It's all AU.

"So," Jack announced, coming up and standing beside Koschei by the window. "I think the view's excellent,but the height. That's something else."

All he'd really been doing was going to the bathroom for a glass of water.

Which was why, when he appeared in the middle of what appeared to be a hotel lobby, he was very confused. "Either this regeneration visually hallucinates, or there is something very strange going on," he mumbled, very softly.

He looked around, spotted someone and then said, extremely precisely: "Pardon me, have you seen a lunatic with brown hair that looks as though it's never seen a brush, a pin-stripe suit, and a silver bracelet wandering about?"

The Master, as he'd mentioned earlier, had a trumpet. He was sitting on underneath a tree playing with the valves and considering wave vibration in the air column inside the trumpet, and how it came out as sound considered music.

His base nature of a scientist was showing. He'd get a feel for the artist side in a bit.

( spoilers )

The Master sat on the edge of a roof, feet dangling off the edge as he leaned back on his hands, watching the sky. Contemplating the swath of stars that were impossible, among other things.

"You know, I'm an idiot," he said out loud, though he didn't expect anyone to answer him.

Romana sat at a table in the lobby of the hotel, with various electronic components around here.

She was putting together a sonic screwdriver, although it wouldn't be quite recognizable yet, to someone who didn't know very well how one functioned.

She was bored, and wanted something to do with her hands.

The Doctor woke up with a hangover, stumbled downstairs, read what was left of the Master's note in the lobby, and knew exactly what it about. He slipped his own note under Rose's door. Then went in the dining hall to nurse a pot of tea. And to sit their determinately until the Master showed up.

He was going to be waiting for a while. It was far too early and he knew that. He didn't want to move, with his headache. He also didn't want to miss the Master somehow.

Jack was. Mentally off balance, really. It had been building for days, and it finally struck him after seeing John with Jamie. The sheer wrongness of that wasn't letting him go anytime soon.

He stood on the roof of the hotel, hands in the pockets of his coat, and looked out over the town.

The Doctor had done as promised, and stayed with John as he slept. The sensation of another being watching over him protectively had meant he'd napped better than he had done in some time. John was woken by the Doctor gently shaking him, with a reminder that he still had to meet up with his jailers at some point today. They parted company in the hotel lobby, and John walked out briskly into the mid-afternoon sunshine. Well, it felt like the afternoon anyway. 

He had left his jacket up in the hotel room, it's weight still too uncomfortable. Actually, now he was walking, his t-shirt was catching on the scabs on his back, and irritating the hell out of him. He grumbled, and took it off, tucking it over in his back pocket. He wasn't ashamed of his cuts, now he'd had time to let them settle in, and he was actually getting a somewhat perverse kick out of showing off the intricate design.

He reasoned with himself that he had a bit of time on his hands before he absolutely had to go and find someone, so he decided to take some time out to himself. He walked to the nearest shop that contained books, where he found a copy of the book the Master back at the offices had left him, 'Shogun' by James Clavell.  The book fell open naturally at a well thumbed page. Walking over to the nearest patch of grass, he slumped down on his front to read. He didn't look up when he heard footsteps approaching, head still down as he read out loud to the person that had just come up to him:

"To think bad thoughts is really the easiest thing in the world. If you leave your mind to itself it will spiral down into ever-increasing unhappiness. To think good thoughts, however, requires effort. This is one of the things that discipline — training — is about."

John laughed loudly. "Now that's just.. classic. What do you reckon?" He said, lifting up his head.

Lucy was gazing at the noticeboard in the hotel lobby, fascinated by the chart one of the Jack's had posted there and the answers the others had given.

"A hundred and ninety-six?" she read aloud, breathlessly.

Jack pinned the big piece of paper with his survey chart on up on the notice board in the lobby of the hotel, stuck a couple of marker pens in the tray at the bottom, and stood back to make sure everything was there.

( The Survey – cut for length )

It all seemed to be there. Jack nodded, and went off to the TARDIS to get some sleep.

( Cut for blood, babies, and (un)believability )

Jack had. Showered, slept, showered again, showered, eaten, showered, then gone out, trying to get some equilibrium back and well. Check to make sure everything was still standing.

