Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Pairings: Suzie/Lucy Saxon, Jack/Suzie
Challenge/Prompt: 7rainbowprompts, green set, #5. Footsteps
Rating: kind of slightly NC-17
Summary: They have to be kept separated from the world for their own safety.
Author’s Notes: This is kind of, you know, wrong, or at the very least, weird, but I loved the idea of the craziness that I could play around with. Not entirely sure what I’m trying to achieve with this version of Jack, but what the hell.
They can be recognised. White faces, dazed eyes, aimless gestures, high-pitched laughter. The way they walk and talk and scream or try to kill (themselves or you) if you laugh back at them. Yes, they’ve got to be watched.
Jack pours tea into a cup in a steady stream, and Suzie watches it fill with her mouth pressed in a straight line, hands folded in her lap.
“You know,” she says, when he pushes it towards her, bitter without milk or sugar, “I never used to be insane.”
“You were killing people,” Jack reminds her neutrally, pouring his own cup out.
“Before I came here, I probably wasn’t crazy at all,” Suzie muses.
Jack shrugs. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?”
The steam rises in front of her eyes, blurring the concrete, and Jack.
“I suppose not.”
Nine levels deep, and in a room made of such thick concrete she could explode and probably not even shake the curtains of Cardiff above. If Cardiff is still up there – it’s becoming steadily more negotiable.
Suzie has been down here so long that sunlight is a lost hope, too bright for her eyes even in memory. She even thinks in shades of monochrome, staring at the grey walls and her white hands and black hair.
Jack’s blue eyes are the only colour and she thinks if she’d known that to begin with her choice would have been drastically different.
Ianto brings her tea and Owen brings her tranquillisers and neither of them speak. Suzie, for her part, lies on her sofa and stares at the light fitting and pretends that they do not exist.
Jack’s been gone a month or maybe even four and anyway she doesn’t require company. She forfeited her right to a life of her own when she stabbed other people’s away with her silver knife and nothing in her eyes.
Suzie reads a paperback so battered she’d be hard-pressed to manage a papercut, which was the general idea, and doesn’t wait for him to return.
She needed something solid to hate Jack for, and he gave it to her. Six months, she got restless, attacked him. He won easily, slamming her over the table.
Suzie felt him hard against her arse and shut her eyes because one hand was on the back of her neck and the other hand was somehow between her legs, pushing up her skirt to where she doesn’t wear underwear any more. She hissed when he slid two fingers inside her, making her shudder, and something wet ran down her thigh.
Jack laughed like this was meant to happen. It wasn’t.
The door opens when Jack has been gone what Suzie thinks might be five months, one week, two days and an hour. He is carrying a crumpled blonde woman in his arms.
“Are you starting a collection?” Suzie asks. She hasn’t missed him because she doesn’t like him.
Jack lays the woman down on the sofa; she’s silent and still. She’s dressed in red silk, and Suzie thinks she looks rather like a woman raped and left for dead after a dinner party.
She wishes she hadn’t thought that.
“Who is she?” she asks.
“This,” Jack tells her, “Is Lucy.”
(When he pushed in, she hit her chin on the table so hard blood filled her mouth.
Suzie spat blood drops on the tabletop, mouth working not to make a sound with his cock so deep inside her it almost made her wonder if he wanted this. And then she broke, shoved back, snarling with her lips curling over reddish stained teeth.
“See,” Jack murmured, leaning over her, while her body trembled and her mouth made twisted noises that didn’t sound human, “This is exactly why I can’t let you back into society.”
- It made sense at the time.)
Lucy doesn’t move for a fortnight. She just sleeps. She doesn’t eat and seems incapable of blinking. Suzie doesn’t mind; she doesn’t want to talk anyway.
“She’s going to get ill if she doesn’t eat soon,” she observes dispassionately, tapping her fingernails against her teeth, “Or maybe it’s a hunger strike. Do you remember my hunger strike?”
Jack laughs dryly. “I do.”
