FIC: Stop, Rewind - Repeat; Repeat Again (chapter x01 & x02)
Fandom(s): Doctor Who (post s4)/Life on Mars (post s2)
Character(s): The Master/Sam Tyler, the Doctor, Gene Hunt, Lucy Saxon
Summary: The Master and Sam Tyler: where do the lines end, where do they blur?
Pairing(s): Somewhere in the distant future the Master/Gene Hunt & the Doctor/the Master
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4,214
Warning(s): WTFery nature and probably some inconsistencies with Gene's voice, language
I always forget to update Teaspoon & An Open Mind. All the time. Ah well.
I waaaaas working on my help_haiti fic this morn' then somehow got distracted on my LOM/DW fic that has been on the backburner for ages... so I'm kind of pleased since I wrote about... 8 pages. I finally got over the point I was stuck at \o/ Currently has four chapters written.
It's probably cliche to play with John Simm in this way, but I'd like to think this is possibly original |D
This also reminds me that I still need to buy s2 of LOM.
Stop, Rewind - Repeat; Repeat Again
Chapter x01
“Do you hear me?”
“Can you hear me?”
“There’s only one way you can sort this out.”
“One way.”
“I thought you said we had him?”
“He escaped us, again!”
“How?!”
“I don’t bleedin’ know!”
“Get it figured out! Find him!”
Riverbank. Quite the familiar riverbank, actually, but he supposes they all look the same. He groans, rolls to his side, hears voices outside of him, all sounding the same, and - “Bloody hell,” he murmurs, “I thought you were done with the crazy, Tyler.” He’s soaking wet. He pushes onto his back, rests a hand over his front and feels his fingers sink into blood. That’s… not good. Why exactly is he by the riverbank again?
Crawled out of the river, right. After he was on the run, after a bullet skimmed his side - Sam’s side. Dammit, this was confusing. Talk about two sets of memories… He lifts his hand and looks at the shine of the blood and his hearing cuts out again, voices stuck on repeat; a broken record.
“This is the only way.”
“The only -”
“- the only way -”
“Only -”
“Master -”
Flickers back, but he’s feeling himself fade. Right about now he’s hoping Gene’s not holding a grudge about him swiping his keys and taking the Cortina - which is now at the bottom of the river, won’t he be happy about that - and better have caught up with him, otherwise there may be trouble.
Sam Tyler has already passed on, only left as a memory in the corner of his mind. Possibly a bad memory. In his place is left the Master, who’d really rather hand-wave another regeneration, honestly. Which means he’s due for a restorative coma, and doesn’t that give that voice of Sam Tyler the chills, but he doesn’t get a say, he doesn’t exist; but then… the Master himself is a bit wary of it, himself. Off laying by a riverside, this leaves him completely vulnerable.
Just peachy.
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, before sending himself off.
“I wonder how worth it this all is.”
Lucy.
There’s yelling - lots of it, all from the same person: Gene Hunt. The Gene Genie. The Guv. He opens his eyes blurrily, then shuts them to the blinding light. Just why did Gene think having the light that bright seem like a good idea? Probably was thinking he deserved it, given the tone he was using.
“An’ this is what happens when you go prancin’ off on yer own! I told ya, Tyler, yer stuck here in this station until I say otherwise! Which means you can’t just go decidin’ to ignore my rules! They’re there for a reason, ya see?! Keepin’ you from gettin’ yerself in the messes you always manage! You poor sod, you’re supposed to listen to the Gene Genie!”
“Guv,” the Master chokes out, throat dry. His mind tries to catch up with itself, and he searches for an answer of how long he was out for, how long the healing took. It’d give him a good idea how long Gene’s been causing a racket. “Cortina’s in the river.”
That causes a moment of pause. Just a moment, and then Gene explodes louder than before. “WHAT?!”
The Master laughs, resting an arm over his eyes, and continues to shake with laughter until Gene grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him off the couch. His mind flares and the drumming suddenly thunders through him and he’s gasping and slumping towards the floor.
Sam Tyler never heard the drumming. Sam Tyler just heard everything else and had to go thinking he was insane, and then after the little suicide in 2006 (the Master’s not even going to try and figure that one out, let alone how Sam Tyler even existed in the first place), he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
Welcome back to square one.
Gene gives him another furious shake, and the Master can’t see a damn thing. For a moment, he thinks Lucy is there, standing in the light just right, and then she’s gone and there’s Gene’s anger. The Master’s head lolls back and a grin ghosts across his face. “You wouldn’t want it, anyway,” he drones, “blood on the seats.”
Gene throws him back on the couch and his mind clicks back into place; the drums become duller, more distant, hiding in some padding that the Master can’t comprehend.
“Blood on the jacket, too, thanks to you,” Gene snaps, waving a hand off towards a chair where the jacket lay across, a dark stain spread over it. He tenses and directs a finger sharply at the Master. “You were supposed to wait for me, Tyler! Not go flouncin’ off on yer own!”
“How long have I been out?”
“Do not go changin’ the subject on me!”
The Master leans forward and runs a hand down his face. “You should treat the injured better, Hunt.”
Gene kicks him in the shin and grabs the lapels of his jacket, but keeps him on the couch this time. “I’ll treat you how I damn well feel like it, Tyler. Call it penance for yer crimes.”
With a sneer, the Master grabs one of Gene’s hands and tears it off him, tightly gripping it until it starts turning white. He’s about had enough. “Stop calling me that,” he growls lowly, “that is not my name.”
