Whew, six down, one more to go...

Jul 02, 2007 22:24

Title: Wasted
Pairing: Saxon/Lucy, touch of Master/Doctor
Rating: NC-17 - for all bad things that bad, bad people do.
Disclaimers: If I owned Doctor Who, then John Simm would be my bestest friend. Spoilers all the way through to "Last of the Time Lords".
Author's Notes:
All right, I'll admit it. I probably went AU with this, because how the heck do I really know what RTD was doing with this? But this is what I believe was really going down, so nyeah, Rusty. Besides, everything after this is going to be out of canon anyways, right? Right.
Summary: Every couple needs to fight, and fight dirty.

Previous parts of Bless:

Here Come The Drums
Devil Inside
Domesticity
Bassinet
Blood Calls To Blood


~~~~~

The thing was, in the beginning, she thought it would work. It certainly made sense - even with the paradox machine. As Harry had said, it had a certain dramatic irony that you just could find delicious. The human race, destroyed by its own fallacies, by its own progeny.

It wasn’t until she went to the end of the Universe, and saw what they were doing to themselves, that her father’s words came back to her. Those words had taken the place of the silence, her father’s chilling advice on the day of his death repeating in her head. She wondered if this was how Harry felt - the same words, over and over again - until you felt you should just go mad out of self-defense.

She looked at the last of the human race, her children’s children, children’s, children - and she heard her father, clear as day. It’s going to fail, Lucy. It’s all going to fail. And you’re going to have to be the one strong enough to save you both.
~~~~~~~

Acting lost and broken was actually the easy part.

In fact, it was so pathetically easy; she couldn’t believe it. She could not believe the arrogance of Time Lords. She thought it would take her much longer to get the Doctor to stop paying attention to her; months at the most. But no, whatever he was doing inside of his own head, he seemed to consider her a poor, lost lamb. She just had to wander in looking vague once or twice, and he turned the keen brown gaze that remained in that sunken face away from her and out at the window again. One whole week and she was already beneath his almighty notice.

She hated him even more for that.

The rest of the ‘staff’, if that was what one could call the Jones, the rest of the subjugated and politicians, and the mindless goons who stood around with guns, not to mention the Freak - well, they were just sad, really. At first they kept on trying to appeal to her, and she felt for them, she honestly did. They just didn’t understand what Harry was trying to do - build a better world for all of them. Of course, what they also didn’t understand, the addled fools, that it was all for naught. That they didn’t know what the Toclafane were should have just tipped her off in the first place. But humans never wanted to face their darker sides.

She learned how to embrace hers, long ago. Besides, she wasn’t here to save them. She’d leave that up to their precious Time Lord God.

It was Harry she was worried about. Harry hadn’t noticed any sort of difference - but that could be that he was far too busy. He had the world to rule, and if that wasn’t enough, those damned little balls were whispering that they wanted to out; out and out and out. Listen to the drums; they seemed to be saying, with every childish word. Listen to the drums and take us out to destroy, our dear Mister Master.

He had rarely slept before, but now when he did, he cried out in his dreams. Here, at least, she could still be his Lucy, so her arms wrapped him, cushioning him from the rest of the world. He destroyed it, but what all these fools lacked to see that it was going to end up destroying him.

All the time, her father whispered in her ear. He’ll need you to be the predator, not the hunter. Hunters, like your idiot brother, tromp around with their guns and their bright orange vests, and scare the prey all willy-nilly. You must be more, Lucy. You must be silent, unseen, and no threat to anyone. You must be the predator.
~~~~~

Memories sustained her on the bad days. February 14th - that had been a good one. It was dinner out, candlelight and white orchids, and Harry telling her what she must do; absolutely positively do, if the Doctor captured him. It had given her a shudder, but even then, she knew what would be required of her. For better or for worse, after all.

“It’s all set up, Lucy.” Harry had showed her the ring, with its swirling designs set on blue stone, and then put it in her hand to imprint her DNA into it. “Even if he beats me - he won’t win.”

She squeezed it tightly in her fist, so hard that it imprinted against her skin, trying to play the entire thing off, “You have the oddest ideas of Valentine’s Day’s gifts, Harry. I don’t even get to wear it.”

He grinned then, taking it from her hand, slipping it back on his finger, before he brought her palm to his lips, kissing it warmly. “Less suspicious this way. Besides, I’ve got nicer things for you to wear…”

She wore his present, a sheer white silk nightgown, to bed that evening. He called her his angel, and the bruises he left on her skin ached deliciously for weeks afterwards. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the imprint of his teeth on the inside of her thigh…