He saw the back of a familiar head and called out, "Hey," before jogging to catch up with the other man.

John had had it to the back teeth with the cell he was in. 

He'd had a go at jimmying the lock with a nail he'd found stuck in his boot sole, with no luck. Well, he hadn't really expected it to work, but it had been worth a go. This place wanted him here, as did Jack, and to a certain extent, John himself, so it wasn't letting him out in a hurry. Didn't stop him from glaring at the lock every few minutes, daring it to stop it's annoying habit of shifting.

He'd paced out the cell dimensions, going through mathematical puzzles with the numbers. Had made several small origami cranes out of the crappest books Jack had left him, and practiced headstands until he was dizzy. He'd even had a wank, but that only served to make him think of sex, and that just made him want to get out again.

John wanted a drink, a shag and something to eat, and he wasn't too fussy about which order or combination they happened in, as long as it was soon.

Looping his legs over the halfway horizontal bar of the cell door, he was swinging upside down when he heard the door of the jailhouse open. He swung up and jumped to his feet. "About bloody time, I'm dying here."

The Master stepped out of the jailhouse, and did something he hadn't done in good long while. He pulled his gloves out of his jacket pocket, and put them on. It made him feel. A little more clean, and like he wasn't going to taint everything he touched into he could take a shower.

He needed another head and pair of eyes to decide if John was anywhere near ready to be set loose. He went looking for Jack, the one who had put John in the cage in the first place. He would know John and his reactions better, and clearly had th kind of good judgment the Master expected from Jack.

Hopefully, it would be a Jack who would be willing to talk to the Master.

When he spotted someone who looked an awful lot like himself - in dress, posture and attidue - he didn't bother beating around the bush. "Hey," he said, with a slight incline of his head. "Do you have a kid named Jamie?"

Aftermath from here , please heed warning :)

John awoke face down in tangled sheets in the strange room. In the moments before full consciousness, there was red behind his eyes, pulsing with the throb in his head. Tendrils started seeping through, as he swam upwards from sleep. Locked in a sea of white, he fought hard against the sheets, gasping. Wrapped up tight, he was coughing, choking, struggling, trapped. Getting finally free he lay panting hard, staring unfocussed for long moments at the ceiling.

He didn't remember getting dressed and leaving the room. Only frayed rope strewn across a floor, empty packets discarded, and the scent of fear and sex in the room. Heady and nauseating all at once. Long minutes stretched out as he got dressed on autopilot, distant and numb, dazed and stunned.

Didn't remember getting to the hotel. How he forced himself into a scalding shower half dressed, curled up tight in the corner against the wall, water drumming down his face. How he wandered down to the foyer, dressed in only a tee shirt, his jeans and boots. His coat and most weapons forgotten, back up in the hotel room, only the stiletto blade glinting in his clenched fist

All he knew was that he was now outside, out of the confines of stifling rooms, where he could finally breath. The outside light strained harshly against  his eyes, tunnel vision dizzying him. As soon as he felt like he could stand straight, he bolted, running as hard he could, flat out, until his lungs burned, and his legs gave out, and he slumped to the floor. 

When he'd got enough breath back from running, he found that he had brought himself back near the clearing where he had first met Jamie. And that was enough to finally break him. He screamed out Jack's name, and didn't stop until his voice gave out. When that happened he just sat trembling, his knife paused over his wrist, gazing blankly into his own personal hell, tears spilling unchecked.

He was so far gone he didn't notice footsteps approaching.

The Doctor perched on a stool at the bar in the hotel. "What's good to drink?" he inquired of the person next to him. "I'm feeling experimental."

Eleanor followed the sound of voices, and found the bar.

Manned by androids, it appeared. After her encounter with Connor, she needed a very stiff drink. Eleanor took her purse from her jacket pocket, and would have bought herself a gin and tonic. Then she thought for a minute, before she said, "Is my money actually any good here? I haven't got a bloody clue where I am and I really need a drink."

"You know, this would be a damned sight less complicated if I knew when he came from," Jack sighed, "You seen anyone named Jamie? American-tinged Welsh accent and big ears?"

Well. The ears carried through.