Crossover Fic: Building Alliances (DW/Blake's 7)
As per my comment to discussion questions 3 and 4 of the
best_enemies Oct. 26th discussion question post, here this is. Less detail here because it's a story, not an essay.
Special thanks to crycraven for giving me the title of the B7 episode so I could go find the script. (All I could remember was that I always thought that Servalan's desire to have thousands of little Servalans running around made wonderful sense. Perfect way to indulge a biological drive without all the messy DNA mixing, and they'll look just like you!)
Title: Building Alliances
Author: Evilawyer
Rating: PG
Series: Doctor Who and Blake's 7
Characters: Simm!Master and Servalan
Time Frame: Post-LotTL; Post-Children of Auron
Summary: “You'll find this surprising, Master, but understanding does help build alliances.”
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and I make no monetary profit from them. No infringement of U.S. or international copyright law or of trademarks is intended.
The man in the black suit smiles as the woman in the black evening gown hands him the glass of wine she's just poured and asks “And if I help you, what will you give me in return?”
His eyes follow her as she sweeps back into her seat across the low table between them. He takes a drink, then raises his eyebrow at her. “Is there anything a woman as powerful as you doesn't already have, Madame President?”
"There's always more to want. You, of all people, should know that.”
The Master grins. “You have a point, Servalan. Absolute power just leaves you wanting ... well, more power, really.” He drinks half of his wine in one go.
“How well we still understand each other, Master. It's nice to see that only your physical appearance has changed.” She eyes him thoughtfully. “I thought you usually preferred a more mature look. What made you decide on such a youthful body for this regeneration?”
He sits up and reaches for the bottle of wine Servalan left on the table. Refilling his glass, he says “Young and strong seemed like a good idea at the time.”
"You were never weak or debilitated in your earlier bodies,” Servalan observes.
The Master picks up his glass and makes a small sound, something a little like a horse's sigh, to signify his partial disagreement. “You never saw me in the last stages of my thirteenth regeneration, then.” He takes a sip of wine. “But, generally, no. I never was.”
“Then having a youthful exterior must have been your true goal. Tell me, why would a man of your experience think that a boyish look would be an advantage to you in your usual activities?”
“I suspect it was a case of wanting to keep up with the Joneses,” the Master retorts. He lets out a short, sharp laugh. There is no joy in the sound.
Servalan studies the Master's face. It looks young, yes, but now that she looks more closely, she can see lines around his eyes and mouth. They're the kind of lines that worry, disappointment and pain etch onto flesh. His eyes are cold and ancient, too; then again, they always were.
“Younger, yes, but more somber, too,” she shares as she watches him stare through his glass. When he says nothing in favor of closing his eyes and holding the glass to his forehead, she prompts, “Well?”
“Children are everything,” he says as he removes the glass from his skin. He looks up into the Madame President's eyes with a look so icy she would shiver in fear if she remembered how. “Don't you think?”
It's Servalan's turn to be silent.
Undaunted, the Master continues. “Why the sudden wardrobe make-over, Servalan? You woke up one morning and decided all of a sudden that black was a happy, lively color?” The Master leans forward and lowers his voice. “I don't think that was it at all. No, I think you know all about what's it's like to have a reason to grieve.”
Servalan's stare is covered with a layer of ice of its own. “And more prone to uttering non sequiturs, too, I see.”
“Making sense is overrated.”
“Avoiding wasting my time isn't.” She can tell it was the thing to say when she sees respect and a little bit of admiration replace the bitterness in the Master's eyes.
“Right.” The Master bangs his glass down on the table without spilling a drop of wine, sits up straight and widens his eyes as he says, “The plan. I have an enemy. I want him eliminated.”
“Elegant in it's simplicity.”
"Isn't it?”
“And by this elimination, you hope to obtain what end?”"
"Do I need one?”
“No, but you always have one. I've never known you to kill simply for the sake of killing, Master. When you kill, it's to achieve something. There's always a tactical element to your murders.”
“Ohh, murder,” the Master says as he makes a disgusted face. “Such an ugly word.”
“Yet accurate and to the point.”
“As well as highly descriptive of actions both of us have taken in our time, Servalan. I came to you for help because I know that if you knew my motivation, you'd feel exactly as I do. Knowing that, I don't need to tell you more.”
“I thought you came to me to seek an alliance to build a power base. Instead you waste my time with talk of how you and I feel. You and I want power, Master. Surely you know that feelings are irrelevant to such a goal.”