“Oh, an’ what sorry name have you decided on this time? I thought yer crazy mouthin’ off days were done!” He tugs at his hand, then glowers when the other twists his wrist back. “For an injured bloke, you seem to be recoverin’ yer strength well enough.”
“My name is the Master,” he hisses, releasing Gene with a push. He stands, adjusts his sorry excuse for clothes, and glares Gene down. “And you will answer my questions.” He stalks towards Gene, but the Guv isn’t - and wouldn’t - backing down.
“Bit of a queer name, even for you, don’tcha think?” Gene grunts.
Throttling Gene right about now seems like the best course of action, and all of his mind is in agreement. He snaps forward, fight boiling in his veins, but before either of them can land a punch, he staggers passed Gene and thuds down to his knees, arms circling around his chest as pain burns through him.
“Tyler! Tyler! Dammit, you nonce!”
He thinks he’s really still in the river, sinking. He’s forgotten what being Sam Tyler is like. Pushed him away because they can’t possibly be the same person. He feels Time jerk around him, brokenly, and water rushes at him and blocks out the sight of Gene, of the room, of everything. All his senses die, except for Time, and even that is beginning to fade.
I can’t die, he thinks slowly, teetering to the side, No point to prove this time. Why am I not regenerating? What’ve you done to me, Sam Tyler? Why do you even bloody exist?!
He’s drowning. Air’s gone, it’s getting darker around him. But lo-and-behold - the siren that she is - Lucy walks through the waves towards him, smiling, all done up prettily with her red dress and all. Except… no, that’s wrong. He starts to remember her from the last time he saw her, and he feels like he’s dying -
but he can’t - he can’t - he
“Oh, Harry dear, I’m so sorry… Come back to me, please. Please don’t leave me, Harry.”
“You shot me!” he yells at her, voice straining. “You shot me! This is all your fault! I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!”
“Sam! Snap out of it! I didn’t shoot ya, Flint and his shoddy backup singers were the ones to do ya in! Think you’re allowed to die on me? No! Not on my watch!”
The Master stares up at Gene, the room clear again, everything as it should be, right as rain. Stuck in 1980, and he might just be okay with that, for now. He shuts his eyes again and wonders who he’s supposed to be - his personality should be the dominant one over Sam Tyler, but then why is the sod still giving him loud and clear opinions? He knows he hasn’t made it all into some bad sets of memories, as much as he wishes.
Maybe Gene stirred him out of that coma a bit too soon.
“Did you get Flint?” he asks, eyes barely open. He’s laying on his side on the flooring, Gene crouching nearby.
“The other three are on it. They’ll bag that bastard.” Gene laces his hands and gives the other a curious look. “DI Master. Are you kiddin’ me? Sorry, Dorothy, pick yourself a better bleedin’ name if you want to be playin’ around with a new game of yours.”
“It’s my name,” the Master mutters, but he’s too tired to put any more effort into this.
“Yeah, an’ I’ll be the tooth fairy in this round. Bloody ’ell, did they knock yer head around a few times? Wouldn’t surprise me.” He gets to his feet and moves away. “I need a drink.”
“How long was I out for?” he repeats the earlier question, slowly pushing into a sitting position, then leans himself against a wall, lazily watching Gene.
“Coupla hours. Found a fair amount of blood, but no wound. Want to tell me it was someone else’s?”
The Master feels around, checking to make sure everything has healed properly. Dried blood, no surprise there, but the wound is in fact gone. He’d probably be in the hospital otherwise, and wouldn’t that have been fun. He wonders if Gene noticed his double-heartbeat, or if he was just in too much of a panic to even care. Did Sam Tyler have it? He… had to. But then, if he did, why didn’t anyone throw a fuss? Was he already that far off the deep-end that no one felt like putting in the effort?
Likely better that way.
“Something’s going on here, Gene,” he starts to say, staring at his hand, running a thumb over his bare ring finger. How long has that been missing?
“I’m tellin’ you,” Gene replies, sloshing his whiskey around in the glass, “Flint’ll be behind bars in no time. You’re worryin’ over nothing. Just go back to gettin’ yer rest.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean.” Out of one ear he hears lab equipment - the tinkering of tools. He shakes his head to clear it. “Something’s… wrong, and I can’t explain it. And before you start blathering about it being ‘crazy nonsense again’ just shut it. By all right that sort of thing should be over, because I’ve died - more than once with this body. I’m not playing any game with you, Guv. But someone’s playing one with me.” He makes it back to his feet, finally. It’s shaky, but he manages.
Gene downs the last of his drink and is quick to pour another. “I’m not dealin’ with this escapade of yers. Some of us have work to do ’round these parts, an’ if you want to go an’ take a hike on us, then fine. See if I really care, Tyler.” He glares over the rim of his glass. “Go on then, scram.”
“Gene.” The man was insufferable. How’d he ever put up with him before?
Oh right. He was human. Or at least thought he was. He doesn’t know.
He steps over to the table where Gene has settled behind, and rests his palms onto the surface, looking surprisingly calm despite things - despite what he’s about to ask. “You’re the only one that can help me in this. There’s no one else that could put up with it.” Because in 1980, anything he says will sound crazy. He learned that lesson back in 1973. He’s out of his weapon of choice and he doubts he can make anything decent with the scraps of this place. “I can prove to you, Guv. Everything. I thought you trusted me?” He throws in a grin, just for good measure.
