Fic: Smith and Saxon
Title: Smith and Saxon
Pairing: Simm!Master as Harold Saxon/Tenth Doctor as John Smith
Rating: PG right now, going to be very NC 17 soon if the Master has anything to say about it
Summary: This plot bunny bit me on the ass last night and wouldn't let go until I got some of it out this morning. What is better than Simm!Master preying on sweet John Smith? I dunno.....I am not sure there is anything better. This part is the set up people, there is plot going on and everything. Aren't you proud of me?
Disclaimer: I wish I owned any of these characters, or that they owned me....That would be lovely too.
Harold Saxon sits, observing, arms crossed in front of his chest as he fidgets awkwardly at the small desk in the back of the classroom. He studies the teacher, the way he moves excitedly, almost nervously as he spreads the wealth of his knowledge to the young class of children before him. He speaks in almost as frenzied a way as he moves, his Scottish brogue thickening with each sentence, the wonder in his voice over something as simple as basic earth science truly winning over their young minds. The bell sounding the end of class rings and the children bustle about while Mr. Smith reminds them of tests and homework assignments.
There are whispers as the children pass by Mr. Saxon, the sort that comes with seeing a new face around such an old establishment. Truly new faces were rare in these halls; most of the students in the small town having come from families who also spent their formative years here. He waves at two girls as they walk by, sending them off in a fit of adolescent giggles before he notices the man in front of him, hand extended in greeting. He stands to meet his gaze, pauses for a before the accepts the greeting, placing his own hand out for a firm handshake, the grasp lingering a touch longer than normal standards before he releases his grip, clearing his throat.
He turns his head in the direction of the two girls briefly before turning his attention back to the company at hand. “Sorry...girls.”
“It’s alright, happens to me a lot. Name’s Mr. Smith, sir, John Smith. You must be Saxon?” Mr. Smith smiles at him, grinning as he removes his thick rimmed glasses, revealing ancient eyes in such a young face.
“Harold Saxon, that’d be me. Nice to meet you Mister...Smith.” Saxon could do nothing but stare for a moment, caught up in the eyes of a man he thought to be long dead.
“Are you alright?” Smith asks. “You look you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Saxon.”
“Ghost...No. Sorry, again. And call me Harold, Harry even. You just...Have we met before?” Saxon asks, sure of the answer but needing to hear it.
“No, don’t think we have, sir.” Smith replies.
“You’re sure? Never been to London maybe?” Saxon walks out from behind the desk.
“No, ‘fraid not, sir. Been here just about my whole life, never much liked to travel.” Smith watches as this new teacher takes in his classroom. “Guess I just have one of those familiar faces.”
“Right, that’s it. Sorry.” He looks around the room some more. “Science then? Fascinating subject, I always thought had it not been for my love of language, that I might teach some sort of science; quantum physics maybe, perhaps molecular science. Alas, I ended up teaching literature and the finer points of the English language.”
“Molecular science...Don’t get many interested in such a thing around here, other than me anyway. And you, a proper scholar, straight from London with his love of words and literature; we should be humbled.” Smith bows in a light hearted fashion at Saxon; an easy rapport has quickly been established.
“Well, if you must.” Saxon bows back before walking out of the classroom and down the hall towards his own. He stops after a few steps, feeling those old eyes still upon him. “Fancy a drink later? Perhaps a favourite pub?”
Smith’s smile fades a bit and his eyes fall in a shy manner to the floor. “Yeah. Yeah sure, maybe for supper.”
“That would be...It’d be great. See, I don’t know anyone here and...Wait, I won’t be getting you into trouble with the missus or anything now...” Saxon’s skin crawls with anticipation of this dance.
“Oh, no...No missus, just me. Red Lion, end of the road here. Say around six?” Smith raises his eyes to meet Saxon’s.
