Here we go, kiddies, the latest chapter...
Title: The Game’s Afoot
Pairing: Saxon/Lucy, smattering of Saxon/Doctor, Lucy/Doctor and Saxon/Lucy/Doctor.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: Spoilers all the way up to "Last of the Time Lords". I don't own Doctor Who, and I sure as heck don't own Harry Potter. I don't even own anything I nabbed from Douglas Adams. If I stole anything else? I don't own that either.
Author's Notes: Okay kids, this is the last one for awhile, so while I got everyone's attention, I'd like to do some shout-outs. Shout-out first of course, to all my beta-readers; Tara, Tzikeh, and Sly. Much love also to Toga and Lolly, who sat through so many hours of me going, 'Is this good? Is this right?'. Much love to macbeemer for her wonderous art, as well. Oh, and thanks to my very good friend Kaine, who coined the phrase 'Space Jesus' for another fandom, and allowed me to take it as my own. Much props, sir.
And for your easy reading pleasure, the other parts of Bless; A Mad Love Story..
Here Come The Drums
Devil Inside
Domesticity
Bassinet
Blood Calls To Blood
Wasted
~~~~~~~~
The Year 3030 - the planet Ricollette - Night Rotation
There were times - oh, were there times! - when even the Doctor needed a break. Just a vacation from being the errant white knight of the universe. It had been a hard few weeks - er, days? Years? He never could tell. Anyway, it had been a rough time of it. He had lost so much, so very much, and before he had a chance to catch his breath and contemplate his place in the Universe, the Titanic had crashed into his TARDIS. Right after he had fixed her! The paint was barely dry!
That, however, was another adventure to contemplate for another day, or this day, or in the year 1267. Martha’s comment about the blondes, however, had been spot-on. He did have a serious weakness, and it only worsened as the millennium passed.
Right. Not the time to think of his weaknesses, his strengths, his losses, or his wins. Time to forget he was alone, and just immerse himself in how much he wasn’t. After all this time, he was falling back on what worked for him. Running - and if it meant running all the way across the galaxy to just throw himself at its brethren - so be it. Universe filled with people - all kinds of people. Human people, dog people, cat people, the odd kind of blobby people, who were really quite nice, once you sat down and shared a plate of Jammy Dodgers with them. All of them new, all of the interesting, and all of them far, far away.
Ricollette was the perfect place to start; after all, it was known across at least a hundred sectors as the ‘non-stop party planet’. Music poured out of clubs, into the city’s wide open squares. People drank all kinds of different drinks from hundreds of different worlds, danced together, snogged each other against walls and in bathrooms and the odd park bench. It was wild and uncontrolled, and he’d put on his best blue suit to wander into that happy madness, hoping to lose himself for awhile.
He walked the streets for a few hours, grinning at the crowds who sang and danced all around him. One rather inebriated fellow came up to him, gave him a pretty pink parasol, planted a kiss on his lips, and then continued down the street without saying a single word. The Doctor twirled the paper parasol in his hand, grinned, and then hooked it over one shoulder as he headed along the street, whistling. In front of him, a couple walked with their arms around each other, and they looked so happy that he stopped dead in his plimsolls, watching them wistfully as they passed. A gaggle of laughing young men stumbled out of a pub in front of him as he turned the corner, babbling about how that last final was a killer, oh Lady yes, thank Lady we got through it together, eh?
Together….
He spun his pretty pink parasol and sighed, looked to the sky, closed his eyes to allowed the pain to overcome him briefly. Why did he keep losing those most important to him? It wasn’t like he was trying to break them, trying to be careless. Yet they slipped through his fingers; one by one they fell away; Susan, Sarah Jane, Romana, Ace, Martha, Jack, Rose, and the Master. Each were swept up in the fire and the chaos of the merciless Oncoming Storm. Even Gallifrey - beautiful, timeless, glorious Gallifrey - annihilated by his hand.
It seemed inevitable that he destroyed what he loved. No wonder Martha had left. She’d had been right; she had to leave him for her own self-protection. Besides, what did he have left for her? He'd lost the two people who mattered most to him in a single year, which was no time at all. His hearts were still broken.
It’s funny how I find myself … in love with you…
He turned towards the melancholy sound, blinking in surprise. Was that - early 21st century Earth music? Here, of all places? His curiosity aroused, he snapped closed his parasol and jogged along the street until he found the source of the music: a globe-shaped club, brilliant and shiny and all the colors of the rainbow, on the corner of a major intersection.
He eyed the club’s name above the door, which was flashing in bright blue holographics, and shook his head a little with a grin. Pan-galactic Pool of Delights. Try saying that ten times fast. He tried it in his head for a few times, then shrugged. Not that hard at all, apparently.
It’s my life … Don’t you forget … It’s my life … It never ends…
Presenting Earth Retro Night! flickered under the sign, answering his question without him having to ask it. Convenient, that.
He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Been awhile since he had a good slug of something - and quite honestly if it was ever a time for a good banana daiquiri - why not when he was technically ‘on vacation’? Hmmm. Bananas. He loved bananas.
Funny how I blind myself … I never knew …Sometimes played a part …afraid to lose…
With the thought of sweet, tropical fruit and rum blended in a glass with ice - like a gigantic alcoholic Slurpie! - he bounced up the stairs. The club held the perfect number of bodies; enough where you moved around easily but not so much that business was suffering. He ambled through the crowds, well pleased to be getting so many sideways glances, but nothing with real interest. He liked the set-up of the club automatically - three tiers wrapped around the globe itself - which was clear glass inside, and you could look up at the glorious sky above Ricollette - while the dance floor was set in the bowl below. He was on the widest one, set in the middle. The bar was set off to one long curved side of it, where people gathered around the stools and wandered away again. He beamed as he sauntered over, snagging a stool down at the end, putting his pink umbrella down on the smooth black countertop.
Caught in the crowd … it never ends … it never ends…
A pretty green-skinned girl with bright blue hair twisted into dozens of long braids, dressed in a pair of skin-tight black pants, and a blue shirt with the bar’s name in bright retro-sparkles, sauntered up to him and flashed him a wide smile, her black eyes shining. “What can I get you, brown eyes?”
“Well, it’s a bit complex. Y’see, I want a banana daiquiri, but I was rather hoping you’d let me make it.” He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. He tilted his head, listening as the music changed again. 20th century now, just twenty years earlier than the last.
One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster…
She leaned against the bar, her dark green lips curving into a grin. “What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”
“Oh, no - no, no no. See…” He leaned over the bar, whispering confidentially, “Personally, I’ve got a killer recipe for daiquiris. I’ve been dying to try it, but while I’ve always got the bananas, I’m always lacking a proper blender.”
She eyed him. He gave her his brightest, most innocent smile; the one, for whatever reason, let him get away with the most outrageous things around women. This time was no exception as she rolled her eyes, and tapped the very end of the bar, making it momentarily dissipate. “All right, brown eyes. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The bars are temples, but the pearls aren’t free…
His smile widened, and he hopped up, sneaking behind the bar. Soon, he had the entire bar laughing at his antics - hopping around - crushing ice, smashing bananas, spinning bottles and nearly dropping them before catching them again. It was the most fun he had in awhile, and he let himself show off, making it a little more exaggerated than it needed to be. He finished with a flourish, pouring himself a daiquiri out of the atomizing blender into a glass neatly, before holding out to the crowd. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make a Aristocratic French Banana Daiquiri, with a Vanilla Twist,” he paused, then plucked up a tiny blue paper umbrella, “And an Umbrella. Allons-y!”
You’ll find a God in every golden cloister….
The barkeep put her two fingers in her mouth and whistled appreciatively, while everyone else broke out into applause. He bowed, grinning, before turning to the barkeep. “So what do I owe you for putting up with my odd whims?”
She laughed, tapping the bar again to let him out. “Well, I’d love to say it was on the house, handsome, but everyone’s first round has been picked up by table six.” She nodded to a small table that he could see was empty except a variety of empty and half-full glasses, along with a glowing holographic sign of ‘Reserved’.
And if you’re lucky than the God’s a She…
He flopped down on the still empty stool, sipped his drink as his eyebrows arched up, “Huh! Generous of them.”
“Well apparently, it’s their second honeymoon. Such a shame, because they’re both utterly gorgeous.” She grinned, plucking up glasses here and there. “Watching them out on the dance floor, when you can see them around that tribe of appreciative Grandoms? Is a treat.”
I can feel an Angel sliding up next to me…
He grinned back, and turned to look at the dance floor, to see if he could catch sight of the ‘treat’. It was somewhat of a problem, what with the crowds and him not being ten feet tall; but he solved that by standing on the stool, peering above the crowd. He really couldn’t see much though, but a moving blur of red and black. They must be good, though; the Grandoms only grunted like that when they were extremely pleased. Besides, everyone else seemed to be chanting, in 400 different languages, ‘Dance, dance, dance!’ He watched for a moment, just the flashes of red and black, moving like tiny dots of color under the lights of the dome, in a way that niggled his memory.