“Oh, sure, I trust ya, Tyler. When yer not walkin’ around with yer head up yer ass. What kind of evidence are we talkin’ about here?”
“The kind where you don’t even have to get up out of your chair.”
“Sounds like the good kind, then. Alright, Tyler. Prove to me once and for all that I shouldn’t have you committed.”
That request might be stretching it a bit much, because there’s a chance he won’t change Gene’s mind. There’s a very high chance that he’ll just feed the fire, but dammit, it’s a risk he needs to take. As much as it displeases him, Gene Hunt is an anchor. The Master won’t admit to needing one, but the whiny human Sam Tyler does, and if it shuts up that little Jiminy Cricket in the back of his mind, then the Master will do what he needs to in order to get Gene on his side.
He rounds the table, standing before Gene, and he quickly talks over him before the Guv can get some crack about turning homo on him again. “I probably should have mentioned that this ‘evidence’ won’t actually be very pleasant,” and that’s the only warning he gives Gene before he pushes his fingertips against the other’s temples and he opens their minds.
So easy when working with the paper thin layers of a human’s mind.
Chapter x02
If a person could fly by flailing their arms, DCI Gene Hunt would be soaring through the air now. There was too much. Far too much information for him to process. One moment it felt like he knew the man stepping up to him, and then in the next he’s seeing clashing images of that same man flash behind his eyes, but they both sear into his mind, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think.
I’m not human, Gene, the thought rolls against his mind and he groans, still trying to get away. Sam Tyler is some sort of enigmatic anomaly - to both me, and you. He’s all up-in-arms about getting hit by a car in 2006 and somehow waking up in 1973. You remember his crazy mess.
Gene does. He sees it, even without these other images being there, he remembers Sam Tyler and his bloody annoying ways of Hyde. He grew out of it, though. That’s what matters. He became part of their team, even with the slipups. He came back.
Threw himself off an office building to get back to you lot.
The Master jerks open doors of his own mind, but the memories are in a bit of ruin from being locked up so quick and poorly. They’re of 2006, of Sam trying to go through daily life, and then of finally caving in and accepting things for what they were and killing himself. Then in his frustration, the Master’s focus shifts to why he didn’t regenerate - why he did arrive back in 1973 where he left off. Unfortunately that detour gives Gene images of his past regenerations, of Time Lord nonsense.
It takes more flailing for the Master to resume their previous course.
So. Where were we? Right. Back in 1973, for a good ol’ seven years with your band of CID miscreants. Then we’ve got our most recent event - Flint’s crew. He grits his teeth when Gene’s mind actually retaliates at that, human emotion seeping out - anger, fear, panic, anger - and the drumbeat lashes out against Gene’s mind to shut it up. The Master shifts his grip. Long story short, Tyler and your precious Cortina end up in the river. Really, you’re better without all the finicky details.
It wasn’t as if the situation was fun for him.
Now that he’s here, looking over the memories closely, he’s finding blanks. He fishes through, frowning, trying to understand the exact moment that Sam Tyler took the backseat spot and the Master filtered through, where he belonged. He throws Gene images of the Master snapping out of it and making it to the surface, dragging himself onto the riverbank, but he can’t knock away his own confusion.
…What am I missing?
“Gonna need more booze after this, Tyler,” Gene drawls aloud, sounding groggy. “Lots. Need to get very, very drunk.”
Growing irritated, he throws more Time Lord concepts at Gene’s mind, expecting for him to continue flailing, but Gene hasn’t done much of that suddenly. And then a memory flutters to the surface, and then it’s barely there, gone like lightning. He sees Lucy leaning over him, face twisted up in what he interprets as despair, and she’s saying something he can’t make out. Then it’s all out there, his mind cracking open, memories spewing everywhere - the drumming tears through them - and he loses control as memories of this regeneration fall between them.
“Sam,” Gene says, breathing hard, “stop it. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
The Master hears the Doctor’s voice, yelling for him to stop, begging for him to understand - hell, he’s always trying to get things out of the Master -
Hands tighten around his arms and Gene’s voice breaks through again, sharp as a knife, and somehow Sam Tyler manages to surface again, over all the chaos that is the Master’s crooked mind. The Master staggers away from Gene, eyes wide, hands scorched. He watches Gene slump over the table, sweat coating his face, and all he can think of now is: Oh god, I’ve killed him.
But Gene gets words out. “Bleedin’ hell, Sam,” he moans, “I don’t want to know what the out-of-the-chair evidence would’ve been like.”
The Master falls against the nearest wall, keeping silent as he pulls things back together. Folds them up nice and tidy, as they belong. Gene’s drinking again, which may or may not be a good sign. Sure it means that he survived, but it also means that he’s seen a lot more than the Master ever intended.
“So you going to eventually migrate from DI to takin’ over the world?”
The Master just stares at him.
“’cause if you ask me, it’s too much effort,” Gene continues. “Fat load of rubbish, this place. You make a better copper than some poncey overlord. But what do I know, I’m only human, right?” His gaze narrows as he knocks back another one. The Master’s lost count on how many that’s been. “Except there’s two of ya, apparently. Too bad I lost the useful one. Think if we drown you again, Tyler will pop on back?”
