Jack's neck and carefully rubs the tender spot near his hairline. It's all they can do for each other right now — little caresses, stolen smiles.
He's just glad that he taught Rose how to use the emergency program to get home. She'll be back with Jackie now, safe and sound. He and Jack don't talk about it — it means she's safe, but it also means that, even if they get out, they'll be stuck in this time, and possibly on this planet, unless they somehow manage to procure a ship, or manage to steal Jack's vortex manipulator right out from under their jailers' noses.
Nevertheless, he knows the thought is a comfort to Jack just as much as to himself. Rose is safe.
Rose enters the dingy bar near the Itawamba City space port, trying to hide her shaking knees. Everyone around her is twice her size and armed to the gills.
She smooths down the leather vest she's wearing over black jeans and an olive shirt with cut-off sleeves. Trying to blend in, to look tough — well, the only thing she'd been able to think of was to copy an outfit she'd seen Jack wear in a similar dive. The TARDIS even managed to produce a pair of black combat boots in her size — with a hidden knife sheath.
She put a knife there, and she's wearing one of Jack's smaller blasters in a hip holster, but she knows that if she gets in a situation where she actually needs to use either, she's screwed. She's not a fighter.
That's why she's trying to hire some.
A heavy hand lands on her shoulder and she's pulled around roughly, long claws digging into her flesh, only just not breaking the skin. "Hello there, you pretty thing! Wanna dance?" The large alien who makes Rose think of a cross between Chewbacca and a shark flashes three rows of shiny teeth at her in a smile that is not at all reassuring.
She pulls herself up to her full height, which brings her to about the alien's collar bone. She lifts her chin and stares straight at the point between his eyes — an intimidation tactic she's learned from Jack. Trying her best to sound like the Doctor when someone threatens one of his own, she snarls. "Pull back that paw if you want to keep it."
For a moment, the alien actually looks startled, but then he laughs. "Tryin' to scare me, little girl?" He puts his left hand on her hip.
This is bad. Really bad. Rose is sure he can see the pearls of sweat dotting her forehead. She wonders if he can hear her heart race. With a movement born of desperation more than strength, she brings the edge of her hand down sharply just at the point where his wrist connects to his hand. A weak point. Vulnerable without much force in most species. If she lives to tell the tale, Jack will be proud she remembered.
With a curse, the alien jumps back from her. His eyes turn red and he snarls with rage. "You'll regret that, harlot!" His hand moves under his tunic.
"Ey!" A booming voice comes from the bar. "Jando! You ever want to drink in this establishment again, you pipe down and leave right now."
The alien looks around — his anatomy makes it necessary for him to turn his entire torso to do so. Rose takes the chance to back away. "But Luo, she…"
"Out! You can come back tomorrow when you're sober and civil."
Taking another step away from Jando, Rose gets her first look at the bartender. He seems to be one of the natives of this planet — tall, burly, but not nearly as intimidating as the shark-Chewbacca in front of her. Except for the extremely large gun in his hands, leveled steadily and unblinkingly at Jando.
"I'm not going to tell you again. Walk out or be carted out with the rest of the rubbish." Luo sounds more like the Doctor than anyone Rose has ever encountered except the Time Lord himself.
With a mumbled curse, Jando turns towards the door. The other patrons clear a way for him and avoid eye contact, but Rose hears more than few snickers.
She makes her way to the bar. "Thanks." She smiles at the barman, who's in the process of storing his gun under the counter again — in easy reach, no doubt.
He looks at her and nods towards a free bar stool. "Sit where I can see you. Gonna have to keep an eye on you, scrawny little alien that you are. Gonna attract nothing but trouble in a place like this."
Rose bristles, but sits in the proffered place. "Maybe that's what I'm here for," she starts cautiously.
Luo's eyes sharpen. "You came looking for trouble?
Rose gulps. If she's wrong about the nature of this place, if Luo's a law abiding citizen who reports any suspicious activity to the authorities — but the evidence, and her gut, tell her otherwise. "Looking for someone who can take care of trouble. Official trouble."
Luo looks her up and down, then pours a generous quantity of bubbling red liquid into a small glass and places it in front of her. "Drink up." It's challenge as much as invitation.
Rose picks up the glass and sniffs it cautiously. But really, what reason would Luo have to poison her just after bailing her out? He'd have easier ways to harm her if that was what he wanted. She downs the fluid.
It's like molten metal. All her reflexes tell her to spit it out, but she clamps her mouth shut and swallows right through the pain. This is a test. A bonding ritual. She understands, because the blokes have explained it to her. If she can take the pain, it might win her just enough respect to get a few straight answers.
She slams the empty glass on the bar upside-down, the way she's seen Jack do countless times. Luo grins at her. "That substance is illegal in 49 systems. Including this one."
Rose snorts. "Don't you think if the police was going to send someone in here undercover, they'd have picked someone who blends in a bit better?" She looks around the bar. She's the only human, one of a handful of females, and the only one under six feet. "Or, you know, at all?" She grins at him, deliberately curling her tongue around her teeth.
Luo throws his head back and laughs. "Whatcher wanna drink? It's on the house."
Rose shifts in her seat. "I really came to find someone to talk to about-"
"You're way too early for that. Have a few drinks, I'll let you know when they show up." He slabs a tall glass of looshkeer — a fruity cocktail she's familiar with from several worlds and that seems to have a certain reputation as a "girly drink" — in front of her, closely followed by a bowl of bright purple roasted nuts.
Rose still feels queasy from the first drink, her throat seems to be on fire, and the background noises in the bar sound eerily off-key. She sips the looshkeer and nibbles the snacks and hopes like hell that she's really found an in and is not just making an enormous fool of herself.