“But we still have them. Feelings, desires.” He pauses briefly as his gaze slides down her neck, torso and the slope of her legs as she crosses them for his benefit. “Appetites. Drives.” He looks back up into her eyes just in time to see her shoulders stiffen at the last word. He reaches for his glass. “You and I have them all.”
“Speaking of them will achieve nothing for either of us, so I'll ask you again. If I help you, what will you give me in return?”
“Help me and I'll build you a paradox machine.”
“I presume that means you've finally successfully built a useful one?”
“Oh, yes. So useful I was very nearly able to build a new Time Lord empire. Time Lords and humans, well, what was left of them, together. Forming one perfect race.”
“The role of mad scientist doesn't suit you, Master, nor do I believe you could play it even if you wanted to. One race from Time Lords and humans would require genetic transfers between the two races. Since the last Time War, the Time Lords have been a highly endangered species. The only Time Lord DNA that's readily accessible to you is your own.” She pauses to allow the Master to comment, but he doesn't. “Even if you could gather DNA samples from the handful of other Time Lords that are rumored to still be alive, you still wouldn't have access to a sufficiently large pool of Time Lord DNA to ensure long-term viability for your new race. You'll sooner get my help if you start giving me the real reasons why you want it.”
“I could have gotten creative. It would have been a wonder.”
“Would have been. Then you weren't successful.”
“At creating the race...” the Master shrugs noncommittally. “It's all academic now. The human components were all killed.”
“How?”
“Enough questions,” the Master says abruptly. "Do I have your help?”
Servalan sits back in her chair. “From what you've told me in the past, you'd need a living TARDIS to build a machine that can indefinitely sustain a paradox. TARDISes are a rarity now, and a temporary paradox machine would be neither useful nor interesting to me.”
“There'd be nothing temporary about the paradox.”
“Really. And how do you propose to give me the capacity to permanently sustain a paradox?”
“Help me and I'll have a TARDIS at my disposal. I'll be able to build you a machine that can create and sustain any paradox you want. You'll be able to go back in time, do whatever you need to do to shape the future to your will and still be President of the Federation.” The Master stops talking and waits for Servalan's reply. When she silently keeps her eyes glued to the tabletop, he asks “Interested?”
Servalan stands. She walks a few paces away before turning back to face the Master. “Who is this enemy?”
“Another Time Lord. Goes around meddling in the affairs of the universe, making things better. Calls himself 'the Doctor.'"
“How sanctimonious of him,” Servalan comments.
The Master laughs; the laughter almost sounds pleased. “I love it when people agree with me.”
Servalan walks back towards the Master. “How is he stopping you from getting whatever it is you really want?”
“Just now, he isn't. He doesn't even know I'm alive. And I plan on keeping it that way.”
“Then you could do anything you want in perfect safety. Why do you want him dead?”
“Because of something he did.”
“Revenge?” Servalan doesn't bother to hide her disappointment as she drapes herself back into her chair. “Is that all? You're ready to hand me the means of ripping the universe apart because you want to exact revenge on one person?”
“Haven't you ever wanted revenge, Servalan? Hasn't there ever been one person who's made you feel pain so intense that it feels like your guts are being ripped out of your body? Haven't you ever wanted to get revenge on a person like that? Haven't you wanted to make them pay?” He waits expectantly. The look on Servalan's face grows more grim, but she doesn't look at him or respond. “Wouldn't you kill someone like that?” She's still silent. He continues. “Children are everything, Servalan.”
Servalan finally looks at him. “So you said. That's an odd sentiment coming from you. I thought you enjoyed destruction.“
“I did. I do. I also like to create things. The closer to my own image, the better.”
“If he is a Time Lord, then he's one of the only ones left in existence. What could your Doctor have done that could so turn you against him that you'd actually seek his death?”
“He killed my children. Maybe you're right. Maybe they wouldn't have been viable in the end, but they were mine. They were mine, and he sent them back to the death waiting for them in the dark and the cold. I felt them die. Just as I was dying, I felt them die.” The Master picks up his glass and drains the rest of his wine. “There's your reason. Just the one. Good enough for you?”
Servalan gives the Master an inscrutable look, then draws in a breath. “You'll find this surprising, Master, but understanding does help build alliances.” She picks up the bottle of wine and refills the Master's glass. “Whatever help you want from me to get your revenge, you have it.” The Master smiles as she hands him the glass.