~~~~~

“Doesn’t anyone here know how to make a decent cup of tea? It’s not that bloody hard!” Harry screamed, picking up the entire tray and throwing at the wall. Mrs. Jones took a few steps backwards, nearly stepping on her. She nearly laughed, nearly broke character, but she merely shifted to the side to let the woman back into the wall. She was so invisible that the maid didn’t even notice her.

Nine months. Nine months of the Great Time Lord Empire - and Harry was long past starting to shatter around the edges. Now, whole, ragged pieces of his soul were started to peek through. She watched as the Doctor sat in his tent, watching Harry - no, he was truly the Master in this moment - stalk around the table in an absolute rage. It had been such a good morning, too. The Master had actually walked out of the elevator - his tie had been done neatly - and he wasn’t singing to himself. He hadn’t even gone to ring the bell, apparently cheery enough to let the Doctor sleep in. His kiss on her lips … it was almost Harry. Almost, but not quite.

That had fallen apart the moment word came back that Martha Jones had somehow gotten out of California. Alive, well, and apparently still kicking. Not to mention still coming for the Master, wherever the little twat was now. Inwardly, she sighed. As if he needed any other reasons to have a truly outrageous fit? If she ever saw Martha Jones again - just a moment on the street, that sort of thing - she’d give the girl a good slap. Just because.

Now he was stalking around the room, grabbing up the Doctor and shaking him. “A cup of tea, Doctor! It’s hot water and leaves and some bloody sugar! Why can’t your precious apes master that? Can you answer me why they can’t get that right?”

The Doctor looked at him levelly, his voice rusty but strong. “I only have one thing to say to you.”

“You are a tired, broken record, Doctor,” the Master hissed, shoving him away, before throwing his hands up to the sky. “Why am I surrounded by idiots?”

She looked to the high, vaunted ceiling, and thought to herself, ‘Because you’re surrounded by humans, Harry,’ and sighed - closing her eyes as her father’s words pounded through her brain. Over, and over again. She let it go for a moment; just let the words in her brain pound the anger within her. It was that slip that brought her husband’s attention back to her with a sharp, “Well, my darling, tea. Any thoughts? Any feelings? Any anything?”

She opened her eyes to find him looking at her, his eyes blazing with fire and some kind of silent desperation that stabbed her right between the ribs. He needed her - he needed her now more than anything. It would be so easy to walk across this room, to take him into her arms. It tore at her, tore pieces of her own soul out.

But the words wouldn’t stop. A predator is patient. A predator knows the long hunt is the good one. A predator knows the moment to strike. You must know your moment.

All the eyes on the room were on her, and for once her long pause wasn’t due to any planned act. She really needed to struggle to find something insane enough to say. She looked at her husband, and then towards the wall, before going for the obvious, “You’ve broken all the tea cups.”

She turned slowly back, catching expressions along the way, Mrs. Jones and her daughter staring at her in disbelief. The Doctor turned his eyes away from her sadly. Her husband, her Harry, her Master looked at her, and she could see something click for him. The desperation in his eyes deepened.

She took her moment, and wandered away, her hand going to trail through her hair, while the words pounded on.

~~~~~~~~

She remembered Cardiff. A month before the election, and they were in Cardiff, of all damned places.

“I hate Cardiff,” she said flatly, her mouth drawn into a definite pout. “I was once dared to go here by a group of my flat-mates in Uni. I refused and had to go around in zebra-striped knickers for a week.”

“I would have liked to have seen those.” Harry had turned to look at her, as he pulled the car in front of a decrepit old building, something that looked like one of those old dance halls from the days of yore. He flashed her that wild smile of his. “But you’ll like this, I swear.”

She didn’t, at first. She didn’t like picking her way across the rubble. She didn’t like the smell of mold and dust as they made their way upstairs. She certainly didn’t like the looks of the weathered looking grandfather clock he led her to, and of all the things he had shown her, the oddest one was him pulling out an old fashioned key, which slid right into the clock’s keyhole.

The most amazing, however, was when he opened it, there was the sleek interior of a ship, chirruping near silently. She gaped, as he grinned. “Time Lord technology. Bigger on the inside…this old thing was still waiting for me, at the end of the Universe.”

She touched the walls, so smooth and so different than the TARDIS still in the tool shed. It just seemed so … him. “Does it work?”

“Not yet. She’s not fully charged. But a month sitting near the Rift…” He rubbed his hands together. He was looking around with a gleam she only saw when he looked at her, warm and real, and possessive as Hell. “Oh, Lucy, I almost wished we’d fail, because I’d love to take you out there, with me. Just us.”

“Just us?” she whispered, and his eyes met hers. She found herself in his arms, a moment later, pulled close as he spun her.

“Just us … all alone, traveling the stars,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, the places I’ll take you, Lucy Saxon…”