Gene sways to his feet and grabs his jacket off the chair, swinging it over a shoulder. He tries to keep himself straight as he heads for the door, but his attitude doesn’t lighten up in the slightest. By the time his hand is on the knob, throwing open the door, it’s worsened. “By the way, you’re fired. For attempting to blow up the brains of yer superior officer.”
The Master actually jumps when the door slams shut on Gene’s way out. Fuck.
“Control of a situation - that’s how this works, do you understand?”
“People don’t just disappear. Isn’t that right, dear? Where are you? Come back to us. You want to come back, don’t you? Please dear, I need you.”
“You must keep control.”
“There’s only one way.”
“We’ll sort this one out, I promise. Just make sure to -”
The voices bleed together. They all sound the same, garbled, like they’re coming through white noise of the radio. He can’t tune in to anything else. Even a bit of music would be nice, aside from the drumming.
The Master slouches over his desktop, or Sam’s. Whichever. Technically he’s - they’re - fired, but with Gene running off to who-knows-where, someone has to be here when the other three get back, hopefully with Flint cuffed so that the Master can knee him in the groin. That’s getting control of a situation.
Bullshit. He shouldn’t be stressing about any of this. It isn’t his life.
“Sam? Sam, are you alright?”
He glances up through his fingers. Annie.
“Sam… why are you sitting here in the dark?” She repeats, “Are you alright?”
“Did you bring in Flint?” he asks.
She frowns. “No, Flint is still out there. Chris and Ray have some of the people who were protecting him, though.” She pushes him back into his chair as he starts to rise. “Sam, you should go home. You don’t look well. The Guv said you were hurt earlier… ah, where is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know, getting drunk probably.” He could take one of the flunkies around out back; no one would miss them. Beat him ’til he died. He really felt like killing someone right now. Bare-handed; made it best when you could feel their bones break… cheap, pathetic humans -
“Sam!”
“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps. “I’m fine, Annie.”
He’s still their DI, as far as they know. Chris has to listen to him as he takes one of the flunkies from the cell and drags him to Lost and Found, throwing him across the room and closing the door behind him. He cracks his neck back, stalking after his prey, drumming along the center table. “You’re going to tell me where that weasel Flint ran off to,” he tells the man coldly.
“I don’t know!”
“Oh? Is that so?” The Master leans down, taking a fistful of the man’s shirt and dragging him off the ground. “That’s really too bad for you. Are you sure you don’t know? Because I’m going to break all your little bones if I don’t get an answer.”
“I don’t know!” the man cries again, trembling. “Flint don’t tell us where his hiding places are! I swear! I swear I don’t know nothin’! Please, don’t, pl -”
He slams a fist across the man’s jaw, grinning at the resounding crack. “Didn’t you know? Asking me to stop only enc -”
“TYLER!”
The Master cocks his head back, staring towards the shadowy form in the doorway. He drops the man to the ground and straightens, casting a dark look in Gene’s direction. “What?” he snaps.
“You!” Gene says, pointing down at the man. “You better run right back to the plods and beg to be locked back up, or you’ll be regrettin’ it.” Without much hesitation, the man bolts. Gene crosses the room in only a few strides, and then he has the Master roughly shoved against a wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
“Let go of me,” the Master hisses.
“No. I bloody fired you, and I expect you to bloody well be gone!”
“Your fault that you left first, then. Now let me go, Hunt,” he grits out, ready to put up a fight, almost about to change tactics and urge Gene on, when to his surprise, Gene does release him. “What? Had enough, then?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve hangin’ ’round here still. It’s one thing if you were behavin’, another if you think you can piss all over the job an' ruin the only people we’ve got as sources.”
“As if you wouldn’t have roughed them up,” the Master sneers.
“I wouldn’t have tried to kill them!”
“You don’t know -”
Gene gets up-close-and-personal again, finger jabbing into the Master’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you can be one person one moment, an’ a complete other the next. Seems like a mystery to you, too. You want my help? You have to bloody earn it, Master.”
That’s enough for the Master’s anger to blink out instantly, and he stares blankly at Gene, as if he hadn’t expected the other to actually get anything out of what the Master had attempted to do, right until it botched up. “You’ll help me?” he asks, disbelief heavy in his voice. Sam Tyler drifts back to the surface, and the Master doesn’t even try to push ‘him’ back.
“I said ya have t’ earn it. Sam did it; not so sure you can manage it.”
“Control, we need to have control! And we’re losing it!”
“Don’t you see? It should be simple…”
“Co -”
“I don’t have seven years to spare.”
“Thought ya had a long lifespan, alien-bloke.”
“And I thought you wouldn’t have caught any of that.”
“Yeah, well, the Gene Genie’s brain is better than ya would’ve thought, then. Jus’ ’cause I’m human doesn’t make me insignificant, you got that? If it takes seven years, then it damn well takes seven years. You’re startin’ pretty low on the scale, see. Have a long way to work up to ’til you’re worthy of my help.”
The Master raises a brow, trying to decide if this ‘scale’ of Gene’s would actually do him any good. What was he expecting to get for help, if he ever ‘earned’ it? Because here’s the thing: Gene is human. The only reason he has any significance is because Sam Tyler seems so dead-set on him. Tyler’s a disease. A parasite. Can’t get rid of him, as if the idiot thinks he can try and shape the Master. He doesn’t need this.
“Fine,” the Master says at last, folding his arms. “You’ll see.”
“Oh, I better, you nonce.”