He sat down on the bar, before sliding down to his stool, looking back at the barkeep. “You’re right, they are good.” He spun around once, frowned. “And familiar.” He spun half-way, got up, and tried to peer over the crowd on his tip-toes, before turning back to the bartender. “Oh well, they’ll have to stop dancing eventually, right?”
“Right. They don’t do the slow songs.” The barkeep answered, polishing down the bar with the rag in her hand.
“Excellent! I’ll go chat them up then,” he paused, then cleared his throat, “Not ‘chat up’, per se. Say thanks. Show gratitude. Be thankful for the alcoholic beverage. That sort of thing.”
One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble…
The barkeeper flashed that smile with all those pretty white teeth. “Sure thing, sugar. If they come up for another round, who should I say wants to ‘chat’ with them?”
“Just say … the Doctor,” he shrugged - what the hey? Not everyone in the galaxy knew who he was. Just as likely they would ignore him - they were on their honeymoon after all. “On second thought, just tell them thanks. I’ll owe them a round someday.”
“Sure thing, brown eyes. Let me know when you’ll need a refill, okay? I got the rest of your blend in the mini-frozator,” she winked and swaggered off to take care of other customers, leaving the Doctor on his own.
Not much between despair and ecstasy…
Not to say that he was lonely for long - in the next twenty minutes he had a round of conversations with a number of interesting folk. He was in the midst of a very interesting talk with a Tuilia, which was a race of people that looked like large grizzly bears, except for the fact that they walked and talked, and had horrid taste in shirts. The one he was talking to rumbled on about the Space Quidditch finales - the Venus II Maypies apparently were making a run for the Cup. He finished the last of his daiquiri, trying to pay attention to what was an interesting analysis of their three Zero-G defense and not be distracted by the chartreuse ruffled thing that reminded him far too painfully of his sixth re-generation, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He excused himself politely with a polite tap of the pointer finger to his forehead, and turned to the barkeep, whom he saw, was filling up his glass to the brim.
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble...
He beamed at her, reaching over to snag the glass, “Hmm. Perfect. Good timing, too.”
He started to dig through his pockets to pay her, and she closed her fingers around his elbow. Her eyes sparkled a little, “No need. Table six picked up your tab.”
He blinked, gaping a little. “G’on! Get out of here! They didn’t even.”
Her smile flashed brilliantly. “They did. Actually, she’s over there, and her man went off to use the facilities, I’m guessing. He’s been drinking like a horse. If you want to go chat…”
“Don’t see why not. At least can say hi, offer a daiquiri. Polite thing to do, eh?” He gave her his cheekiest smile, before he plucked up his full glass and left her a big tip, just because.
Can't be too careful with your company…
He edged through the crowd, peered around as best he could, which involved a lot of ducking around larger aliens and standing up a little taller over shorter ones. He did a little spinning thing, and finally got a clear view of the woman sitting at the table, her back to him.
Blonde, and his brain set off all kinds of alarm bells while he melted a little inside. Long, blond curls, tumbling over a floating top of skimpy maroon. There was something about her hands, again, that sense of niggling memory. He put on his glasses, skimming over her slender, pale arms, down to the fingers painted with a dark, almost blood red, then up again, as she turned her head sideways, towards the dance floor. That was when he stared. Good and hard, because he’d know that profile anywhere. He’d only had stared at it for a year, vague and empty, a pretty porcelain doll.
I can feel the devil walking next to me…
It didn’t look empty now. In fact, it looked filled with life, flush with liquor and dancing. A frisson of anger flashed through him. It had only be a month - week - decade? And here she was, here with another … another who? How the hell did she get here? Ah, wait. Time Agent. She re-married a Time Agent. Only way she could have gotten here, in another planet, all the way on the side of the galaxy. Re-married, just like that.
And that? Made him angrier.
He came around to the side of the table so he was facing her, his voice coming out clipped. “Lucy Cole. Sorry, Saxon. No wait, you’re here, so it’s something else now.”
Her head turned towards him sharply, and then her smile came over her face. Beautiful, in fact, when it was infused with soul and life, but there was something in her eyes that was so very cold, and so very pitiless. Dangerous, her smile. “Why, Doctor. I didn’t think you’d come over. I should have known; your curiosity has always gotten the better of you. Harry says it does.”
He waved his hand. “You knew I’d come over the moment you bought that drink. I can’t exactly figure out why - unless you want me to introduce me to the new hubby. What is it now, Lucy Cole-Saxon-BibblyBobbyMisterMan?”
She plucked a fresh glass off the table of castaways, one filled with a misty purple liquid, a smile working on her face. “Funny. Can’t say I’ve really gotten to see your humorous side. I’ve seen you defeated, seen you angry, seen you ever-so-forgiving. Never seen you joke.”
“You think I’m joking now?” He said, his voice gone quiet, and cold. “He’s barely cold in the ground, and here you are, tripping the light fantastic on someone else’s arm.”
“You didn’t give him a grave. You threw his body on a pyre, and had at it.” She met his gaze without flinching, lifting her drink to her lips, taking a long sip, and put it down again. “Did Martha Jones and the Freak roast marshmallows over it? Perhaps a few sausages? Must have been nasty, eating sausages that tasted of dead Time Lord.”
“Stoppit. That’s not even funny.” He leaned his hands on the table, glowering at her. “Don’t you feel anything? Did emotion get burnt all out of you? You killed your husband. You seemed so broken… but I suppose I should just give you credit for
being a fantastic actress.”
“You have no idea.” She smiled again, but this time it was hard and cold, as she put down her glass, leaning over the table to whisper to him. “Funnily enough, though, I really can’t be taking anything you say to heart. Especially since I think this is the first time you’ve ever been able to look me in the eye, Doctor.”
His jaw tightened a little, “I’m not looking away from you now, Lucy. No, you’ve got my full attention. Were you faking the entire time - that whole year?”
“The whole year, more or less,” she lifted her chin a little, her gaze proud, “And no-one ever noticed me. Neither one of your ‘great’ companions, nor your little band of revolutionaries; not even you, Doctor. You said it yourself. ‘I didn’t see her.’” She snorted dismissively. “Harry also says you’re clever one of the two of you. I’m not seeing it, frankly.”
He gritted his teeth, because that? That stung. He hadn’t noticed her, had ignored her right to the very end, and he was just starting to realize what a huge mistake that was. But how was he to know? He thought she was just the trophy wife. His voice echoed that pain, “Why?”
“Why did I kill him, you mean?” She stepped off her stool, moving around to his side of the table, resting one hand on the table as she looked up at him, “I can see it in your eyes; you’re thinking because he abused me, used me, made me his pawn. No, I killed him because I love him … and I hated you.”
“You love him, you hated me, so you killed him,” he snorted, his arms folding over his chest, “Sorry, that’s not quite tracking anywhere but someplace near completely insane.”
She canted her head to the side, one side of her pretty mouth curving up, “How do you get that big head out of the TARDIS every day, Doctor? Do you need a lot of cooking grease and a crowbar?” She moved in closer, her eyes flashing blue fire, “He didn’t want to be with you. He died rather than spend eternity trapped in your quaint little blue box. I gave him exactly what he wanted, because I’m the one who really takes care of him. Always have, always will.”
“Hmm. Good work there. I’m sure taking care of a load of ash and a few leftover campaign buttons is keeping you up nights.” He retorted, even as her points hit home.
“You didn’t understand. I tried to tell you, but you weren’t listening. I suppose I can’t really blame you - you were just trying to do what I was doing - saving him from himself.” She sighed, and the anger was gone, left with a bone-deep weariness. “I went to the end of the Universe, and I realized there was no point … no point to his plan, to what he was trying to accomplish. His plan was doomed to fail, because human nature is immutable. We were either going to run away, or we were going to destroy ourselves. The human race was going to commit suicide on itself, one way or another. With no illusions left I had to save the one thing - the only thing - that still mattered to me. My husband.”
He stared at her for a long moment, shock stirring him to the core. In one way, her sacrifice in giving away her sanity to better watch out for the safety of her husband was admirable. In another, it was completely bonkers. However, he was starting to see that perhaps the Master hadn’t chosen Lucy Cole simply for a pretty face and a good name. Perhaps he had seen something inside of her - probably something twisted, dark, and evil - but it was something. He had married her, after all. With that realization, the Doctor sighed, running one hand through his dark hair, “You thought I was trying to take him away from you.”
“The thought occurred to me.” She answered softly, her chin lifting up again.
“I would have taken you with us, if you wanted,” he said quietly, his voice sincere,
“I wouldn’t have taken away something that made him happy.”
She searched his face, and her mouth twisted a little, “You really would have, wouldn’t you? Forget that I literally danced on the grave of my own kind; because it would have made him happy, you’d have dragged me along.”