He nearly let her die, you know. Jack refused to bargain and in the end Suzie had to cave because Jack would have quite happily watched her starve to death just to prove a point.
He’s like that.
Jack and Suzie sip Darjeeling while Lucy sleeps. Suzie has nothing to say, so she remains silent, just drinks her tea and watches her legs shake.
“You’re quiet,” Jack remarks. Suzie looks up at him and smiles.
“Maybe you could get a redhead next time,” she suggests mildly. “A whole lot of crazy women in the basement. It’s very Bluebeard.”
Jack smiles, but it’ll always be awkward between them. She knows things about him that no one else does.
“I just want you safe,” he says.
“That’s the one thing you’ve never wanted,” Suzie replies, and pours herself another cup.
Suzie didn’t want to come down here in the first place, but Jack was firm. So firm that she’s fairly sure he dragged her down at least one flight of concrete stairs by her hair, although she was distraught at that point so it’s possible she just imagined that.
“You can stay here,” Jack told her, while she sobbed in a humiliating fashion, “Or I can execute you. Pick one. I really don’t care which.”
Things had fallen apart too quickly and there was no pity in Jack’s eyes – she’d shot him in the head, after all.
“Fine,” Suzie whispered.
“Who is she?” Suzie asks, cradling a cup of Lapsang Souchong, the smoky taste uncurling over her tongue. “Why is she here?”
“She needs help,” Jack explains, giving her a smile that has a lot of teeth in it but very little emotion, “Just like you.”
“I’m far more lucid than she is,” Suzie points out. “Are you thinking of starting a mental asylum?”
Jack laughs. “It would probably pay better than Torchwood does,” he says.
Suzie looks around the small room.
“You might want to invest in some windows.”
Lucy twitches on the sofa. Suzie pretends not to notice.
“I killed people,” Suzie explains. “I thought I was acting for the best, but I wasn’t.”
Lucy hasn’t said a word yet but she’s sitting upright and winding her hair into knots around her fingers so it’s a start.
“I’m a danger to myself and to society,” Suzie adds. “Jack says so.”
“I married a murderer,” Lucy murmurs in a dreamy voice that sounds like it’s going to get lost any moment, “And for my wedding present, he offered me the head of anyone I wanted, on a plate.” A shadow passes over her face. “That’s not normal, is it?”
“This isn’t going to make me better,” Suzie hissed at Jack. His shirt had blood on it but neither of them were sure quite whose it was.
“It doesn’t matter if you get better or not,” Jack told her, “You’re not leaving here alive.”
Suzie crumpled against his chest, which was probably what he wanted, he smelled like death and her throat hurt from screaming. One of her wrists felt broken where he’d dragged her away from the door, from escape.
“I hate it here,” she mumbled.
“Should’ve thought of that before you shot me in the head,” he replied.
Later, Suzie can’t resist.
“So whose head did you ask for?”
Lucy looks like a wrung out dishcloth and her eyes are like a doll’s, blank and shiny. Whatever happened to her, it’s not going to unhappen in a hurry.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, in her faint voice, like she’s speaking from a long way away. Her hands lie dead in her lap.
Suzie thinks about it for a while.
“No. I suppose what really matters is whether you actually got it.”
Lucy’s eyes get all wide and then she shivers and retches.
Suzie takes that as a yes.
“I’m dangerous,” Suzie informs Jack, “Lucy’s out of her head. There is a difference.”
“You both need to be kept separated for your own safety,” Jack shrugs, “Lucy won’t hurt you and I’ve made sure there are no sharp objects so you can’t hurt her.”
Suzie swallows. “Is that all you think of me? I’ve got no reason to kill Lucy!”
“Your motive was pretty random last time,” Jack says.
Suzie feels shattered, weak.
“You’ve got me wrong,” she murmurs.
“I haven’t,” Jack tells her, “That’s the problem.”
He closes the door behind him, and locks it three separate times.
It’s a Thursday.
Lucy is dressed in white like Suzie, vague white dresses that Jack dumped down here at one point and there are no mirrors so Suzie doesn’t have to worry about what she looks like. Lucy is too pale for white, it makes her look like a mannequin; Suzie’s still not entirely sure how human she actually is.
