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Tish Jones once loved airplanes. Looking out their windows connected her to everything below. On the Valiant, the view never, ever did that. Feeling human in a flying hell seemed as impossible as aliens once were. The engine room even felt classically hellish with its ungodly heat and steam, and Jack Harkness chained there.
Even if Martha could save them, the Valiant would kill Tish if she didn't do something. After months of giving Jack post-torture feedings, Tish found her own approach.
"What've you got for me today?" Jack said. "Cockles, potted shrimp, a nice calamari? Even the chefs in this dump couldn't resist all that fresh seafood."
Tish held the spoon up to Jack's mouth. They never sent him anything better than overcooked rubbish scraps. "Just eat," she said.
Jack looked ready for more quips until he tasted the food. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched high. He kept his lips tight, like the food might disappear otherwise, and waited nearly a minute to swallow.
"Huh?" he said.
"Shhh," Tish returned. She angled the bowl so he could see and the guard couldn't. It mostly held the usual soggy vegetables, but whenever she could risk it, she'd snuck in pieces from Saxon's meals. A string of fried pork, a flake of fish, a single boiled shrimp; protein, flavor, a human gesture.
They'd usually speak. She didn't want to distract him from tasting anything. Jack chewed slowly, eyes closed to his prison.
When Jack finished, he smiled with his mouth turned up at one side. She'd only seen his forced grins as he made light of the nightmare, because he had nothing to genuinely smile at before. As he did, she returned it.
The guard locked the gate behind her. If he'd noticed, he'd probably assume that sneaking in food was only a selfless charity act. Tish looked back; Jack's eyes brightened, and his tugging at the chains grew purposeful. Her trudging footsteps turned more deliberate, too. She'd given him kindness— and gave herself more life when she saw it in him. They could all survive this. They would.