“I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love, someone you need. For Time Lords … it’s doubly as important,” he clicked his tongue on the top of his mouth, rubbing his ear, “Besides, would have been lot easier to keep an eye on the both of you together than apart. Kept you out of trouble. Smacking your hands when you tried for mass genocide again, that sort of thing.”
“Oooh, keep me good, Doctor,” her crimson lips curled up, and her blonde hair gleamed, and the Doctor was suddenly reminded why fair-haired women with gumption tended to make his brain side-track. He didn’t need to add evil fair-haired women to that. Really.
He took a step backwards, tugging on his collar a little. “Anyways, you didn’t need to go to such extreme measures. We didn’t have to lose him - the both of us. You couldn’t have been that jealous to think he wouldn’t have … wait.” He tilted his head. “Wait, wait. You consciously chose to kill your husband, a fairly irrational act, to free him from me. But killing him didn’t free him, it just made him dead. Very dead, burnt ashes dead … how did you know I burnt him?” He stared at her, as her eyes began to gleam. “You couldn’t have known I burnt him, unless you were there. You couldn’t have been there unless you knew how to track - track - laser screwdriver. You had his laser screwdriver, oooooooh gosh!” He ran both of his hands through his hair. “We let you have it, you tracked it to him. But how? You had to have his DNA - he implanted into you - using sesmoric - where? Not the screwdriver. Ring. He had a ring. You went and you … you…” He stopped dead, his entire body flooding with ice-cold realization as he tracked the last five minutes of conversation, his voice coming out in a soft whisper, “You said ‘Harry says’. Present tense.”
She tilted her head back and laughed throatily, before her eyes flickered to a spot over his shoulder, “You were right, Harry. He is clever.”
The Doctor’s entire body went rigid, as the Master’s voice purred not more than three inches from his own ear, “Told you so, my darling.” That voice turned, and soft breath hissed across his cheek, “Doctor.”
He swallowed, his eyes closing, before he said shakily, “Master.”
“Mm-hmm. I still like it when you say my name.” The Master laughed softly, and his arm snaked around the Doctor and snagged the other glass filled with purple liquid, “What’s this, Luce?”
“Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.” Lucy wrinkled her nose, “It’s fizzy.”
“Fizzy, eh? Ah well.” The Master took the glass from around the Doctor slowly, making the Doctor ever more aware that he still hadn’t said anything in this completely unbelievable and now strangely surreal experience. He listened to the Master drink, because frankly, the man hadn’t moved an inch away from him. “Hmm. Got a kick, even if it tastes purple.”
All right, he had to say something. At this point, it was just embarrassing that he hadn’t. “Master, you have to let all these people go. They aren’t a part of this - they are just innocent bystanders.”
He could feel the Master moving around him, dressed in slightly less formal version of what he had worn on Earth; black slacks, white button-down shirt sans tie, and a slightly more flared black coat, looking bafflingly the same as he had when the Doctor had last seen him. His arm curved around his wife, and they shared twin looks of amusement. The Master sipped his drink again, put it down, all the while eying the Doctor, “And why exactly would I want to blow this place to bits? It’s a hoot.”
The Doctor’s eyebrow lifted disbelievingly, “Oh, what, you just stopped by for a friendly visit? Have a bit of a chat, drink down at the local pub?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” The Master eyed the table before him. “Well, more than one drink now. We sort of got carried away when we saw the drinks menu.” He grinned boyishly, his dark eyes sparkling, “Screaming Orgasms? Delicious.”
“He had three.” Lucy rolled her eyes, but a smile glimmered across her lips.
“Anyways, no, pretty much just a stopover. We were on our way to Barcelona…” the Master started to say, when the Doctor cut him off abruptly.
“What the hell were you going to do in Barcelona?” he asked sharply, looking from one to the other. “What could you do in Barcelona? It’s a planet with absolutely no military value, of any kind.”
“I know that.” This time, it was the Master who rolled his eyes. “Honestly. We’re going to get a dog and then … we decided to leave plans open. Might go someplace for a bit of sun, some sand. More Screaming Orgasms, or their closest equivalent.”
The Doctor held up one hand, waving it frantically for a moment, making the Master bite his lip and look at his wife with a wickedly amused smile. The Doctor gave them an irritated look as he leaned his elbows on the table and took off his glasses, “Let me get this straight - because frankly I think I’m not getting this straight at all.” He wet his lips, trying to wrap his mind around it, “You’re actually on holiday? You’ve, metaphorically speaking, gone to the country for the weekend?”
“Well quite honestly, Doctor, we needed it. The last … non-existent year’s been quite draining.” Lucy said, leaning more into her husband, as the Master started nibbling her ear in a way that was both distracting and irritating, because it was so distracting.
“Oh well, I suppose I could see that - with all that fake-real insanity and taking over the world and then dying - fairly exhausting. Would need to re-charge your Evil Overlord batteries,” the Doctor rubbed his ear again, then shook his head, “No, wait, no no no. It’s you!” He jabbed a finger at the Master, and then over at Lucy, “And then it’s, now rather appropriately, you!”
The Master gave his wife a look, and she shrugged in answer. He sighed and looked to the ceiling, “Well if it’ll make you feel any better, Doctor, we’ll work on formulating an evil plan right here, off the top of our heads. Darling, any ideas?”
Lucy wet her lips, looking at the ceiling, before shrugging under her husband’s curved arms. “Oh, we’re going to get that Jones’s family. Yes we are. Going to get them, right off. With evil.” She nodded her head as solemnly as possible. “Lots of it.”
The Master gestured with his hand, grinning broadly, “Good enough?” He peered into the
Doctor’s stony face, and shook his head, “No, guess not. Aaaah …” he snapped his fingers, “We’re going to take over the galaxy with …rubber ducks? Baseball caps? Trained penguins? Any of this working for you?”
The Doctor folded his arms over his chest, his face nothing but hard, angular lines, his tone curt, “No.”
The Master leaned over and whispered into Lucy’s ear, “He’s much less fun when he’s out on his own, isn’t he? Definitely needs someone along to soak up the grumpy. Where is Martha Jones, anyways?”
One corner of the Doctor’s cheek twitched, “She decided to stay behind. Work, family, all that.”
“Ouch, the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me, and my crazy life’ line.” The Master tutted softly under his breath, “Quite a way to get dumped - of course you’re usually the one who does the dumping so it must be a refreshing change.” He mock-whispered again, “He can’t keep hold of a Companion to save his life - they’re always wandering off, falling in love with other people, dying. And of course, there’s Rose Tyler.”
He ground his teeth so tightly that he could hear them pressing against one another, “You leave her out of this conversation, Master.”
“Oooh, there’s a nerve,” the Master canted his head thoughtfully, before looking at Lucy with one raised eyebrow, “What do you think, my darling? Want to go visit the Doctor’s Greatest Companion - panion - panion - panion … of course I don’t think the people at Torchwood are really giving Martha a fair measure of that title. Or Romana, for that matter. Not to forgot that one, the reporter? Sarah Jane Smith. Anyways, how about it? We get to punch through to another dimen-sion.”
Something twisted hard in the Doctor’s chest, and he stepped up to them both, fury rolling off of him like the winds of a summer squall. “Don’t you dare. Don’t dare even try it. There will be no corner of the galaxy that’s far enough away that you could hide from me, if you even contemplate going through with such an atrocity.”
The Master’s dark eyes flickered through a million different reactions, before his lips quirked up. “Okay.”
The Doctor blinked, and then blinked again. He answered suspiciously, “Okay?”
The Master nodded, “Okay. You said no, I said okay.” His smile widened, “Wasn’t that easy?”
“Yes. Far too easy.” The Doctor said, his eyes narrowing as he tucked his glasses away.
The Master rolled his eyes, “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor - why must you always suspect me? I mean - it’s not as if I’m always up to something - oh my Gods what is that!? ”
The Doctor jerked his head around, his hand going inside his pocket for his sonic screwdriver, “What, where, I don’t see anything!?” He stopped, though, when he heard the Master and Lucy cracking up behind him. He turned around, glaring fiercely as Lucy snorted laughter through her fingers, while the Master pounded his hand on the table, snickering. “Oh, that’s very mature, Master. Very funny. Hah hah.”
The Master howled, “I can’t believe you fell for that! What is that, sixteen, seventeen trillion years old? Ahahhaha!” He smacked on the table for another moment, before picking up his drink and polishing it off, “Oh, yes. That was good. That was fun. Wasn’t that fun?”
“Great fun, Harry.” Lucy plucked the cherry off one of her drinks, smiling at the Doctor, nodding at his coat. “You’re vibrating.”
He blinked at her before he glanced down to find the phone that Martha had given him was indeed, vibrating his coat pocket. He plucked it out, pointing one finger at the both of them, “Don’t you try anything. Either one of you. I’ve got my eye on you.” He turned on the phone, speaking curtly into it, “Hello?”