“I’m sorry… we’ve really lost him this time.”
“Imbeciles!”
[Next]
Character(s): The Master/Sam Tyler, the Doctor, Gene Hunt, Lucy Saxon
Summary: The Master and Sam Tyler: where do the lines end, where do they blur?
Pairing(s): Somewhere in the distant future the Master/Gene Hunt & the Doctor/the Master
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4,214
Warning(s): WTFery nature and probably some inconsistencies with Gene's voice, language
I always forget to update Teaspoon & An Open Mind. All the time. Ah well.
I waaaaas working on my help_haiti fic this morn' then somehow got distracted on my LOM/DW fic that has been on the backburner for ages... so I'm kind of pleased since I wrote about... 8 pages. I finally got over the point I was stuck at \o/ Currently has four chapters written.
It's probably cliche to play with John Simm in this way, but I'd like to think this is possibly original |D
This also reminds me that I still need to buy s2 of LOM.
Stop, Rewind - Repeat; Repeat Again
Chapter x01
“Do you hear me?”
“Can you hear me?”
“There’s only one way you can sort this out.”
“One way.”
“I thought you said we had him?”
“He escaped us, again!”
“How?!”
“I don’t bleedin’ know!”
“Get it figured out! Find him!”
Riverbank. Quite the familiar riverbank, actually, but he supposes they all look the same. He groans, rolls to his side, hears voices outside of him, all sounding the same, and - “Bloody hell,” he murmurs, “I thought you were done with the crazy, Tyler.” He’s soaking wet. He pushes onto his back, rests a hand over his front and feels his fingers sink into blood. That’s… not good. Why exactly is he by the riverbank again?
Crawled out of the river, right. After he was on the run, after a bullet skimmed his side - Sam’s side. Dammit, this was confusing. Talk about two sets of memories… He lifts his hand and looks at the shine of the blood and his hearing cuts out again, voices stuck on repeat; a broken record.
“This is the only way.”
“The only -”
“- the only way -”
“Only -”
“Master -”
Flickers back, but he’s feeling himself fade. Right about now he’s hoping Gene’s not holding a grudge about him swiping his keys and taking the Cortina - which is now at the bottom of the river, won’t he be happy about that - and better have caught up with him, otherwise there may be trouble.
Sam Tyler has already passed on, only left as a memory in the corner of his mind. Possibly a bad memory. In his place is left the Master, who’d really rather hand-wave another regeneration, honestly. Which means he’s due for a restorative coma, and doesn’t that give that voice of Sam Tyler the chills, but he doesn’t get a say, he doesn’t exist; but then… the Master himself is a bit wary of it, himself. Off laying by a riverside, this leaves him completely vulnerable.
Just peachy.
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, before sending himself off.
“I wonder how worth it this all is.”
Lucy.
There’s yelling - lots of it, all from the same person: Gene Hunt. The Gene Genie. The Guv. He opens his eyes blurrily, then shuts them to the blinding light. Just why did Gene think having the light that bright seem like a good idea? Probably was thinking he deserved it, given the tone he was using.
“An’ this is what happens when you go prancin’ off on yer own! I told ya, Tyler, yer stuck here in this station until I say otherwise! Which means you can’t just go decidin’ to ignore my rules! They’re there for a reason, ya see?! Keepin’ you from gettin’ yerself in the messes you always manage! You poor sod, you’re supposed to listen to the Gene Genie!”
“Guv,” the Master chokes out, throat dry. His mind tries to catch up with itself, and he searches for an answer of how long he was out for, how long the healing took. It’d give him a good idea how long Gene’s been causing a racket. “Cortina’s in the river.”
That causes a moment of pause. Just a moment, and then Gene explodes louder than before. “WHAT?!”
The Master laughs, resting an arm over his eyes, and continues to shake with laughter until Gene grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him off the couch. His mind flares and the drumming suddenly thunders through him and he’s gasping and slumping towards the floor.
Sam Tyler never heard the drumming. Sam Tyler just heard everything else and had to go thinking he was insane, and then after the little suicide in 2006 (the Master’s not even going to try and figure that one out, let alone how Sam Tyler even existed in the first place), he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
Welcome back to square one.
Gene gives him another furious shake, and the Master can’t see a damn thing. For a moment, he thinks Lucy is there, standing in the light just right, and then she’s gone and there’s Gene’s anger. The Master’s head lolls back and a grin ghosts across his face. “You wouldn’t want it, anyway,” he drones, “blood on the seats.”
Gene throws him back on the couch and his mind clicks back into place; the drums become duller, more distant, hiding in some padding that the Master can’t comprehend.
“Blood on the jacket, too, thanks to you,” Gene snaps, waving a hand off towards a chair where the jacket lay across, a dark stain spread over it. He tenses and directs a finger sharply at the Master. “You were supposed to wait for me, Tyler! Not go flouncin’ off on yer own!”
“How long have I been out?”
“Do not go changin’ the subject on me!”
The Master leans forward and runs a hand down his face. “You should treat the injured better, Hunt.”
Gene kicks him in the shin and grabs the lapels of his jacket, but keeps him on the couch this time. “I’ll treat you how I damn well feel like it, Tyler. Call it penance for yer crimes.”
With a sneer, the Master grabs one of Gene’s hands and tears it off him, tightly gripping it until it starts turning white. He’s about had enough. “Stop calling me that,” he growls lowly, “that is not my name.”
