(no subject)
title: Captivity
author: briodenebuliser
pairing: 10/Master/Lucy
word count: 590
rated: G
disclaimer: spoiler "Sound of the Drums"
summary: conversations between 10 and Lucy on captivity. Humor mostly.
“...and I had to use a frequency multiplier to the proper neuro-electric field strength, so the Piezoelectric transmitter could work with the least resistance.” the Master said, sipping his coffee.
Lucy smiled, not understanding. “He used crystals to brainwash everyone.” the Doctor translated, studying his nails as best as his restraints allowed. “What'd you use, Langasite?”
Cats didn't looked this smug. “Polyvinylidene fluoride, got it on sale from the Kremlin.” the Master replied.
“Ya know you could do the same thing if you had a loooooooooooot of sugar?”
“I'd need...” they both paused to calculate, “7,215---” “No, 18,000---” “No, for the whole country? You'd need---” “3.2 million metric tons of sugar!” the Master concluded.
“Diabetes for everybody this Christmas!” the Doctor cried out cheerfully before his nose got the working end of Master's coffee mug.
The three of them had been having breakfast together more and more frequently. Lucy would unravel her napkin thread by thread while smiling encouragingly.
In the beginning, she slept all the time. She would stare at her toiletries, and wonder if she could make a bomb out of toothpaste and orange juice.
She would spend hours breathing on the glass and writing RESCUE ME with her finger.
At night, she visited the Doctor whenever Harold was away. He'd be asleep, but she didn't want to be alone. The Master had stocked his cell with harmless mometoes from the TARDIS, and she would take down all the objects on a shelf and rearrange them according to size and color.
One time, the Doctor woke up. “So is this side of the room accelerating away from me?”
“What?” she asked, almost dropping the vase in her hand.
“You got all the red bits on that side. Well, the chartbooks are orangey....well, actually I thought they'd look more authoritative if the pages were yellowed, so I boiled 'em in turmeric this one time...”
She put the vase back and began to silently walk back to the exit. “And don't try turmeric as a skin-lightener, did that once before a friend's wedding and everyone thought I had liver failure.” he continued.
She cracked up laughing. It had been weeks since she last laughed, and it came out like a cough. “That's awful.” she replied.
“Eh, photos were black and white back then, wouldna noticed.”
She turned a fraction sideways toward him. “When Harold and I were married, it took hours for the newspapers to finish photographing us. I smiled so much my face froze up.”
“You miss it?” he asked.
What, she wondered, the way things used to be? “I miss the people sometimes. You all are so smart, I can't always follow...”
“Pfft.” he said, motioning to the books on his shelf, “You got all the time in the world now, plenty to catch up on. Besides, he just likes to show off, I bet with a little hard work you'd be calculating the strain-charge for poled piezoelectric ceramics with one hand behind your back!”
Her eyes watered at the immensity of those shelves. “Harold frightens me.” she whispered.
“You and everyone else.” he replied, “But what scares you more?” he asked.
She turned another fraction towards him, this one thought of hers padding back and forth in captivity until now. “That rescuers will come and be even worse.”
She looked down at the vase in her hand for the first time. “What did you keep in here?” she asked.
“Roses.” he said.
“Where are they now?”
He looked away, smiling. “Anywhere but here.”