“Doctor! Oh thank God!” Martha’s voice was filled with relief, and he couldn’t help but smile a little, “You’re all right - you’re there - all right - calm yourself, Martha. Doctor, the Master alive! Jack saw him, and his wife, in Cardiff! He thinks they’ve got a TARDIS!”
The Doctor glared at the Master and his wife, as they seemed to be leaning into one another a bit much, and really, did she have to suck on his neck in public?. He turned away, muttering into the phone. “Yes. I know - he’s here now.”
Martha’s breath came in sharply, “Doctor, are you all right? Have they captured you? I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to get you out of there…”
He waved his hand a little, “No, no. It’s all right. He’s being a bit of a bastard and I think they’re both flirting with me, but they haven’t tried anything overtly chaotic or destructive. Mostly they’re drinking weird drinks and making fun of me.”
He could almost see Martha’s skeptical eyebrow, “You’re joking, right? You mean, they haven’t done anything … I don’t know, unbelievably evil?”
“No, but it’s still early yet,” he muttered, turning back around to the table, where he found the Master and Lucy looking at him with some truly unholy glee. He eyed them, before speaking into the phone, “Martha? Hold on.” He put his hand over the receiver end, looking from one, to the other, “What?”
“Tell her we said ‘Hi’.” The Master whispered, grinning devilishly from ear to ear. Lucy locked her wrist, waving in the stiff ‘Queen’ style, making the Master burst into chortles again.
The Doctor stared at them disbelievingly, before he put the phone back to his mouth, his voice wry, “Martha? They wanted to say … ‘Hi’.” He then had to hold the phone away from his ear as an amazing stream of inventive curses and promises to hurt the Master came out of the phone.
The Master widened his eyes, comic book large, “My, my, where did she learn that kind of language? Tsk. Mrs. Jones obviously didn’t wash her mouth enough with soap. Bad parenting skills, that is. Of course, the woman made crap tea, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes, before turning back around, and tried to speak over Martha, “Yes - yes - all right - yes - no, I don’t think you could manage to get that all the way up there, the physics are all wrong.”
“Oh, but I could try.” Martha hissed into his ear, “You know you can’t keep your eyes off them for a minute, yeah?”
He turned back towards the table with a snort, “Well of course not, they’re now the two most dangerous - aaaaaah!” The table where the Master and Lucy had stood was now conspicuously bereft of either one. “Oh no. Nooooo. They’re gone.”
A note of panic entered Martha’s voice, “Gone, how could they be gone?”
“I don’t know! They were right here, I turn around, turn back, they’re gone! Poof! Poof like ninjas!” he ducked down to check under the table, just in case. There was a disappointing lack of any Saxons.
“Doctor, you have to find them! They could be up to anything.” Martha said, and she sounded truly afraid.
Not nearly as afraid as the Doctor was, though. He swallowed, before speaking quietly, “Martha. Listen to me. I promise you; I will find them, and I will stop them. Do you believe me?”
There was a quiet exhalation of air, before Martha spoke back up, her voice determined, “I do. Absolutely do.” He could almost see the brilliant, beautiful smile on her face, “Like Jack says - never doubted you. Never will.”
“Atta-girl.” He smiled to himself as he loped back up to the bar, snagging his pink pretty parasol, waving a quick good-bye to the confused barkeep. “I’ve got to go - they’ve got maybe a ten-second head start on me, and that’s more than enough for the Master.”
“All right, keep me posted, and you know if you need me?” Martha’s voice was firm, “I’ve got your back. Any time, Doctor.”
He grinned as he hit the door running, “I know you do, Martha Jones. Thank you. And now … bye!” He clicked off the phone, stuffed it into his pocket, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. Okay, turn the settings to track any sort of time influxes, as only a TARDIS can, with most recent being probably about five seconds ago. Ah-hah! …Drat! He didn’t slow his speed as he reversed himself, running back in the other direction towards his own TARDIS. They had already left; the time signature was fading fast, but if he could manage to; yes, he’d thought so! The Master had left fast, which meant the area was just soaked in leftover TARDIS resonance. Just another twist in the settings again, and yes! Got it! Saved, into the screwdriver! Who’d need sonic, indeed? He would, so there, neener.
He charged up the alley where he left the TARDIS, slapping the key in the lock, panting hard. He wiggled the door open and exploded himself all over the console; putting the screwdriver’s readings into the TARDIS computer, spinning dials, twisting knobs, a dancing tornado. He slapped his parasol by the viewing screen - and then stopped, dead.
There was a glowing red icon on the screen - a message had come in for him. He stared at it for a moment, before slowly going to tap on it lightly, then ducked quickly under the console. Nothing exploded, but the Master’s voice sounded clearly through the speakers, “Hello, Doctor! If I know you, you’ve ducked down to see if this thing blew up, so come on then, poke your head on up. That’s a good little gopher.”
The Doctor warily stuck the top of his head up over the lip of the console, squinting at the screen. The Master was sitting down at a sleek black console himself, his hands steepled together. Lucy sat on the arm of his chair, gorgeous and predatory, one arm wrapped around the back of it. The Master’s smile widened, “There you are Doctor - and before you start trying to talk to me?” the Doctor’s mouth snapped shut,
“This is a recording. So just sit back and listen, hmm?”
The Doctor sat down, folding his arms atop of the console, his eyes flashing the power of suns, “All right, you’ve got my attention. So start talking.”
The Master smiled slowly, “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer - and before you go - the one where you get to keep me like a goldfish? No! Never, not in a million, one hundred trillion years.” His expression darkened momentarily, before brightening again. “Actually, I thought that ‘date’ thing sounded like fun. Y’know, ‘fight across the constellations’. Sounded like the perfect way to kick-start us back, eh?”
The Doctor sighed, laying his hands flat on the TARDIS’s controls, “Yes, but what do you get out of this?”
“Bet you’re wondering what I get out of this. I mean, really, just the two of us, battling it out, Time Lord y Time Lord? What’s the point? Been here, done this, got the shoddy t-shirt. And you’re right, really needs to come out to some sort of prize.” The Master leaned forward towards the screen, eyes glimmering. “A pretty posy to the winner. Or shall I say, a Rose?”
Everything in the Doctor’s mind stopped. Just stopped, before flooding back into a wave of fear mixed with rage. His face contorted as he slammed his hands down on the console, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you bloody well dare!”
Lucy canted her head towards the screen, “Now, I bet those little veins in his neck are sticking out again. You haven’t given him all the details, Harry.”
The Master glanced up at her fondly, took his wife’s hand and kissed the palm of it, before looking back at the screen, “Whatever would I do without you, my darling? Of course, I haven’t explained. You see - I don’t actually have a way to punch a hole through a dimension. I mean, we used to just be able to do it naturally - TARDIS, dimension, easily done. Now … bit trickier. So here’s the game, Doctor. I’ll be working on a way to pull off this … heh, masterful stroke of genius. You try and find me. Sort of like a giant game of interstellar hide-and-go seek.”
The anger abruptly left the Doctor, as he stared at the screen, “What? Wait - wait - wait - what?”
“Fun, eh? Just like old times.” The Master made a bit of a face at the screen, “Really don’t have anything else to add - I’m rubbish at finishing off answer phone messages. Lucy?”
Lucy looked from him, to the screen, her bright blue eyes glowing, and her lips curved into the loveliest smile, her voice pitched low, “Better start running, Doctor.”
“Ah yes. Perfect.” The Master’s smile was practically shark-like as he leaned in, and clicked off the console on his head, ending the message abruptly.
The Doctor stood up, staring at the black screen and his entire face went through several different expressions, before it decided on a smile. He leaned towards the screen, lowering his voice, “All right, Master. You want to play? We’ll play.” He straightened for a moment, moving to continue his preparations, before he stopped, and looked back at it, his face serious. “It’s good to have you back.”
He went through the rest of the TARDIS take-off procedures, and he just couldn’t stop from smiling. Yes, right, of course, the universe was in danger - the Master and his dangerous blonde moll were on the loose. There was the possibility that the Master might fail, destroying two dimensions, or he would succeed and capture Rose. There were a million things that could go wrong.
Still, the Master had called it a game, so whatever he was doing wasn’t being driven by the never-ending drums - the call to war. It was less of a fight and more of a mad, crazy, waltz across the stars between the two of them - no, wait, three. He wasn’t going to underestimate Lucy Cole-Saxon again, oho-no. There were lives in the balance, he couldn’t ever forget that, not for a second, but … but…
In the end, quite frankly, what good was Sherlock Holmes if he didn’t have his Moriarty?
“The game’s afoot, Watson!” He said with a touch of glee, before he frowned. Hm. Sort of needed a Watson for that quote to work. He really ought to pick up one of those, shouldn’t he? Even standing, all that. He pulled on the lever to start the ship, staring at the ceiling pensively.
He wondered what Donna was up to…
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
To paraphrase one of my favorite series? The saga of the Saxons is far from over...