“Oh, an’ what sorry name have you decided on this time? I thought yer crazy mouthin’ off days were done!” He tugs at his hand, then glowers when the other twists his wrist back. “For an injured bloke, you seem to be recoverin’ yer strength well enough.”
“My name is the Master,” he hisses, releasing Gene with a push. He stands, adjusts his sorry excuse for clothes, and glares Gene down. “And you will answer my questions.” He stalks towards Gene, but the Guv isn’t - and wouldn’t - backing down.
“Bit of a queer name, even for you, don’tcha think?” Gene grunts.
Throttling Gene right about now seems like the best course of action, and all of his mind is in agreement. He snaps forward, fight boiling in his veins, but before either of them can land a punch, he staggers passed Gene and thuds down to his knees, arms circling around his chest as pain burns through him.
“Tyler! Tyler! Dammit, you nonce!”
He thinks he’s really still in the river, sinking. He’s forgotten what being Sam Tyler is like. Pushed him away because they can’t possibly be the same person. He feels Time jerk around him, brokenly, and water rushes at him and blocks out the sight of Gene, of the room, of everything. All his senses die, except for Time, and even that is beginning to fade.
I can’t die, he thinks slowly, teetering to the side, No point to prove this time. Why am I not regenerating? What’ve you done to me, Sam Tyler? Why do you even bloody exist?!
He’s drowning. Air’s gone, it’s getting darker around him. But lo-and-behold - the siren that she is - Lucy walks through the waves towards him, smiling, all done up prettily with her red dress and all. Except… no, that’s wrong. He starts to remember her from the last time he saw her, and he feels like he’s dying -
but he can’t - he can’t - he
“Oh, Harry dear, I’m so sorry… Come back to me, please. Please don’t leave me, Harry.”
“You shot me!” he yells at her, voice straining. “You shot me! This is all your fault! I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!”
“Sam! Snap out of it! I didn’t shoot ya, Flint and his shoddy backup singers were the ones to do ya in! Think you’re allowed to die on me? No! Not on my watch!”
The Master stares up at Gene, the room clear again, everything as it should be, right as rain. Stuck in 1980, and he might just be okay with that, for now. He shuts his eyes again and wonders who he’s supposed to be - his personality should be the dominant one over Sam Tyler, but then why is the sod still giving him loud and clear opinions? He knows he hasn’t made it all into some bad sets of memories, as much as he wishes.
Maybe Gene stirred him out of that coma a bit too soon.
“Did you get Flint?” he asks, eyes barely open. He’s laying on his side on the flooring, Gene crouching nearby.
“The other three are on it. They’ll bag that bastard.” Gene laces his hands and gives the other a curious look. “DI Master. Are you kiddin’ me? Sorry, Dorothy, pick yourself a better bleedin’ name if you want to be playin’ around with a new game of yours.”
“It’s my name,” the Master mutters, but he’s too tired to put any more effort into this.
“Yeah, an’ I’ll be the tooth fairy in this round. Bloody ’ell, did they knock yer head around a few times? Wouldn’t surprise me.” He gets to his feet and moves away. “I need a drink.”
“How long was I out for?” he repeats the earlier question, slowly pushing into a sitting position, then leans himself against a wall, lazily watching Gene.
“Coupla hours. Found a fair amount of blood, but no wound. Want to tell me it was someone else’s?”
The Master feels around, checking to make sure everything has healed properly. Dried blood, no surprise there, but the wound is in fact gone. He’d probably be in the hospital otherwise, and wouldn’t that have been fun. He wonders if Gene noticed his double-heartbeat, or if he was just in too much of a panic to even care. Did Sam Tyler have it? He… had to. But then, if he did, why didn’t anyone throw a fuss? Was he already that far off the deep-end that no one felt like putting in the effort?
Likely better that way.
“Something’s going on here, Gene,” he starts to say, staring at his hand, running a thumb over his bare ring finger. How long has that been missing?
“I’m tellin’ you,” Gene replies, sloshing his whiskey around in the glass, “Flint’ll be behind bars in no time. You’re worryin’ over nothing. Just go back to gettin’ yer rest.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean.” Out of one ear he hears lab equipment - the tinkering of tools. He shakes his head to clear it. “Something’s… wrong, and I can’t explain it. And before you start blathering about it being ‘crazy nonsense again’ just shut it. By all right that sort of thing should be over, because I’ve died - more than once with this body. I’m not playing any game with you, Guv. But someone’s playing one with me.” He makes it back to his feet, finally. It’s shaky, but he manages.
Gene downs the last of his drink and is quick to pour another. “I’m not dealin’ with this escapade of yers. Some of us have work to do ’round these parts, an’ if you want to go an’ take a hike on us, then fine. See if I really care, Tyler.” He glares over the rim of his glass. “Go on then, scram.”
“Gene.” The man was insufferable. How’d he ever put up with him before?
Oh right. He was human. Or at least thought he was. He doesn’t know.
He steps over to the table where Gene has settled behind, and rests his palms onto the surface, looking surprisingly calm despite things - despite what he’s about to ask. “You’re the only one that can help me in this. There’s no one else that could put up with it.” Because in 1980, anything he says will sound crazy. He learned that lesson back in 1973. He’s out of his weapon of choice and he doubts he can make anything decent with the scraps of this place. “I can prove to you, Guv. Everything. I thought you trusted me?” He throws in a grin, just for good measure.