“Great. Thanks Mr. Smith...John. Can I call you John? Thanks John.” And he’s off, down the hallway, reeling. He stops at the last door on the left, looking back down the hallway to Smith’s classroom. He feels a chill as he opens the door, laughing and talking to himself. “I’m not feeling so good. I think I need a Doctor.”
**
Six o’clock turns into seven and then eight and before they know it, the dusky old bar is near empty. “I think we’ve cleared the place.” Saxon says as he tips another pint down his throat. Smith looks around as he places his own mug down on the sticky wood table. “What time is it?” He asks; an evident slur to his words.
Saxon looks up and down the oblivious Smith, eyes starting at his characteristic face, following down his graceful neck, over his slim torso and ending on elegant fingers dancing over a chain of silver, leading to a small pocket in his waistcoat. “Isn’t that a watch?”
“Sorry?” Smith asks.
“You asked the time, but isn’t that a watch you have there?” Saxon’s eyes widen a bit.
Smith looks confused for a moment before he pulls out the beautiful piece, laying it out on the table before them. “Oh, you mean this. Yeah, at least I think it is. It’s broken.”
“Shame, it’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?” Saxon skirts his fingers over the watch, every cell in his body responding to the call of it, every fibre of his being tingling.
“My father, I think. Don’t really know, he died when I was young; I just assumed....It’s never worked. Can’t get the damned thing open.” Smith brings his hands to the top of the watch, fingertips grazing against Saxon. A beat passes, the air suddenly feels thick and the many pints of beer threaten to come back up against Smith’s throat. He shakes his head, trying to will away overwhelming sensation. He grabs at the watch, pulls it away from the table, away from Saxon. He holds it still in his trembling hands.
“Are you alright?” He hears his new friend ask, the voice sounds distant. He shakes his head again, feeling faint, rising up from the table only to stumble back down.
“...Doctor...” Smith hears Saxon say.
Doctor.
“What?” He asks, unable to hear Saxon though he sits feet from him. “I don’t feel so...I can’t hear anything...”
“Do you need someone, friend. A Doctor?” Saxon reaches his hands out across the table to Smith, now slumped in his seat.
Doctor.
Pairing: Simm!Master as Harold Saxon/Tenth Doctor as John Smith
Rating: PG right now, going to be very NC 17 soon if the Master has anything to say about it
Summary: This plot bunny bit me on the ass last night and wouldn't let go until I got some of it out this morning. What is better than Simm!Master preying on sweet John Smith? I dunno.....I am not sure there is anything better. This part is the set up people, there is plot going on and everything. Aren't you proud of me?
Disclaimer: I wish I owned any of these characters, or that they owned me....That would be lovely too.
Harold Saxon sits, observing, arms crossed in front of his chest as he fidgets awkwardly at the small desk in the back of the classroom. He studies the teacher, the way he moves excitedly, almost nervously as he spreads the wealth of his knowledge to the young class of children before him. He speaks in almost as frenzied a way as he moves, his Scottish brogue thickening with each sentence, the wonder in his voice over something as simple as basic earth science truly winning over their young minds. The bell sounding the end of class rings and the children bustle about while Mr. Smith reminds them of tests and homework assignments.
There are whispers as the children pass by Mr. Saxon, the sort that comes with seeing a new face around such an old establishment. Truly new faces were rare in these halls; most of the students in the small town having come from families who also spent their formative years here. He waves at two girls as they walk by, sending them off in a fit of adolescent giggles before he notices the man in front of him, hand extended in greeting. He stands to meet his gaze, pauses for a before the accepts the greeting, placing his own hand out for a firm handshake, the grasp lingering a touch longer than normal standards before he releases his grip, clearing his throat.
He turns his head in the direction of the two girls briefly before turning his attention back to the company at hand. “Sorry...girls.”
“It’s alright, happens to me a lot. Name’s Mr. Smith, sir, John Smith. You must be Saxon?” Mr. Smith smiles at him, grinning as he removes his thick rimmed glasses, revealing ancient eyes in such a young face.