~~~~~

“Thank you, ever so much, Natalie…” he purred at the young redhead who literally cowered away from him, and Lucy howled inside of her head in anger. She wanted to claw at the girl’s face. She wanted to claw at his. Jealousy burned within, but as she looked in her vanity mirror, all she saw was blankness. Good, good. She could hold onto this. She could ignore his more flagrant flirtations with mere laundresses and secretaries.

She rose gracefully to her feet, making sure to waver in her steps, as she moved over to the bed, braless, her garters fixed perfectly. She ignored the way the Master watched her hungrily, devouring her with her gaze, shut out the coy way he spoke, “Natalie is awfully pretty, don’t you think? I haven’t had her on the line-up for a personal massage, quite yet, but our first day out of here? Oh yes.”

She picked up the red silken dress, careful not to wrinkle it, and pooled it over her body, forcing her arms through the motions. She smoothed the dress over her slender hips, adjusted her breasts - just so. As long as she concentrated on dressing - she wouldn’t think about the rage crawling through her blood. She turned her back to him silently, waiting for him to zip up the dress.

She could feel his glower on her bare skin, could hear the way his shoes hit the carpeted floors angrily as he came up behind her. She bit her lip to keep from gasping, though, at the surprisingly gentle hand that slide up her spine, before she could feel her zipper sliding up into place. His lips brushed her shoulder, as he whispered lowly, “What do you think, sweetheart? Threesome?”

She was the predator. She was the silent hunter, and it was not her moment. So she kept herself still, and waited for him to be done zipping her. When he was, she made sure to move listlessly away from him, saying nothing.

His fingers were harsh on her arm, suddenly, yanking her around, and all the rage she kept inside was painted clearly all over his face. “Damn you, answer me! What would you do if I fucked her on this bed? In front of you while you watched? Would you care? Or would you just stand there and let me do it, an empty-eyed statue?” he screamed into her face, lifting his hand to slap her across the face. Her head snapped back, and he kept on yelling, “Answer me! Answer me!”

She turned to look at him again, feeling her skin under her eye start to swell, and the rage just sang to her. It was a sweet, hot song - like fire bursting inside of her chest in heavenly melodies. She trembled under its power, swaying slightly.

His hand twitched in mid-air - she had taken too long, was too silent - and suddenly her hand was there, around his fingers without her realizing it. They were both staring at their combined grip, and his hand suddenly went loose in hers. He gaped at her, the shock rippling over his face, and he swallowed convulsively. “You’re in there, aren’t you? I can see it, in your eyes. But you’re hiding from me, and I don’t know why…and I don’t know how to bring you back…I’m so lost without you…”

She held his arm for another moment, before letting it drop. A predator knew her moment, and she had to hold to this one. So her hand wrapped around his tie, and she pulled him in and kissed him, the way he liked it, sweet combined with sex. His hands danced along her skin, as if he was afraid to touch her again, like he was afraid she was going to break - perhaps that he was even afraid that she would break him.

She kissed him harder, trying to press everything into it - all her anger, all her grief, all of her own madness. The words beat across her brain, as she tried to send out one message of her own. I am here. I never left.

Then she stepped back, letting the tie slip between her fingers, before turning away from him, moving towards the door to their bedroom. Behind her, he called out to her plaintively, “Lucy! Lucy …come back….”

The moment was gone, though. She did not know, as she touched her cheek, wincing at the bruise, when there would be another.