“Oh, sure, I trust ya, Tyler. When yer not walkin’ around with yer head up yer ass. What kind of evidence are we talkin’ about here?”
“The kind where you don’t even have to get up out of your chair.”
“Sounds like the good kind, then. Alright, Tyler. Prove to me once and for all that I shouldn’t have you committed.”
That request might be stretching it a bit much, because there’s a chance he won’t change Gene’s mind. There’s a very high chance that he’ll just feed the fire, but dammit, it’s a risk he needs to take. As much as it displeases him, Gene Hunt is an anchor. The Master won’t admit to needing one, but the whiny human Sam Tyler does, and if it shuts up that little Jiminy Cricket in the back of his mind, then the Master will do what he needs to in order to get Gene on his side.
He rounds the table, standing before Gene, and he quickly talks over him before the Guv can get some crack about turning homo on him again. “I probably should have mentioned that this ‘evidence’ won’t actually be very pleasant,” and that’s the only warning he gives Gene before he pushes his fingertips against the other’s temples and he opens their minds.
So easy when working with the paper thin layers of a human’s mind.
Chapter x02
If a person could fly by flailing their arms, DCI Gene Hunt would be soaring through the air now. There was too much. Far too much information for him to process. One moment it felt like he knew the man stepping up to him, and then in the next he’s seeing clashing images of that same man flash behind his eyes, but they both sear into his mind, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think.
I’m not human, Gene, the thought rolls against his mind and he groans, still trying to get away. Sam Tyler is some sort of enigmatic anomaly - to both me, and you. He’s all up-in-arms about getting hit by a car in 2006 and somehow waking up in 1973. You remember his crazy mess.
Gene does. He sees it, even without these other images being there, he remembers Sam Tyler and his bloody annoying ways of Hyde. He grew out of it, though. That’s what matters. He became part of their team, even with the slipups. He came back.
Threw himself off an office building to get back to you lot.
The Master jerks open doors of his own mind, but the memories are in a bit of ruin from being locked up so quick and poorly. They’re of 2006, of Sam trying to go through daily life, and then of finally caving in and accepting things for what they were and killing himself. Then in his frustration, the Master’s focus shifts to why he didn’t regenerate - why he did arrive back in 1973 where he left off. Unfortunately that detour gives Gene images of his past regenerations, of Time Lord nonsense.
It takes more flailing for the Master to resume their previous course.
So. Where were we? Right. Back in 1973, for a good ol’ seven years with your band of CID miscreants. Then we’ve got our most recent event - Flint’s crew. He grits his teeth when Gene’s mind actually retaliates at that, human emotion seeping out - anger, fear, panic, anger - and the drumbeat lashes out against Gene’s mind to shut it up. The Master shifts his grip. Long story short, Tyler and your precious Cortina end up in the river. Really, you’re better without all the finicky details.
It wasn’t as if the situation was fun for him.
Now that he’s here, looking over the memories closely, he’s finding blanks. He fishes through, frowning, trying to understand the exact moment that Sam Tyler took the backseat spot and the Master filtered through, where he belonged. He throws Gene images of the Master snapping out of it and making it to the surface, dragging himself onto the riverbank, but he can’t knock away his own confusion.
…What am I missing?
“Gonna need more booze after this, Tyler,” Gene drawls aloud, sounding groggy. “Lots. Need to get very, very drunk.”
Growing irritated, he throws more Time Lord concepts at Gene’s mind, expecting for him to continue flailing, but Gene hasn’t done much of that suddenly. And then a memory flutters to the surface, and then it’s barely there, gone like lightning. He sees Lucy leaning over him, face twisted up in what he interprets as despair, and she’s saying something he can’t make out. Then it’s all out there, his mind cracking open, memories spewing everywhere - the drumming tears through them - and he loses control as memories of this regeneration fall between them.
“Sam,” Gene says, breathing hard, “stop it. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
The Master hears the Doctor’s voice, yelling for him to stop, begging for him to understand - hell, he’s always trying to get things out of the Master -
Hands tighten around his arms and Gene’s voice breaks through again, sharp as a knife, and somehow Sam Tyler manages to surface again, over all the chaos that is the Master’s crooked mind. The Master staggers away from Gene, eyes wide, hands scorched. He watches Gene slump over the table, sweat coating his face, and all he can think of now is: Oh god, I’ve killed him.
But Gene gets words out. “Bleedin’ hell, Sam,” he moans, “I don’t want to know what the out-of-the-chair evidence would’ve been like.”
The Master falls against the nearest wall, keeping silent as he pulls things back together. Folds them up nice and tidy, as they belong. Gene’s drinking again, which may or may not be a good sign. Sure it means that he survived, but it also means that he’s seen a lot more than the Master ever intended.
“So you going to eventually migrate from DI to takin’ over the world?”
The Master just stares at him.
“’cause if you ask me, it’s too much effort,” Gene continues. “Fat load of rubbish, this place. You make a better copper than some poncey overlord. But what do I know, I’m only human, right?” His gaze narrows as he knocks back another one. The Master’s lost count on how many that’s been. “Except there’s two of ya, apparently. Too bad I lost the useful one. Think if we drown you again, Tyler will pop on back?”
Gene sways to his feet and grabs his jacket off the chair, swinging it over a shoulder. He tries to keep himself straight as he heads for the door, but his attitude doesn’t lighten up in the slightest. By the time his hand is on the knob, throwing open the door, it’s worsened. “By the way, you’re fired. For attempting to blow up the brains of yer superior officer.”