Pairing: Saxon/Lucy, smattering of Saxon/Doctor, Lucy/Doctor and Saxon/Lucy/Doctor.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: Spoilers all the way up to "Last of the Time Lords". I don't own Doctor Who, and I sure as heck don't own Harry Potter. I don't even own anything I nabbed from Douglas Adams. If I stole anything else? I don't own that either.
Author's Notes: Okay kids, this is the last one for awhile, so while I got everyone's attention, I'd like to do some shout-outs. Shout-out first of course, to all my beta-readers; Tara, Tzikeh, and Sly. Much love also to Toga and Lolly, who sat through so many hours of me going, 'Is this good? Is this right?'. Much love to macbeemer for her wonderous art, as well. Oh, and thanks to my very good friend Kaine, who coined the phrase 'Space Jesus' for another fandom, and allowed me to take it as my own. Much props, sir.
And for your easy reading pleasure, the other parts of Bless; A Mad Love Story..
Here Come The Drums
Devil Inside
Domesticity
Bassinet
Blood Calls To Blood
Wasted
~~~~~~~~
The Year 3030 - the planet Ricollette - Night Rotation
There were times - oh, were there times! - when even the Doctor needed a break. Just a vacation from being the errant white knight of the universe. It had been a hard few weeks - er, days? Years? He never could tell. Anyway, it had been a rough time of it. He had lost so much, so very much, and before he had a chance to catch his breath and contemplate his place in the Universe, the Titanic had crashed into his TARDIS. Right after he had fixed her! The paint was barely dry!
That, however, was another adventure to contemplate for another day, or this day, or in the year 1267. Martha’s comment about the blondes, however, had been spot-on. He did have a serious weakness, and it only worsened as the millennium passed.
Right. Not the time to think of his weaknesses, his strengths, his losses, or his wins. Time to forget he was alone, and just immerse himself in how much he wasn’t. After all this time, he was falling back on what worked for him. Running - and if it meant running all the way across the galaxy to just throw himself at its brethren - so be it. Universe filled with people - all kinds of people. Human people, dog people, cat people, the odd kind of blobby people, who were really quite nice, once you sat down and shared a plate of Jammy Dodgers with them. All of them new, all of the interesting, and all of them far, far away.
Ricollette was the perfect place to start; after all, it was known across at least a hundred sectors as the ‘non-stop party planet’. Music poured out of clubs, into the city’s wide open squares. People drank all kinds of different drinks from hundreds of different worlds, danced together, snogged each other against walls and in bathrooms and the odd park bench. It was wild and uncontrolled, and he’d put on his best blue suit to wander into that happy madness, hoping to lose himself for awhile.
He walked the streets for a few hours, grinning at the crowds who sang and danced all around him. One rather inebriated fellow came up to him, gave him a pretty pink parasol, planted a kiss on his lips, and then continued down the street without saying a single word. The Doctor twirled the paper parasol in his hand, grinned, and then hooked it over one shoulder as he headed along the street, whistling. In front of him, a couple walked with their arms around each other, and they looked so happy that he stopped dead in his plimsolls, watching them wistfully as they passed. A gaggle of laughing young men stumbled out of a pub in front of him as he turned the corner, babbling about how that last final was a killer, oh Lady yes, thank Lady we got through it together, eh?
Together….
He spun his pretty pink parasol and sighed, looked to the sky, closed his eyes to allowed the pain to overcome him briefly. Why did he keep losing those most important to him? It wasn’t like he was trying to break them, trying to be careless. Yet they slipped through his fingers; one by one they fell away; Susan, Sarah Jane, Romana, Ace, Martha, Jack, Rose, and the Master. Each were swept up in the fire and the chaos of the merciless Oncoming Storm. Even Gallifrey - beautiful, timeless, glorious Gallifrey - annihilated by his hand.
It seemed inevitable that he destroyed what he loved. No wonder Martha had left. She’d had been right; she had to leave him for her own self-protection. Besides, what did he have left for her? He'd lost the two people who mattered most to him in a single year, which was no time at all. His hearts were still broken.
It’s funny how I find myself … in love with you…
He turned towards the melancholy sound, blinking in surprise. Was that - early 21st century Earth music? Here, of all places? His curiosity aroused, he snapped closed his parasol and jogged along the street until he found the source of the music: a globe-shaped club, brilliant and shiny and all the colors of the rainbow, on the corner of a major intersection.
He eyed the club’s name above the door, which was flashing in bright blue holographics, and shook his head a little with a grin. Pan-galactic Pool of Delights. Try saying that ten times fast. He tried it in his head for a few times, then shrugged. Not that hard at all, apparently.
It’s my life … Don’t you forget … It’s my life … It never ends…
Presenting Earth Retro Night! flickered under the sign, answering his question without him having to ask it. Convenient, that.
He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Been awhile since he had a good slug of something - and quite honestly if it was ever a time for a good banana daiquiri - why not when he was technically ‘on vacation’? Hmmm. Bananas. He loved bananas.
Funny how I blind myself … I never knew …Sometimes played a part …afraid to lose…
With the thought of sweet, tropical fruit and rum blended in a glass with ice - like a gigantic alcoholic Slurpie! - he bounced up the stairs. The club held the perfect number of bodies; enough where you moved around easily but not so much that business was suffering. He ambled through the crowds, well pleased to be getting so many sideways glances, but nothing with real interest. He liked the set-up of the club automatically - three tiers wrapped around the globe itself - which was clear glass inside, and you could look up at the glorious sky above Ricollette - while the dance floor was set in the bowl below. He was on the widest one, set in the middle. The bar was set off to one long curved side of it, where people gathered around the stools and wandered away again. He beamed as he sauntered over, snagging a stool down at the end, putting his pink umbrella down on the smooth black countertop.
Caught in the crowd … it never ends … it never ends…
A pretty green-skinned girl with bright blue hair twisted into dozens of long braids, dressed in a pair of skin-tight black pants, and a blue shirt with the bar’s name in bright retro-sparkles, sauntered up to him and flashed him a wide smile, her black eyes shining. “What can I get you, brown eyes?”
“Well, it’s a bit complex. Y’see, I want a banana daiquiri, but I was rather hoping you’d let me make it.” He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. He tilted his head, listening as the music changed again. 20th century now, just twenty years earlier than the last.
One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster…
She leaned against the bar, her dark green lips curving into a grin. “What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”
“Oh, no - no, no no. See…” He leaned over the bar, whispering confidentially, “Personally, I’ve got a killer recipe for daiquiris. I’ve been dying to try it, but while I’ve always got the bananas, I’m always lacking a proper blender.”
She eyed him. He gave her his brightest, most innocent smile; the one, for whatever reason, let him get away with the most outrageous things around women. This time was no exception as she rolled her eyes, and tapped the very end of the bar, making it momentarily dissipate. “All right, brown eyes. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The bars are temples, but the pearls aren’t free…
His smile widened, and he hopped up, sneaking behind the bar. Soon, he had the entire bar laughing at his antics - hopping around - crushing ice, smashing bananas, spinning bottles and nearly dropping them before catching them again. It was the most fun he had in awhile, and he let himself show off, making it a little more exaggerated than it needed to be. He finished with a flourish, pouring himself a daiquiri out of the atomizing blender into a glass neatly, before holding out to the crowd. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make a Aristocratic French Banana Daiquiri, with a Vanilla Twist,” he paused, then plucked up a tiny blue paper umbrella, “And an Umbrella. Allons-y!”
You’ll find a God in every golden cloister….
The barkeep put her two fingers in her mouth and whistled appreciatively, while everyone else broke out into applause. He bowed, grinning, before turning to the barkeep. “So what do I owe you for putting up with my odd whims?”
She laughed, tapping the bar again to let him out. “Well, I’d love to say it was on the house, handsome, but everyone’s first round has been picked up by table six.” She nodded to a small table that he could see was empty except a variety of empty and half-full glasses, along with a glowing holographic sign of ‘Reserved’.
And if you’re lucky than the God’s a She…
He flopped down on the still empty stool, sipped his drink as his eyebrows arched up, “Huh! Generous of them.”
“Well apparently, it’s their second honeymoon. Such a shame, because they’re both utterly gorgeous.” She grinned, plucking up glasses here and there. “Watching them out on the dance floor, when you can see them around that tribe of appreciative Grandoms? Is a treat.”
I can feel an Angel sliding up next to me…
He grinned back, and turned to look at the dance floor, to see if he could catch sight of the ‘treat’. It was somewhat of a problem, what with the crowds and him not being ten feet tall; but he solved that by standing on the stool, peering above the crowd. He really couldn’t see much though, but a moving blur of red and black. They must be good, though; the Grandoms only grunted like that when they were extremely pleased. Besides, everyone else seemed to be chanting, in 400 different languages, ‘Dance, dance, dance!’ He watched for a moment, just the flashes of red and black, moving like tiny dots of color under the lights of the dome, in a way that niggled his memory.
