(no subject)
Lucy had always been told that once she left Paradisa, she would forget everything, so having two and a half years' worth of memories suddenly shoved into her head in the blink of an eye was just a little staggering. It was lucky that she was already sitting down, or she might have collapsed. One blink ago she had been sitting on the sofa at Downing Street, blissfully happy and triumphant; now she was still sitting on the sofa--she hadn't moved at all--but it was as if she were viewing herself through a long telescope lens, inexplicably older and sadder and quite a bit less sane. The mental disconnect left her so disoriented it was a wonder she managed to compose herself and go on like nothing was wrong when Vivian Rook arrived.
The telescope view never went away. She knew the details of the life she would live for the next year, but she never raised her voice to protest or her hand to stop. It was as if the Lucy in the present was an automaton and the real Lucy was sat in another room, watching her life unfold from a distance. She wondered if it would have been as easy for her to go mad without the dubious benefit of retaining her memories from that strange castle world, and eventually came to the conclusion that yes, yes it would. Harry's--the Master's--whiplash-inducing mood swings hurt and confused her just as much, and her remoteness from reality did nothing to dull the pain.
When the gun dropped to the floor near her feet, it was a relief and yet still a heartbreak.
Lucy spent her time in prison desperately trying to keep the good days sharp in her memory. She missed Harry; she hated the Master. She became convinced that she had met the wrong Time Lord. But would it have been any better if she had met the Doctor first? He never would have taken her on. They were too different; she wasn't companion material at all. She was much better suited for being the wife of an egotistical maniac. But she and the blond Doctor had managed to make it work, hadn't they? In spite of everything. She had even come to an uneasy understanding with the skinny idiot, after a time.
But there was really no use dwelling on it; her Doctor would never remember her--surely, she was a fluke--and the skinny idiot had long since put her from his mind. She was trapped her. Someday, the Master's remaining followers might make their move, but they might not, and they might not even involve her. Being prepared for that counted for something but it didn't help to pass the time, since she was barely involved at all in that process. She had only been able to tell her uncle where to look for the books, and the rest had been left up to him.
So when Miss Trefusis arrived at her cell with a phalanx of guards and a smirk, Lucy wasn't especially surprised, but she was a little frightened. Slight comfort though it was to see her secret prison ally among the group, it also made her stomach drop. It was time. Someone was going to die tonight.
She hoped it wouldn't be her.
The telescope view never went away. She knew the details of the life she would live for the next year, but she never raised her voice to protest or her hand to stop. It was as if the Lucy in the present was an automaton and the real Lucy was sat in another room, watching her life unfold from a distance. She wondered if it would have been as easy for her to go mad without the dubious benefit of retaining her memories from that strange castle world, and eventually came to the conclusion that yes, yes it would. Harry's--the Master's--whiplash-inducing mood swings hurt and confused her just as much, and her remoteness from reality did nothing to dull the pain.
When the gun dropped to the floor near her feet, it was a relief and yet still a heartbreak.
Lucy spent her time in prison desperately trying to keep the good days sharp in her memory. She missed Harry; she hated the Master. She became convinced that she had met the wrong Time Lord. But would it have been any better if she had met the Doctor first? He never would have taken her on. They were too different; she wasn't companion material at all. She was much better suited for being the wife of an egotistical maniac. But she and the blond Doctor had managed to make it work, hadn't they? In spite of everything. She had even come to an uneasy understanding with the skinny idiot, after a time.
But there was really no use dwelling on it; her Doctor would never remember her--surely, she was a fluke--and the skinny idiot had long since put her from his mind. She was trapped her. Someday, the Master's remaining followers might make their move, but they might not, and they might not even involve her. Being prepared for that counted for something but it didn't help to pass the time, since she was barely involved at all in that process. She had only been able to tell her uncle where to look for the books, and the rest had been left up to him.
So when Miss Trefusis arrived at her cell with a phalanx of guards and a smirk, Lucy wasn't especially surprised, but she was a little frightened. Slight comfort though it was to see her secret prison ally among the group, it also made her stomach drop. It was time. Someone was going to die tonight.
She hoped it wouldn't be her.