Later, as he purred at Tanya, the predator growled, but it was on a short leash now. So short that all it could do was snap its teeth at the Doctor, as she stood stock-still and watched his, and the Jones’s, failed attempt at freedom. Silly fools. There was only way they were all going to be free - and that was utter and complete failure. First you had to learn how to lose, before you could possibly understand how to win.

Father whispered in her brain, as she slipped the Master’s coat over his shoulders, making sure to cower appropriately. He barely noticed; he was gone again, all of his rage focused on the Doctor.

You are going to have to love him, Lucy. No matter what he does, you are going to have to love him…enough to hate him.

~~~~~~

Strangely enough, it was her hatred of the Doctor that got her through the hardest part. There she was, just where she wanted to be. Standing alone, no one looking in her direction. No, they were all focused on the Master, as he stood, defiant to the last, until the last sucker punch.

It was all too easy, then, to pick up the gun left by Mrs. Jones. She didn’t marvel at the steadiness of her hand, because she had never been so sure of anything in her entire life. Images flashed through her mind - the first time the Doctor looked away from her, the pity in his gaze as she had told him what she had seen at the end of the universe, as if he had any idea of what she meant! The Doctor’s name in her mind, and it came out of her mouth before she understood why. The Doctor, in a nimbus of fairy dust and wishful dreams, as he came back to life, and just forgave the Master.

Sanctimonious prick. Who did he think he was, anyways? Everyone’s personal Space Jesus?

The safety clicked back easily in her hand, and she pointed the gun at the Master. He looked so angry, so enraged, and so very much alive, that she held it for a moment, indecision rankling her. They had both survived, hadn’t they? Whatever prison they decided to put him in, she could find a way to get him out of it.

Until the Doctor spoke - spoke of keeping the Master on the TARDIS. Of no longer wandering, of finally having someone to take care for.

Someone. To. Take. Care. For.

The predator bounded up through her, for just a second, but that was all it took. Her finger twitched on the trigger, and the Master lurched from the shot. He looked at her, and she nearly sobbed then, nearly ran to him and screamed her apologies, but the words pounding in her brain stopped her cold. You’re going to have to be strong enough to save you, and him.

She stood there, wordlessly letting go of the gun as the Freak asked her, oh so gently, to drop it. She watched without word, as the Doctor begged and pleaded and cried. She watched the Master die, defiant to the end. She watched as the Doctor sobbed over his body, as the Freak and Martha Jones came to either side of him.

While they all gathered to watch a Time Lord grieve, she moved across the room, and silently picked up the laser screwdriver, and remained still, not crying, not sobbing, unmoving. She recalled, distantly, as she stroked the screwdriver in her hand, of something she had told her husband once. “If he tries to take you away from me, I’ll carve out both of his hearts.”

She just never realized that she’d have to mean it metaphorically.

* * * * *

They left her at a hospital, the three of them - Martha Jones, the Freak, and their beloved Space Jesus - confident that all they had to do was leave her there like an abandoned baby and someone would take care of her. Funny, after all this and they still ignored her. It wasn’t just them, though; Mi6 and the CIA had taken one look at her when the Doctor had landed the Valiant on English soil, and wrote her off as useless, nothing more than another pawn in the Master’s game. They’d left her with the screwdriver gripped in her fingers, so very sure that she wouldn’t be able to use it.

She waited a good twenty minutes, before standing up and leaving the waiting room where they had dropped her off, still clad in the beautiful red dress her husband had bought her, that she had worn so proudly, that the Master became obsessed with, and in which she had killed him. She walked out of the hospital, and to the nearest payphone, where she made arrangements with a cab company to come and retrieve her.

She walked into her and Harry’s home, silent as a ghost, up to their bedroom. Just exactly as they had left it, yesterday, a year ago, just now. She pulled out a suitcase, and started to pack for two - her knickers, his favorite shirts. As an afterthought, she grabbed a copy of the Teletubbies DVD’s that Harry had left by the television. She took out every last cent of their reserve cash, and walked back out to the waiting cab, suitcase in hand.

She did not change. She did not let the laser screwdriver leave her hand. When the cab driver asked her where she wanted to go now, he was looking at her strangely, as if she had a face he couldn’t quite remember. Yesterday she was the Prime Minister’s wife, and now she was just a mad woman in red. She smiled bitterly as she looked at the screwdriver, and pressed it into the palm of her hand.