“My husband made me watch while the world burned…” Lucy mumbles.
Suzie doesn’t look up from her book.
“What did you do?”
Suzie turns a page, not looking at Lucy. Eventually, the other woman drifts off to sleep.
“Get her to a real hospital,” Suzie suggests while Lucy is sleeping and Jack has brought her tea again. “She needs help.”
“Why do you care?” Jack’s smirk is practically glazed onto his face, and Suzie’s eyes really hurt.
“I don’t. She’s your pet.” Suzie tastes the words bitter on her tongue.
“So what does that make you?” Jack asks with interest, leaning too close.
Her teacup smashes sharp on the floor and she lets him touch her, hand covering her breast through her thin white dress.
She doesn’t hate him enough to tell him to stop. She never has.
Lucy makes a break for it eventually. Suzie pulls her away from the door, and Lucy catches her cheek with broken fingernails, drawing blood. Suzie has been here longer but Lucy is less in touch with reality and they push and pull and tear at each other because it’s all they have left.
Suzie’s head gets bent back and Lucy has a fist in her hair, knees on the concrete and this is why Suzie’s not allowed outside. She doesn’t play nicely and Lucy laughs until she is dragged down and smashed against the floor.
This really shouldn’t be happening.
The struggle is feeble and tangled and largely confused. Suzie’s ribs ache and somehow her hand ends up between Lucy’s smooth legs.
Lucy is laughing, eyes so blue, but for once she actually seems to know what is happening to her. There’s more lucidity in her face than Suzie has ever seen. She seems so steady that Suzie can’t resist pushing; sliding her fingers up to where Lucy is already soft and surprisingly wet.
This is the first time Suzie thinks she might not be nearly as sane as she likes to think she is. She’s getting worse, not better.
“I’m really not leaving, am I.” Suzie’s voice was flat, and realisation was tumbling into horrible places.
“You were practically possessed by alien technology,” Jack replied, “You murdered innocent people, and broke at least fourteen Torchwood rules.”
The walls seemed to be closing in on her.
“Is this my punishment, or are you really trying to save me?” she asked, because surely being shut in a room forever couldn’t be legal.
“That’s something to consider for the rest of your life,” Jack told her with a cruel smile.
“But you do know?”
“I do,” Jack replied.
“I’m glad someone does.”
When Lucy kisses her it’s confusing. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed Suzie on the mouth – she thinks Owen might have done it last – and Lucy’s lips are cold, and not uncertain but definitely fragile.
She is hot where Suzie presses her fingers into her cunt, and Lucy giggles in a way that is almost disturbing, thighs parting easily. It seems that sex is the one thing Lucy understands. Same in every language, no matter how many pieces your mind is in. Suzie twists three fingers inside Lucy, who whimpers in a way that almost sounds like pain.
They’re going to be down here together forever, and Lucy is so far gone there’s no coming back. And Suzie is losing her grip on whatever it was that she barely had to begin with.
The concrete bleeds cold through her dress and Lucy’s tongue knows all the places Jack ignores. Suzie gets a fistful of blonde and twists it. Lucy looks up, mouth shining.
“Why?” Suzie asks, wondering what the hell she’ll get by way of a reply.
“I’m out of my mind,” Lucy points out with something that’s nearly clarity, “What’s your excuse?”
Suzie laughs until she chokes.
Suzie counts her teeth with the edge of her thumbnail, legs folded underneath her, thighs sticky and hair tangled. She wonders if she fell into insanity or if she was pushed.
Lucy looks good bruised, cheek deep purple. Suzie will be blamed for this; Jack will ignore Lucy’s bloody fingernails and the scratches on the door.
“There’s no getting out of here,” Suzie murmurs, and her mouth aches around the words.
Lucy grins blankly.
“My husband said that too.”
She looks like a puppet with her strings cut, lying on the concrete.
“He may have had a point,” Suzie replies.