The Master actually jumps when the door slams shut on Gene’s way out. Fuck.
“Control of a situation - that’s how this works, do you understand?”
“People don’t just disappear. Isn’t that right, dear? Where are you? Come back to us. You want to come back, don’t you? Please dear, I need you.”
“You must keep control.”
“There’s only one way.”
“We’ll sort this one out, I promise. Just make sure to -”
The voices bleed together. They all sound the same, garbled, like they’re coming through white noise of the radio. He can’t tune in to anything else. Even a bit of music would be nice, aside from the drumming.
The Master slouches over his desktop, or Sam’s. Whichever. Technically he’s - they’re - fired, but with Gene running off to who-knows-where, someone has to be here when the other three get back, hopefully with Flint cuffed so that the Master can knee him in the groin. That’s getting control of a situation.
Bullshit. He shouldn’t be stressing about any of this. It isn’t his life.
“Sam? Sam, are you alright?”
He glances up through his fingers. Annie.
“Sam… why are you sitting here in the dark?” She repeats, “Are you alright?”
“Did you bring in Flint?” he asks.
She frowns. “No, Flint is still out there. Chris and Ray have some of the people who were protecting him, though.” She pushes him back into his chair as he starts to rise. “Sam, you should go home. You don’t look well. The Guv said you were hurt earlier… ah, where is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know, getting drunk probably.” He could take one of the flunkies around out back; no one would miss them. Beat him ’til he died. He really felt like killing someone right now. Bare-handed; made it best when you could feel their bones break… cheap, pathetic humans -
“Sam!”
“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps. “I’m fine, Annie.”
He’s still their DI, as far as they know. Chris has to listen to him as he takes one of the flunkies from the cell and drags him to Lost and Found, throwing him across the room and closing the door behind him. He cracks his neck back, stalking after his prey, drumming along the center table. “You’re going to tell me where that weasel Flint ran off to,” he tells the man coldly.
“I don’t know!”
“Oh? Is that so?” The Master leans down, taking a fistful of the man’s shirt and dragging him off the ground. “That’s really too bad for you. Are you sure you don’t know? Because I’m going to break all your little bones if I don’t get an answer.”
“I don’t know!” the man cries again, trembling. “Flint don’t tell us where his hiding places are! I swear! I swear I don’t know nothin’! Please, don’t, pl -”
He slams a fist across the man’s jaw, grinning at the resounding crack. “Didn’t you know? Asking me to stop only enc -”
“TYLER!”
The Master cocks his head back, staring towards the shadowy form in the doorway. He drops the man to the ground and straightens, casting a dark look in Gene’s direction. “What?” he snaps.
“You!” Gene says, pointing down at the man. “You better run right back to the plods and beg to be locked back up, or you’ll be regrettin’ it.” Without much hesitation, the man bolts. Gene crosses the room in only a few strides, and then he has the Master roughly shoved against a wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.
“Let go of me,” the Master hisses.
“No. I bloody fired you, and I expect you to bloody well be gone!”
“Your fault that you left first, then. Now let me go, Hunt,” he grits out, ready to put up a fight, almost about to change tactics and urge Gene on, when to his surprise, Gene does release him. “What? Had enough, then?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve hangin’ ’round here still. It’s one thing if you were behavin’, another if you think you can piss all over the job an' ruin the only people we’ve got as sources.”
“As if you wouldn’t have roughed them up,” the Master sneers.
“I wouldn’t have tried to kill them!”
“You don’t know -”
Gene gets up-close-and-personal again, finger jabbing into the Master’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you can be one person one moment, an’ a complete other the next. Seems like a mystery to you, too. You want my help? You have to bloody earn it, Master.”
That’s enough for the Master’s anger to blink out instantly, and he stares blankly at Gene, as if he hadn’t expected the other to actually get anything out of what the Master had attempted to do, right until it botched up. “You’ll help me?” he asks, disbelief heavy in his voice. Sam Tyler drifts back to the surface, and the Master doesn’t even try to push ‘him’ back.
“I said ya have t’ earn it. Sam did it; not so sure you can manage it.”
“Control, we need to have control! And we’re losing it!”
“Don’t you see? It should be simple…”
“Co -”
“I don’t have seven years to spare.”
“Thought ya had a long lifespan, alien-bloke.”
“And I thought you wouldn’t have caught any of that.”
“Yeah, well, the Gene Genie’s brain is better than ya would’ve thought, then. Jus’ ’cause I’m human doesn’t make me insignificant, you got that? If it takes seven years, then it damn well takes seven years. You’re startin’ pretty low on the scale, see. Have a long way to work up to ’til you’re worthy of my help.”
The Master raises a brow, trying to decide if this ‘scale’ of Gene’s would actually do him any good. What was he expecting to get for help, if he ever ‘earned’ it? Because here’s the thing: Gene is human. The only reason he has any significance is because Sam Tyler seems so dead-set on him. Tyler’s a disease. A parasite. Can’t get rid of him, as if the idiot thinks he can try and shape the Master. He doesn’t need this.
“Fine,” the Master says at last, folding his arms. “You’ll see.”
“Oh, I better, you nonce.”
“I’m sorry… we’ve really lost him this time.”
“Imbeciles!”
[Next]