The palm that soaked up Time Lord DNA, so very long ago, on a day filled with hearts and flowers. The screwdriver swiveled to the east, homing in on the ring it had helped craft, and the remains of the man who had crafted it.

So she handed him a wad of pound notes, and said simply. “Follow my directions, to the letter.”

* * * * *

The ring glowed in the palm of her hand, as she pressed it against the grandfather’s clock’s lock. It burned bright in her hand, as she carried it towards the sleek black console. She stuck the laser screwdriver into one panel, and the entire thing lit up in dark, blue undertones. Quite pretty. She slipped the ring off her thumb, and walked around to where the engine purred. It sang in low, alto tones, something dark and curious.
He had told her, when he brought her the first time, that every TARDIS had a personality, distinctive to itself, and the owner.

She stroked the small panel, with an inset of a design of spinning circles, before she pressed the ring down into it. The engine suddenly roared to life, and a low hum started to fill the ship. She pulled the ring back, folding her hand back against her chest, to her one beating heart.

She thought of Harry.

The irony was - and this entire debacle was just filled to brim with ironies - that the Master was defeated by his own goddamned idea. Using telepathic resonance to regenerate was basically how all Time Lords had been able to regenerate for thousands of years - think of your body reforming, and it does.

“Why shouldn’t it work for a faithful companion?” her husband had said as he lasered the ring carefully. “If something happens to my body, beyond my control, which is only possible because the bloody Doctor is in involved… I am going to need you there, my darling.” He grinned at her then. “My life is in your hands.”

She thought of Harry, her strong, slim husband with two beating hearts. She thought of his true name, the Master, the sexy villain who kissed like fire. She thought of them, at last, as one person, undividable. That was the problem, really. Harry let the Master take control, and the Master didn’t understand human nature. He didn’t understand when faced with the truth, human beings - no matter how dark, how twisted that truth was; say, like your own people wanted to kill you just for kicks - would either accept it … or they would fight it, whatever way they could.

She’d make sure to remind Harry of that, when he woke up. Right now, she could hear the dark TARDIS’s song, and it eased the words in her head, as it stole the wisps of all her memories, all her thoughts. All of her faithfulness, and all of her love - and it took it out of her, it took the essence out of the ring, and it began to form something on the desk. She checked the chrono-meter on the clock, and turned away, walking down the still, sleek hallways towards the gallery. This process, this rebirth, was going to take time, and she had to get the tea on.

He’d be thirsty.

* * * * *

She sat in the chair, watching as he screamed, the golden light streaming off of him like he was a phoenix, her long red fingernails braced together, his ring around her middle finger. It was loose, but it would do. Watching the reforming had just gotten interesting - before that it was just waiting for water to boil, blah blah. She mucked around with the music for a bit, putting together something together, for later.

Finally, it was done, and he lay there, still for a moment, before he gasped for air and sat up, naked as any babe. He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, before memories slipped back into place. Then he saw the pile of clothes, and started to throw them on, his hands shaking a little. She watched him dispassionately, fingers still steepled. It had worked better than either one of them had hoped for - he came back completely intact. His eye color was even the same. He’d be pleased when he saw the mirror.

He finished zipping up the jeans, and then eyed her, before rasping out, “Tea?”

Her hand moved gracefully, pointing to the mug that wafted off fragrant fumes of Earl Grey. He grabbed at it, and sucked down a few sips. He stared at the mug and blinked, “It’s good.”

She said nothing, and he slurped down the rest, keeping his eyes on her, his expression neutral. He put down the mug, staring at her, his voice quiet. “Still nothing, eh? Still locked inside that pretty, empty head of yours. Not going to say a word to me, not even a ‘Hello, Harry!’” She continued to stare at him, and he let out a snort and muttered, “Fine. Just fine. Give me the damned ring back, and we’ll get out of here.”