“Harold Saxon, that’d be me. Nice to meet you Mister...Smith.” Saxon could do nothing but stare for a moment, caught up in the eyes of a man he thought to be long dead.
“Are you alright?” Smith asks. “You look you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Saxon.”
“Ghost...No. Sorry, again. And call me Harold, Harry even. You just...Have we met before?” Saxon asks, sure of the answer but needing to hear it.
“No, don’t think we have, sir.” Smith replies.
“You’re sure? Never been to London maybe?” Saxon walks out from behind the desk.
“No, ‘fraid not, sir. Been here just about my whole life, never much liked to travel.” Smith watches as this new teacher takes in his classroom. “Guess I just have one of those familiar faces.”
“Right, that’s it. Sorry.” He looks around the room some more. “Science then? Fascinating subject, I always thought had it not been for my love of language, that I might teach some sort of science; quantum physics maybe, perhaps molecular science. Alas, I ended up teaching literature and the finer points of the English language.”
“Molecular science...Don’t get many interested in such a thing around here, other than me anyway. And you, a proper scholar, straight from London with his love of words and literature; we should be humbled.” Smith bows in a light hearted fashion at Saxon; an easy rapport has quickly been established.
“Well, if you must.” Saxon bows back before walking out of the classroom and down the hall towards his own. He stops after a few steps, feeling those old eyes still upon him. “Fancy a drink later? Perhaps a favourite pub?”
Smith’s smile fades a bit and his eyes fall in a shy manner to the floor. “Yeah. Yeah sure, maybe for supper.”
“That would be...It’d be great. See, I don’t know anyone here and...Wait, I won’t be getting you into trouble with the missus or anything now...” Saxon’s skin crawls with anticipation of this dance.
“Oh, no...No missus, just me. Red Lion, end of the road here. Say around six?” Smith raises his eyes to meet Saxon’s.
“Great. Thanks Mr. Smith...John. Can I call you John? Thanks John.” And he’s off, down the hallway, reeling. He stops at the last door on the left, looking back down the hallway to Smith’s classroom. He feels a chill as he opens the door, laughing and talking to himself. “I’m not feeling so good. I think I need a Doctor.”
**
Six o’clock turns into seven and then eight and before they know it, the dusky old bar is near empty. “I think we’ve cleared the place.” Saxon says as he tips another pint down his throat. Smith looks around as he places his own mug down on the sticky wood table. “What time is it?” He asks; an evident slur to his words.
Saxon looks up and down the oblivious Smith, eyes starting at his characteristic face, following down his graceful neck, over his slim torso and ending on elegant fingers dancing over a chain of silver, leading to a small pocket in his waistcoat. “Isn’t that a watch?”
“Sorry?” Smith asks.
“You asked the time, but isn’t that a watch you have there?” Saxon’s eyes widen a bit.
Smith looks confused for a moment before he pulls out the beautiful piece, laying it out on the table before them. “Oh, you mean this. Yeah, at least I think it is. It’s broken.”
“Shame, it’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?” Saxon skirts his fingers over the watch, every cell in his body responding to the call of it, every fibre of his being tingling.
“My father, I think. Don’t really know, he died when I was young; I just assumed....It’s never worked. Can’t get the damned thing open.” Smith brings his hands to the top of the watch, fingertips grazing against Saxon. A beat passes, the air suddenly feels thick and the many pints of beer threaten to come back up against Smith’s throat. He shakes his head, trying to will away overwhelming sensation. He grabs at the watch, pulls it away from the table, away from Saxon. He holds it still in his trembling hands.
“Are you alright?” He hears his new friend ask, the voice sounds distant. He shakes his head again, feeling faint, rising up from the table only to stumble back down.
“...Doctor...” Smith hears Saxon say.
Doctor.
“What?” He asks, unable to hear Saxon though he sits feet from him. “I don’t feel so...I can’t hear anything...”
“Do you need someone, friend. A Doctor?” Saxon reaches his hands out across the table to Smith, now slumped in his seat.
Doctor.