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Title: Things Rank and Gross Possess It Merely
Author: garnettrees 
Summary: "'Tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely."
-Hamlet, Act I, Scene II
Other Characters/Pairings: Tish's POV; some implied Gwen/Rhys and Owen/Diane
Warnings: Character death, implied rape, torture, unwanted groping
Status: WIP
Length: 2/5 parts posted
Commentary: Yes, I have a thing for fics which take place in the Year That Never Was. And this is an amazing example of what can be done with all the implied darkness that happened during that nonexistant period of time. Using Tish as the narrator works especially well here; we feel her suffering, both as Martha's sister and the person who was hired to stand there and look pretty. She also has the dubious position as one of the people who cleans up the Master's shit, which normally includes body parts. It's haunting and creepy, and written in an almost surreal style, which has the overall effect of making it very easy for the reader to feel just as sleep-deprived and hopeless as poor Tish.
Excerpt:
Electroshock," he said, by way of explanation. He bounced a little on his heels, rocking back and forth as much as the chains would allow. "That was kind of nasty. Feel all charged up, though-- kind of like that pink bunny."
As always, his bizarre humor drew her out, "What, on the adverts?"
"Yup!" His blue eyes twinkled-- a schoolboy's wickedness. "I keep going, and going, and going..."
"Oh, stop," she admonished, blushing while he leered. She set the tray down, lifting the tainted MRE. "What was the other one?"
"Oh," Jack rolled his shoulders. "They shot me again-- I was just complimenting this cute soldier's ass. I thought the twenty-first century was supposed to be more open-minded."
"They shot you for harassment?" Tish inquired, frowning as a brief but potent shadow flickered across the Captain's face. And then, without waiting for a reply, "You shouldn't wind them up." He was doing it on purpose, she knew-- he took some strange joy in goading them, and every time they shot him he acted as if he'd won.
"Shame of it was," Jack continued gamely, as if he hadn't heard her, "I've seen asses that were worth getting shot over, and that was not one of them." He waited a beat before focusing on the tin of food. "Is that arsenic?"