She rose to her feet, and oh, could she feel it now. The rage broiled inside, and the predator howled for blood, and this time - this time - she let it free. She smiled, fierce, as the words became part of the song, and she stood at her husband’s side, lifting up both her pointer and middle finger, the 'V' for Victory, or more appropriately, the 'Fuck off, you wanker' of the British world.

He glanced sideways at it, as he started to manipulate the controls, and then he did a double take. He looked at her upraised fingers, and then at the dangerous grin on her face. His voice started to take on the first stirrings of anger, “Are you … are you flipping me off?”

Her smile widened, as her middle finger curled down into the rest of her hand, forming a tight little fist. She canted her head, and said in a little singsong. “Hel-lo Harry!”

And then she hit him smack in the mouth, with his goddamned ring.

He stumbled, half from surprise and half from pain, because really she never had lost the wiry build of a netball player. She moved forward quickly, lifting up one heeled foot to slam into his stomach, knowing somewhere through the anger that she was only going to have one shot at this - and she’d best make it good.

So she did. Her foot came around, and slammed into his side again, making him stumble to the ground. He lay there, staring at her in complete surprise, as she kept smiling at him, her voice a low purr of fury, “Natalie, eh? Monica and Laura and Petra and Joan and Tan-ya.” Her leg swung out, kicking him again, and he gasped and doubled over. “Tanya!?”

Oh, the rage felt good now. Good and hot and right. A song came to her lips, “I can’t decide, whether you should live or die…how does the rest go, Harry?” She stomped on his knee with one heel, laughing as he yelped, singing, “Oh, I could bury you alive, but you’d might crawl out with a knife - and kill me…” She stomped on him again, screaming, “Whirlpools of gold! Won’t that be nice?!”

He crab-crawled away from her, his eyes large with shock, and was that just a touch of fear? Oh God, she hoped so. She stalked after him, singing softly, “My heart feels dead inside, It's cold and hard and petrified, Lock the doors and close the blinds
We're going for a ride… you know, I don’t like this song. It doesn’t suit me.” She propped herself between the railing and the console, lifting her pale eyebrows, “TARDIS … play ‘The Missus Master list’, will you? Track … seven would be appropriate.”

The TARDIS whirled, and then the prompt came to life, “The Mistress greets you from beyond the grave, playing on track seven.” And the song came out beating along her skin, even as she swung around to give another vicious kick to her husband’s knee, when it looked like he was about to get up. She wants a change in her human life as she put herself under the cutting knife - she wants the look and the feel of an angel - even if it means a deal with the devil.

“Oh no you don’t, darling,” she hissed, coming around to where the laser screwdriver was, pulling it out of its socket. “I sat for a year, waiting in the shadows to free you, and how to do you re-pay me? You eye-fuck every last tart on that damned ship. You eye-fuck the Doctor - The Doctor! And then … and then … you hit me? You hit me?” She looked at the laser screwdriver in her hand, smiling, before she leaned in to him and pistol-whipped his head back, snarling, “I am Lucy Cole, Lady of Tarminster. You don’t slap me around like one of your minion Slags!”

“Stop! Stop, Lucy! Please!” He held out his hand, and her hand paused in mid-air. He held his mouth, blood trickling through his fingers, staring at as if he had never seen such a thing before, before he said with consideration, “So … you’re a little angry, Mrs. Saxon?”

“Just a touch, Mr. Saxon.” She tossed the laser screwdriver to her other hand, as she sang softly, “Get out of my way cause you know that I am totally wasted - Get out - get out cause I'm everything you ever hated -- really who would have sonic? This is much more solid.” She wrapped it into her hand, and kneeling down, slammed it into his stomach.

He hunched over, and she knelt over him, whispering, “The words never stopped, you know. My father would just not Shut Up. ‘You have be strong enough to save you both, You must be the predator, Wait for your moment, You have to love him enough to hate him.’ He just would not be quiet.” She touched the side of his face tenderly, “The drums must be the same way, and I felt sorry for you. I truly did, my darling.”

He looked at her, really seeing her for the longest time. His eye bruised, his lip bleeding, curled up on the floor, his eyes filled with understanding. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be.” She pushed down his legs, straddling him, the screwdriver still in her hand. “I wonder if I have enough of your DNA in me to turn this on … I could age you, make you my own little Master Muppet.” She held it out, pointing it at his head, the predator snarling in her brain. “Or I could just kill you. Again and again - and again.”

He looked back at her, and his dark eyes gleamed. His smile appeared - her very favorite one - the small one of approval. “You could.”