He sat down on the bar, before sliding down to his stool, looking back at the barkeep. “You’re right, they are good.” He spun around once, frowned. “And familiar.” He spun half-way, got up, and tried to peer over the crowd on his tip-toes, before turning back to the bartender. “Oh well, they’ll have to stop dancing eventually, right?”
“Right. They don’t do the slow songs.” The barkeep answered, polishing down the bar with the rag in her hand.
“Excellent! I’ll go chat them up then,” he paused, then cleared his throat, “Not ‘chat up’, per se. Say thanks. Show gratitude. Be thankful for the alcoholic beverage. That sort of thing.”
One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble…
The barkeeper flashed that smile with all those pretty white teeth. “Sure thing, sugar. If they come up for another round, who should I say wants to ‘chat’ with them?”
“Just say … the Doctor,” he shrugged - what the hey? Not everyone in the galaxy knew who he was. Just as likely they would ignore him - they were on their honeymoon after all. “On second thought, just tell them thanks. I’ll owe them a round someday.”
“Sure thing, brown eyes. Let me know when you’ll need a refill, okay? I got the rest of your blend in the mini-frozator,” she winked and swaggered off to take care of other customers, leaving the Doctor on his own.
Not much between despair and ecstasy…
Not to say that he was lonely for long - in the next twenty minutes he had a round of conversations with a number of interesting folk. He was in the midst of a very interesting talk with a Tuilia, which was a race of people that looked like large grizzly bears, except for the fact that they walked and talked, and had horrid taste in shirts. The one he was talking to rumbled on about the Space Quidditch finales - the Venus II Maypies apparently were making a run for the Cup. He finished the last of his daiquiri, trying to pay attention to what was an interesting analysis of their three Zero-G defense and not be distracted by the chartreuse ruffled thing that reminded him far too painfully of his sixth re-generation, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He excused himself politely with a polite tap of the pointer finger to his forehead, and turned to the barkeep, whom he saw, was filling up his glass to the brim.
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble...
He beamed at her, reaching over to snag the glass, “Hmm. Perfect. Good timing, too.”
He started to dig through his pockets to pay her, and she closed her fingers around his elbow. Her eyes sparkled a little, “No need. Table six picked up your tab.”
He blinked, gaping a little. “G’on! Get out of here! They didn’t even.”
Her smile flashed brilliantly. “They did. Actually, she’s over there, and her man went off to use the facilities, I’m guessing. He’s been drinking like a horse. If you want to go chat…”
“Don’t see why not. At least can say hi, offer a daiquiri. Polite thing to do, eh?” He gave her his cheekiest smile, before he plucked up his full glass and left her a big tip, just because.
Can't be too careful with your company…
He edged through the crowd, peered around as best he could, which involved a lot of ducking around larger aliens and standing up a little taller over shorter ones. He did a little spinning thing, and finally got a clear view of the woman sitting at the table, her back to him.
Blonde, and his brain set off all kinds of alarm bells while he melted a little inside. Long, blond curls, tumbling over a floating top of skimpy maroon. There was something about her hands, again, that sense of niggling memory. He put on his glasses, skimming over her slender, pale arms, down to the fingers painted with a dark, almost blood red, then up again, as she turned her head sideways, towards the dance floor. That was when he stared. Good and hard, because he’d know that profile anywhere. He’d only had stared at it for a year, vague and empty, a pretty porcelain doll.
I can feel the devil walking next to me…
It didn’t look empty now. In fact, it looked filled with life, flush with liquor and dancing. A frisson of anger flashed through him. It had only be a month - week - decade? And here she was, here with another … another who? How the hell did she get here? Ah, wait. Time Agent. She re-married a Time Agent. Only way she could have gotten here, in another planet, all the way on the side of the galaxy. Re-married, just like that.
And that? Made him angrier.
He came around to the side of the table so he was facing her, his voice coming out clipped. “Lucy Cole. Sorry, Saxon. No wait, you’re here, so it’s something else now.”
Her head turned towards him sharply, and then her smile came over her face. Beautiful, in fact, when it was infused with soul and life, but there was something in her eyes that was so very cold, and so very pitiless. Dangerous, her smile. “Why, Doctor. I didn’t think you’d come over. I should have known; your curiosity has always gotten the better of you. Harry says it does.”
He waved his hand. “You knew I’d come over the moment you bought that drink. I can’t exactly figure out why - unless you want me to introduce me to the new hubby. What is it now, Lucy Cole-Saxon-BibblyBobbyMisterMan?”
She plucked a fresh glass off the table of castaways, one filled with a misty purple liquid, a smile working on her face. “Funny. Can’t say I’ve really gotten to see your humorous side. I’ve seen you defeated, seen you angry, seen you ever-so-forgiving. Never seen you joke.”
“You think I’m joking now?” He said, his voice gone quiet, and cold. “He’s barely cold in the ground, and here you are, tripping the light fantastic on someone else’s arm.”
“You didn’t give him a grave. You threw his body on a pyre, and had at it.” She met his gaze without flinching, lifting her drink to her lips, taking a long sip, and put it down again. “Did Martha Jones and the Freak roast marshmallows over it? Perhaps a few sausages? Must have been nasty, eating sausages that tasted of dead Time Lord.”
“Stoppit. That’s not even funny.” He leaned his hands on the table, glowering at her. “Don’t you feel anything? Did emotion get burnt all out of you? You killed your husband. You seemed so broken… but I suppose I should just give you credit for
being a fantastic actress.”
“You have no idea.” She smiled again, but this time it was hard and cold, as she put down her glass, leaning over the table to whisper to him. “Funnily enough, though, I really can’t be taking anything you say to heart. Especially since I think this is the first time you’ve ever been able to look me in the eye, Doctor.”
His jaw tightened a little, “I’m not looking away from you now, Lucy. No, you’ve got my full attention. Were you faking the entire time - that whole year?”
“The whole year, more or less,” she lifted her chin a little, her gaze proud, “And no-one ever noticed me. Neither one of your ‘great’ companions, nor your little band of revolutionaries; not even you, Doctor. You said it yourself. ‘I didn’t see her.’” She snorted dismissively. “Harry also says you’re clever one of the two of you. I’m not seeing it, frankly.”
He gritted his teeth, because that? That stung. He hadn’t noticed her, had ignored her right to the very end, and he was just starting to realize what a huge mistake that was. But how was he to know? He thought she was just the trophy wife. His voice echoed that pain, “Why?”
“Why did I kill him, you mean?” She stepped off her stool, moving around to his side of the table, resting one hand on the table as she looked up at him, “I can see it in your eyes; you’re thinking because he abused me, used me, made me his pawn. No, I killed him because I love him … and I hated you.”
“You love him, you hated me, so you killed him,” he snorted, his arms folding over his chest, “Sorry, that’s not quite tracking anywhere but someplace near completely insane.”
She canted her head to the side, one side of her pretty mouth curving up, “How do you get that big head out of the TARDIS every day, Doctor? Do you need a lot of cooking grease and a crowbar?” She moved in closer, her eyes flashing blue fire, “He didn’t want to be with you. He died rather than spend eternity trapped in your quaint little blue box. I gave him exactly what he wanted, because I’m the one who really takes care of him. Always have, always will.”
“Hmm. Good work there. I’m sure taking care of a load of ash and a few leftover campaign buttons is keeping you up nights.” He retorted, even as her points hit home.
“You didn’t understand. I tried to tell you, but you weren’t listening. I suppose I can’t really blame you - you were just trying to do what I was doing - saving him from himself.” She sighed, and the anger was gone, left with a bone-deep weariness. “I went to the end of the Universe, and I realized there was no point … no point to his plan, to what he was trying to accomplish. His plan was doomed to fail, because human nature is immutable. We were either going to run away, or we were going to destroy ourselves. The human race was going to commit suicide on itself, one way or another. With no illusions left I had to save the one thing - the only thing - that still mattered to me. My husband.”
He stared at her for a long moment, shock stirring him to the core. In one way, her sacrifice in giving away her sanity to better watch out for the safety of her husband was admirable. In another, it was completely bonkers. However, he was starting to see that perhaps the Master hadn’t chosen Lucy Cole simply for a pretty face and a good name. Perhaps he had seen something inside of her - probably something twisted, dark, and evil - but it was something. He had married her, after all. With that realization, the Doctor sighed, running one hand through his dark hair, “You thought I was trying to take him away from you.”
“The thought occurred to me.” She answered softly, her chin lifting up again.
“I would have taken you with us, if you wanted,” he said quietly, his voice sincere,
“I wouldn’t have taken away something that made him happy.”
She searched his face, and her mouth twisted a little, “You really would have, wouldn’t you? Forget that I literally danced on the grave of my own kind; because it would have made him happy, you’d have dragged me along.”