“Then I could go off and play with the Doctor!” She smiled brightly, watching as his expression darkened quickly, “Oh, you don’t like that, do you, Master? But I bet he’d be heavenly to me. Take me to all the places you couldn’t. I’d like to see those whirlpools of gold.” Her smile became even more wicked as she rested the screwdriver under his chin. “I hear he likes blondes.”

Oh, the fire in those eyes, as his hand whipped out fast and wrapped around hers, as he pushed himself up with the other, his voice low and intent. “That is not going to happen.”

Get out of my way cause you know that I am totally wasted
Get out- get out cause I'm everything for you.

He was breathing fast, and she could feel her own breath leave her rapidly, “Oh really? Why’s that, Harry?”

He twisted her wrist in his hand, the screwdriver clattering to the floor, making her whimper a little, as he pulled her closer, his mouth so close to hers. “Because you’re mine. My companion.”

She smiled then, her blue eyes flashing brightly. “Prove it.”

His mouth crushed into hers, and with a growl she responded in kind. Their lips mashed, their teeth bit down with little consideration. He yanked her fully into his lap, and she could feel how hard he was already, pressing through his jeans, her panties. He tilted her head back and sank his teeth into her throat, which prompted her hands to grip his button-down shirt and tear it down the center, popping buttons. His hands wrapped into her dress and she could hear the tear of fabric. She hissed in delight, digging her fingernails into his chest, raking long, bloody grooves into his newly formed skin.

I hear screams of a thousand virgins.

His hands were under the torn remains of her dress, squeezing, fondling roughly, and he wrapped his hands around her hips and rolled her over to the deck, slamming her down. She saw stars as he yanked her panties down, tearing the delicate fabric. She felt herself grow wet, watching him as he yanked down his own jeans and pants, even more as he shoved her legs apart, yanking her in so he could penetrate her, hard. She wrapped herself around him, her fingers now digging into his back under the remains of his shirt. He growled in approval, his teeth attacking her neck again, her collarbone, into any soft flesh he could reach.

I see the dreams of mighty surgeons.

He rode her, pressing her back into the grooves of the deck, and she closed her eyes and loved it - loved the pain and the tightening below - loved the feel of all his fury and all his love just pounding into her. Behind her eyelids, she could see galaxies exploding, and stars folding in on themselves, and she was there, destroying them with the thrust of her hips upwards. She exploded, taking the universe with her. Above her, he let out a strangled cry, and then the universe exploded within her, and fell on her, sweat-drenched and breathless.

The song abruptly stopped.

She just lay there, learning how to make her lungs take air again, only opening her eyes when she felt his weight shift off of her. He was brushing her tangled curls from her face, his look so tender that she felt a sob gather in her throat. He tilted, and kissed her bruised mouth as gently as a dream, resting his forehead against hers, his whisper tingling across her lips, “Thank you, my love.”

She smiled at him, and whispered back, “Do you hear that?”

He frowned, and she watched him listening. “I … don’t hear anything.”

“Me either.” She let her eyes widen in mock surprise. “I think you shagged the crazy right out of me.”

His smile widened, wild and insane as ever, as he kissed her with his split lip, before muttering quietly. “Well, you beat the crazy out of me, so we’re even.”

She nodded her head once. “Yes, we are.”

He laughed softly, as he pulled himself all the way up, and dragged her to her feet along with him, wincing slightly as he did so. “Oh, thank heavens I’m in the first few hours of regeneration, or this would be a bitch to heal.”

She leaned into him, kissing the lip that she had smacked open, smirking up at him. “I’ll kiss it all, and make it better.”

He nudged her into the console, hands tracing down along the bare curves of her breasts and her hips, his dark eyes sparking interest, “Prove it.”

Her hands were just moving to do so, when the dark TARDIS thrummed a warning sound. Her eyes met Harry’s - totally and completely her Harry’s, as he frowned and stepped away from her, moving over to look at the screen, tugging up his jeans as he did so. “Proximity alert - apparently we’re giving off a lot of heat … oh. Oooooh. Heh.” He hooked his chin over to the front of the screen. “Come and see, my darling.”

She stripped off the remains of her dress, walking towards him in nothing but torn stockings and heels, pressing herself to his side. He leaned in to nuzzle her as she peered at the screen, watching a foursome of people move through the halls of the abandoned building they were in, up the stairs, and towards the room where the dark TARDIS sat as an innocuously as possible. At the head of that group, was the Freak. She breathed out softly, “Torchwood.”

“Handsome Jack and his Merry Band of Inepts.” He smirked, tapping a few buttons. “Doesn’t matter - we’ll be gone before he can even think of a quippy reply.”

She smiled, before leaning up to kiss his cheek slowly, slipping away from him, heading for the door. “Oh, we can’t just leave, Harry.” She looked over her shoulder, coyly. “It’d be rude to not to at least say ‘goodbye’.” She tapped her chin, “And this is definitely a moment for music. Do play something appropriate.”

He grinned, before holding up one finger. “Now, I know how you feel about this song, darling, but let it grow on you. Trust me, it will be perfect…” He twisted a few things on the console, and the song, His song, jangled along cheerily.

It's not easy having yourself a good time
Greasing up those bets and betters
Watching out they don't four-letter
Fuck and kiss you both at the same time
Smells-like something I've forgotten
Curled up died and now it's rotten

His eyes skimmed over her naked body, and he jogged over to the still open suitcase that she had left sitting by the chair, rifling through it. He grinned, tossed her a t-shirt across the length of the ship and she caught it, laughed as she saw the slogan ‘Vote Saxon’ in bold black letters. He leaned against the railing, smirking at her. “Can’t say hi to company half dressed, Lucy. Shame on you - I thought you were raised to be a proper young lady.”

She slipped the shirt over her, where it fell mid-hip, and swayed over to the door to the TARDIS, moving her hips a little as she sang along, “I'm not a gangster tonight
Don't want to be a bad guy, I'm just a loner baby. And now you're gotten in my way…”

She cracked it a little so she could hear the voices outside - the Freak, two women, and a man.

One of the women was babbling excitedly. “It’s just giving off rift energy in spikes, I don’t know why it didn’t register before!”

“Doesn’t matter what it did before, what the fuck is it doing now?” The man growled.

The other woman spoke hesitantly, her Welsh accent thick, “… is it playing music?”

And there was the Freak’s sharply inhaled breath - his tone sounding distressed. “I know that song…”

Well, she’d never get a better opening that that. She pushed open the door, letting the music pour out, flashing a smile as bright as diamonds. “Good evening. We don’t accept solicitations.”

The women and the one man were all crowded together, looking at some sort of small PDA. It was only the Freak who stood alone, staring at her with growing horror, “You … but …” His gaze drifted inside, past her, and his eyes widened in horror. “But you’re -“

“Do give our best to Martha and the Doctor, won’t you?” she asked sweetly, “Tell them we’ll be seeing them quite soon. We might have them over for tea and cakes. I hope you like lemon.” They all stared at her, but as the Freak slowly lifted his firearm, all of them followed. She blinked, and abruptly slammed the door shut as shots rang out, pinging off the door. She leaned against it, frowning a little as she looked back up at her husband. “You know, I don’t think he was glad to see us.”

His laughter rang through the ship, and he slid around the console as the TARDIS started to churn, its engine making a whining, whirling noise. He crooked a finger to her, and she came to him, sliding on her high heels as she sang, “It's a bitch convincing people to like you - If I stop now call me a quitter - If lies were cats you'd be a litter…”

He grinned and pulled her into his arms, twirling her around, dancing her around the TARDIS, singing back, “I've got to hand it to you - You've played by all the same rules - It takes the truth to fool me.” He spun her out, then back in. “I told you the song would grow on you.”

“I admit - it is catchy.” She squirmed, happily, as his hands slid up under the t-shirt. “Now what, Master?”

“Well, first… I’m going to put you up on the console, and fuck your brains out again.” He smirked, and his eyes shone with all the power of black holes. “Another cup of your excellent tea, a shower, maybe another fuck in the shower … and then I thought I’d take you to Barcelona.”

“Barcelona?” She asked, one hand sliding down to rest over his two hearts.

“Mmm, the planet. It’s got dogs there, with no noses.” He cupped her cheek, “I thought I’d get you one as a pet. We can get it a sweet little spiked collar. Besides, I still have all that stuff left over from the Doctor. Hate to see it go to waste. What do you think?”

She listened to his two hearts beat under her hand, reveling in the only sound that really broke her quiet again. “Sounds perfect.”

So when I get my sleep underground
take notice of a distance sound- sleepless soul
wretched and torn
just waiting to be reborn

i ship saxon, doctor who, fanfiction

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