“I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love, someone you need. For Time Lords … it’s doubly as important,” he clicked his tongue on the top of his mouth, rubbing his ear, “Besides, would have been lot easier to keep an eye on the both of you together than apart. Kept you out of trouble. Smacking your hands when you tried for mass genocide again, that sort of thing.”
“Oooh, keep me good, Doctor,” her crimson lips curled up, and her blonde hair gleamed, and the Doctor was suddenly reminded why fair-haired women with gumption tended to make his brain side-track. He didn’t need to add evil fair-haired women to that. Really.
He took a step backwards, tugging on his collar a little. “Anyways, you didn’t need to go to such extreme measures. We didn’t have to lose him - the both of us. You couldn’t have been that jealous to think he wouldn’t have … wait.” He tilted his head. “Wait, wait. You consciously chose to kill your husband, a fairly irrational act, to free him from me. But killing him didn’t free him, it just made him dead. Very dead, burnt ashes dead … how did you know I burnt him?” He stared at her, as her eyes began to gleam. “You couldn’t have known I burnt him, unless you were there. You couldn’t have been there unless you knew how to track - track - laser screwdriver. You had his laser screwdriver, oooooooh gosh!” He ran both of his hands through his hair. “We let you have it, you tracked it to him. But how? You had to have his DNA - he implanted into you - using sesmoric - where? Not the screwdriver. Ring. He had a ring. You went and you … you…” He stopped dead, his entire body flooding with ice-cold realization as he tracked the last five minutes of conversation, his voice coming out in a soft whisper, “You said ‘Harry says’. Present tense.”
She tilted her head back and laughed throatily, before her eyes flickered to a spot over his shoulder, “You were right, Harry. He is clever.”
The Doctor’s entire body went rigid, as the Master’s voice purred not more than three inches from his own ear, “Told you so, my darling.” That voice turned, and soft breath hissed across his cheek, “Doctor.”
He swallowed, his eyes closing, before he said shakily, “Master.”
“Mm-hmm. I still like it when you say my name.” The Master laughed softly, and his arm snaked around the Doctor and snagged the other glass filled with purple liquid, “What’s this, Luce?”
“Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.” Lucy wrinkled her nose, “It’s fizzy.”
“Fizzy, eh? Ah well.” The Master took the glass from around the Doctor slowly, making the Doctor ever more aware that he still hadn’t said anything in this completely unbelievable and now strangely surreal experience. He listened to the Master drink, because frankly, the man hadn’t moved an inch away from him. “Hmm. Got a kick, even if it tastes purple.”
All right, he had to say something. At this point, it was just embarrassing that he hadn’t. “Master, you have to let all these people go. They aren’t a part of this - they are just innocent bystanders.”
He could feel the Master moving around him, dressed in slightly less formal version of what he had worn on Earth; black slacks, white button-down shirt sans tie, and a slightly more flared black coat, looking bafflingly the same as he had when the Doctor had last seen him. His arm curved around his wife, and they shared twin looks of amusement. The Master sipped his drink again, put it down, all the while eying the Doctor, “And why exactly would I want to blow this place to bits? It’s a hoot.”
The Doctor’s eyebrow lifted disbelievingly, “Oh, what, you just stopped by for a friendly visit? Have a bit of a chat, drink down at the local pub?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” The Master eyed the table before him. “Well, more than one drink now. We sort of got carried away when we saw the drinks menu.” He grinned boyishly, his dark eyes sparkling, “Screaming Orgasms? Delicious.”
“He had three.” Lucy rolled her eyes, but a smile glimmered across her lips.
“Anyways, no, pretty much just a stopover. We were on our way to Barcelona…” the Master started to say, when the Doctor cut him off abruptly.
“What the hell were you going to do in Barcelona?” he asked sharply, looking from one to the other. “What could you do in Barcelona? It’s a planet with absolutely no military value, of any kind.”
“I know that.” This time, it was the Master who rolled his eyes. “Honestly. We’re going to get a dog and then … we decided to leave plans open. Might go someplace for a bit of sun, some sand. More Screaming Orgasms, or their closest equivalent.”
The Doctor held up one hand, waving it frantically for a moment, making the Master bite his lip and look at his wife with a wickedly amused smile. The Doctor gave them an irritated look as he leaned his elbows on the table and took off his glasses, “Let me get this straight - because frankly I think I’m not getting this straight at all.” He wet his lips, trying to wrap his mind around it, “You’re actually on holiday? You’ve, metaphorically speaking, gone to the country for the weekend?”
“Well quite honestly, Doctor, we needed it. The last … non-existent year’s been quite draining.” Lucy said, leaning more into her husband, as the Master started nibbling her ear in a way that was both distracting and irritating, because it was so distracting.
“Oh well, I suppose I could see that - with all that fake-real insanity and taking over the world and then dying - fairly exhausting. Would need to re-charge your Evil Overlord batteries,” the Doctor rubbed his ear again, then shook his head, “No, wait, no no no. It’s you!” He jabbed a finger at the Master, and then over at Lucy, “And then it’s, now rather appropriately, you!”
The Master gave his wife a look, and she shrugged in answer. He sighed and looked to the ceiling, “Well if it’ll make you feel any better, Doctor, we’ll work on formulating an evil plan right here, off the top of our heads. Darling, any ideas?”
Lucy wet her lips, looking at the ceiling, before shrugging under her husband’s curved arms. “Oh, we’re going to get that Jones’s family. Yes we are. Going to get them, right off. With evil.” She nodded her head as solemnly as possible. “Lots of it.”
The Master gestured with his hand, grinning broadly, “Good enough?” He peered into the
Doctor’s stony face, and shook his head, “No, guess not. Aaaah …” he snapped his fingers, “We’re going to take over the galaxy with …rubber ducks? Baseball caps? Trained penguins? Any of this working for you?”
The Doctor folded his arms over his chest, his face nothing but hard, angular lines, his tone curt, “No.”
The Master leaned over and whispered into Lucy’s ear, “He’s much less fun when he’s out on his own, isn’t he? Definitely needs someone along to soak up the grumpy. Where is Martha Jones, anyways?”
One corner of the Doctor’s cheek twitched, “She decided to stay behind. Work, family, all that.”
“Ouch, the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me, and my crazy life’ line.” The Master tutted softly under his breath, “Quite a way to get dumped - of course you’re usually the one who does the dumping so it must be a refreshing change.” He mock-whispered again, “He can’t keep hold of a Companion to save his life - they’re always wandering off, falling in love with other people, dying. And of course, there’s Rose Tyler.”
He ground his teeth so tightly that he could hear them pressing against one another, “You leave her out of this conversation, Master.”
“Oooh, there’s a nerve,” the Master canted his head thoughtfully, before looking at Lucy with one raised eyebrow, “What do you think, my darling? Want to go visit the Doctor’s Greatest Companion - panion - panion - panion … of course I don’t think the people at Torchwood are really giving Martha a fair measure of that title. Or Romana, for that matter. Not to forgot that one, the reporter? Sarah Jane Smith. Anyways, how about it? We get to punch through to another dimen-sion.”
Something twisted hard in the Doctor’s chest, and he stepped up to them both, fury rolling off of him like the winds of a summer squall. “Don’t you dare. Don’t dare even try it. There will be no corner of the galaxy that’s far enough away that you could hide from me, if you even contemplate going through with such an atrocity.”
The Master’s dark eyes flickered through a million different reactions, before his lips quirked up. “Okay.”
The Doctor blinked, and then blinked again. He answered suspiciously, “Okay?”
The Master nodded, “Okay. You said no, I said okay.” His smile widened, “Wasn’t that easy?”
“Yes. Far too easy.” The Doctor said, his eyes narrowing as he tucked his glasses away.
The Master rolled his eyes, “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor - why must you always suspect me? I mean - it’s not as if I’m always up to something - oh my Gods what is that!? ”
The Doctor jerked his head around, his hand going inside his pocket for his sonic screwdriver, “What, where, I don’t see anything!?” He stopped, though, when he heard the Master and Lucy cracking up behind him. He turned around, glaring fiercely as Lucy snorted laughter through her fingers, while the Master pounded his hand on the table, snickering. “Oh, that’s very mature, Master. Very funny. Hah hah.”
The Master howled, “I can’t believe you fell for that! What is that, sixteen, seventeen trillion years old? Ahahhaha!” He smacked on the table for another moment, before picking up his drink and polishing it off, “Oh, yes. That was good. That was fun. Wasn’t that fun?”
“Great fun, Harry.” Lucy plucked the cherry off one of her drinks, smiling at the Doctor, nodding at his coat. “You’re vibrating.”
He blinked at her before he glanced down to find the phone that Martha had given him was indeed, vibrating his coat pocket. He plucked it out, pointing one finger at the both of them, “Don’t you try anything. Either one of you. I’ve got my eye on you.” He turned on the phone, speaking curtly into it, “Hello?”
“Doctor! Oh thank God!” Martha’s voice was filled with relief, and he couldn’t help but smile a little, “You’re all right - you’re there - all right - calm yourself, Martha. Doctor, the Master alive! Jack saw him, and his wife, in Cardiff! He thinks they’ve got a TARDIS!”
The Doctor glared at the Master and his wife, as they seemed to be leaning into one another a bit much, and really, did she have to suck on his neck in public?. He turned away, muttering into the phone. “Yes. I know - he’s here now.”
Martha’s breath came in sharply, “Doctor, are you all right? Have they captured you? I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to get you out of there…”
He waved his hand a little, “No, no. It’s all right. He’s being a bit of a bastard and I think they’re both flirting with me, but they haven’t tried anything overtly chaotic or destructive. Mostly they’re drinking weird drinks and making fun of me.”
He could almost see Martha’s skeptical eyebrow, “You’re joking, right? You mean, they haven’t done anything … I don’t know, unbelievably evil?”
“No, but it’s still early yet,” he muttered, turning back around to the table, where he found the Master and Lucy looking at him with some truly unholy glee. He eyed them, before speaking into the phone, “Martha? Hold on.” He put his hand over the receiver end, looking from one, to the other, “What?”
“Tell her we said ‘Hi’.” The Master whispered, grinning devilishly from ear to ear. Lucy locked her wrist, waving in the stiff ‘Queen’ style, making the Master burst into chortles again.
The Doctor stared at them disbelievingly, before he put the phone back to his mouth, his voice wry, “Martha? They wanted to say … ‘Hi’.” He then had to hold the phone away from his ear as an amazing stream of inventive curses and promises to hurt the Master came out of the phone.
The Master widened his eyes, comic book large, “My, my, where did she learn that kind of language? Tsk. Mrs. Jones obviously didn’t wash her mouth enough with soap. Bad parenting skills, that is. Of course, the woman made crap tea, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes, before turning back around, and tried to speak over Martha, “Yes - yes - all right - yes - no, I don’t think you could manage to get that all the way up there, the physics are all wrong.”
“Oh, but I could try.” Martha hissed into his ear, “You know you can’t keep your eyes off them for a minute, yeah?”
He turned back towards the table with a snort, “Well of course not, they’re now the two most dangerous - aaaaaah!” The table where the Master and Lucy had stood was now conspicuously bereft of either one. “Oh no. Nooooo. They’re gone.”
A note of panic entered Martha’s voice, “Gone, how could they be gone?”
“I don’t know! They were right here, I turn around, turn back, they’re gone! Poof! Poof like ninjas!” he ducked down to check under the table, just in case. There was a disappointing lack of any Saxons.
“Doctor, you have to find them! They could be up to anything.” Martha said, and she sounded truly afraid.
Not nearly as afraid as the Doctor was, though. He swallowed, before speaking quietly, “Martha. Listen to me. I promise you; I will find them, and I will stop them. Do you believe me?”
There was a quiet exhalation of air, before Martha spoke back up, her voice determined, “I do. Absolutely do.” He could almost see the brilliant, beautiful smile on her face, “Like Jack says - never doubted you. Never will.”
“Atta-girl.” He smiled to himself as he loped back up to the bar, snagging his pink pretty parasol, waving a quick good-bye to the confused barkeep. “I’ve got to go - they’ve got maybe a ten-second head start on me, and that’s more than enough for the Master.”
“All right, keep me posted, and you know if you need me?” Martha’s voice was firm, “I’ve got your back. Any time, Doctor.”
He grinned as he hit the door running, “I know you do, Martha Jones. Thank you. And now … bye!” He clicked off the phone, stuffed it into his pocket, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. Okay, turn the settings to track any sort of time influxes, as only a TARDIS can, with most recent being probably about five seconds ago. Ah-hah! …Drat! He didn’t slow his speed as he reversed himself, running back in the other direction towards his own TARDIS. They had already left; the time signature was fading fast, but if he could manage to; yes, he’d thought so! The Master had left fast, which meant the area was just soaked in leftover TARDIS resonance. Just another twist in the settings again, and yes! Got it! Saved, into the screwdriver! Who’d need sonic, indeed? He would, so there, neener.
He charged up the alley where he left the TARDIS, slapping the key in the lock, panting hard. He wiggled the door open and exploded himself all over the console; putting the screwdriver’s readings into the TARDIS computer, spinning dials, twisting knobs, a dancing tornado. He slapped his parasol by the viewing screen - and then stopped, dead.
There was a glowing red icon on the screen - a message had come in for him. He stared at it for a moment, before slowly going to tap on it lightly, then ducked quickly under the console. Nothing exploded, but the Master’s voice sounded clearly through the speakers, “Hello, Doctor! If I know you, you’ve ducked down to see if this thing blew up, so come on then, poke your head on up. That’s a good little gopher.”
The Doctor warily stuck the top of his head up over the lip of the console, squinting at the screen. The Master was sitting down at a sleek black console himself, his hands steepled together. Lucy sat on the arm of his chair, gorgeous and predatory, one arm wrapped around the back of it. The Master’s smile widened, “There you are Doctor - and before you start trying to talk to me?” the Doctor’s mouth snapped shut,
“This is a recording. So just sit back and listen, hmm?”
The Doctor sat down, folding his arms atop of the console, his eyes flashing the power of suns, “All right, you’ve got my attention. So start talking.”
The Master smiled slowly, “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer - and before you go - the one where you get to keep me like a goldfish? No! Never, not in a million, one hundred trillion years.” His expression darkened momentarily, before brightening again. “Actually, I thought that ‘date’ thing sounded like fun. Y’know, ‘fight across the constellations’. Sounded like the perfect way to kick-start us back, eh?”
The Doctor sighed, laying his hands flat on the TARDIS’s controls, “Yes, but what do you get out of this?”
“Bet you’re wondering what I get out of this. I mean, really, just the two of us, battling it out, Time Lord y Time Lord? What’s the point? Been here, done this, got the shoddy t-shirt. And you’re right, really needs to come out to some sort of prize.” The Master leaned forward towards the screen, eyes glimmering. “A pretty posy to the winner. Or shall I say, a Rose?”
Everything in the Doctor’s mind stopped. Just stopped, before flooding back into a wave of fear mixed with rage. His face contorted as he slammed his hands down on the console, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you bloody well dare!”
Lucy canted her head towards the screen, “Now, I bet those little veins in his neck are sticking out again. You haven’t given him all the details, Harry.”
The Master glanced up at her fondly, took his wife’s hand and kissed the palm of it, before looking back at the screen, “Whatever would I do without you, my darling? Of course, I haven’t explained. You see - I don’t actually have a way to punch a hole through a dimension. I mean, we used to just be able to do it naturally - TARDIS, dimension, easily done. Now … bit trickier. So here’s the game, Doctor. I’ll be working on a way to pull off this … heh, masterful stroke of genius. You try and find me. Sort of like a giant game of interstellar hide-and-go seek.”
The anger abruptly left the Doctor, as he stared at the screen, “What? Wait - wait - wait - what?”
“Fun, eh? Just like old times.” The Master made a bit of a face at the screen, “Really don’t have anything else to add - I’m rubbish at finishing off answer phone messages. Lucy?”
Lucy looked from him, to the screen, her bright blue eyes glowing, and her lips curved into the loveliest smile, her voice pitched low, “Better start running, Doctor.”
“Ah yes. Perfect.” The Master’s smile was practically shark-like as he leaned in, and clicked off the console on his head, ending the message abruptly.
The Doctor stood up, staring at the black screen and his entire face went through several different expressions, before it decided on a smile. He leaned towards the screen, lowering his voice, “All right, Master. You want to play? We’ll play.” He straightened for a moment, moving to continue his preparations, before he stopped, and looked back at it, his face serious. “It’s good to have you back.”
He went through the rest of the TARDIS take-off procedures, and he just couldn’t stop from smiling. Yes, right, of course, the universe was in danger - the Master and his dangerous blonde moll were on the loose. There was the possibility that the Master might fail, destroying two dimensions, or he would succeed and capture Rose. There were a million things that could go wrong.
Still, the Master had called it a game, so whatever he was doing wasn’t being driven by the never-ending drums - the call to war. It was less of a fight and more of a mad, crazy, waltz across the stars between the two of them - no, wait, three. He wasn’t going to underestimate Lucy Cole-Saxon again, oho-no. There were lives in the balance, he couldn’t ever forget that, not for a second, but … but…
In the end, quite frankly, what good was Sherlock Holmes if he didn’t have his Moriarty?
“The game’s afoot, Watson!” He said with a touch of glee, before he frowned. Hm. Sort of needed a Watson for that quote to work. He really ought to pick up one of those, shouldn’t he? Even standing, all that. He pulled on the lever to start the ship, staring at the ceiling pensively.
He wondered what Donna was up to…
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
To paraphrase one of my favorite series? The saga of the Saxons is far from over...