[fic] And One Time He Didn't
TITLE: And One Time He Didn’t
AUTHOR: Fionnabair
FANDOM: Doctor Who
SUMMARY: A sequel to Five Times Harry Ruined Lucy’s Underwear.
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 887
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: m31andy asked me for this in the “Five Things” meme and I didn’t get around to it. This was not how I was going to write it, though! Dedicated to commodoresexual because we started with a similar take on Lucy, and bizarrely seem to still be going in the same direction, albeit in very different vehicles. Huge thanks go, as usual, to m31andy, not only for her usual superb beta, but her willingness to spend a couple of hours getting one little phrase right. I am so taking her to the Catrigan Nova.
DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who is copyright BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
And One Time He Didn’t
Lucy Saxon doesn’t wear underwear anymore. Her Master prefers it that way. She has become the thing she swore never to be - the pretty, compliant, dumb accessory of a powerful man.
And she can’t bring herself to care. Because she’s not just Lucy Saxon any more. Lucy Cole became Lucy Saxon the day she gave herself unreservedly to Harry Saxon. Lucy Saxon became someone else the day Harry Saxon ceased to exist.
This Lucy is the wife of the most powerful being in the universe, adored, loved, a doll to be a toy for him, a pet for him to spoil, a body for him to fuck, a constant in his madness.
Some girls get flowers. Her flowers were made of flame, incandescent in the dusk, as the Master burned Japan just to watch her face.
Some girls get puppies, cute, endearing little balls of fluff. She got a man who couldn’t die, permanently chained, who would scream and swear for her as the Master devised ingenious tortures and grinned at her, seeking her approval.
Some girls get surprise trips to Paris. She was taken to the end of the universe, shown the end of space and time itself.
She had everything, the world, the universe, the unquestioning obedience of billions, power over life and death itself, anything any reasonable girl might want.
But there was one thing she no longer had. Harry.
She still remembered him. The man who had been hers, who had loved her and grinned at her while mayhem unfolded around them, the tinge of madness in his eyes, but always, nonetheless, unchangingly Harry.
There was no Harry now. Only the Master.
There were many Lucys these days - the doll in a red dress that she knew didn’t suit her, who let him do what he wanted and who stood there passively, a puppet for him to play with. There was the abject Lucy, who scurried after him, a terrified slave fearful of her Master’s wrath. There was the Lucy who went through the form, an obedient appendage, something pretty on his arm as she bowed her head and looked enthusiastic and screamed his name in bed at night. And hidden deepest of all, under all the layers, there was the Lucy who still loved her Harry, who still clung to the hope she might one day find him again.
It had driven her mad.
She knew that however things might turn out, everything would end eventually. The Master had stood there in Utopia, his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin on her shoulder, while she watched the universe end, and he had spoken. She didn’t know if it was real or not, whether his speech had lasted one minute or an age, but she knew one thing absolutely.
The Master didn’t need her - not the way Harry had needed Lucy. He wanted her, but she wasn’t necessary any more.
He had spread her out on the cold rock and he had fucked her as the universe ended around them, a detached act for both of them, as he ranted above her passive body.
It didn’t matter after that. She knew that all things would end, that the Master would end, that Lucy would end, and that wasn’t what drove her mad. It gave her hope for the future, that this Time Lord, however insane, however ruthless, would eventually end, along with all of time and space.
Her madness was of a different order, fuelled that she would lose her other hope. It was the fear that all would end before she saw Harry again. Her only chance was to stay at the Master’s side, to pray that one day he would come back.
And so she stands there with a blank face, watching Martha Jones kneel at the Master’s feet, and a small smile plays in her mind. She doesn’t care about the girl, she can’t care about anyone, but in her mind yet another Lucy screams to kill the bitch who tried to destroy her mad hope, who tried to ensure that her Harry would never return.
It’s only when Martha turns the tables that Lucy begins to hope again, hope properly, lifted from the despair the Master drove her into. She hopes that the Doctor might save Harry, save them all, save her from the black madness that she has lived with this year. So she shuts her eyes and whispers “Doctor”, a fervent prayer that she shares with billions.
And it works. For a moment, it works. She can see him, she can see Harry as he cowers by the bulkhead, as he makes a bid for freedom afterwards and is stopped by Jack Harkness. She’s the only person who sees it, but her Harry is there for a moment.
But then the Doctor is there, saying he will keep him, safe, secure, separate from the universe itself, hidden in his TARDIS, taken away from her forever. And all hope is gone for poor, mad Lucy in her red dress, back in her pit of black despair.
There are so many voices in her head as she picks up the gun. So much clamour, yelling, drumming, but as she points the gun, she knows one thing.
If she can’t have Harry, then no-one else can.
AUTHOR: Fionnabair
FANDOM: Doctor Who
SUMMARY: A sequel to Five Times Harry Ruined Lucy’s Underwear.
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 887
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: m31andy asked me for this in the “Five Things” meme and I didn’t get around to it. This was not how I was going to write it, though! Dedicated to commodoresexual because we started with a similar take on Lucy, and bizarrely seem to still be going in the same direction, albeit in very different vehicles. Huge thanks go, as usual, to m31andy, not only for her usual superb beta, but her willingness to spend a couple of hours getting one little phrase right. I am so taking her to the Catrigan Nova.
DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who is copyright BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
And One Time He Didn’t
Lucy Saxon doesn’t wear underwear anymore. Her Master prefers it that way. She has become the thing she swore never to be - the pretty, compliant, dumb accessory of a powerful man.
And she can’t bring herself to care. Because she’s not just Lucy Saxon any more. Lucy Cole became Lucy Saxon the day she gave herself unreservedly to Harry Saxon. Lucy Saxon became someone else the day Harry Saxon ceased to exist.
This Lucy is the wife of the most powerful being in the universe, adored, loved, a doll to be a toy for him, a pet for him to spoil, a body for him to fuck, a constant in his madness.
Some girls get flowers. Her flowers were made of flame, incandescent in the dusk, as the Master burned Japan just to watch her face.
Some girls get puppies, cute, endearing little balls of fluff. She got a man who couldn’t die, permanently chained, who would scream and swear for her as the Master devised ingenious tortures and grinned at her, seeking her approval.
Some girls get surprise trips to Paris. She was taken to the end of the universe, shown the end of space and time itself.
She had everything, the world, the universe, the unquestioning obedience of billions, power over life and death itself, anything any reasonable girl might want.
But there was one thing she no longer had. Harry.
She still remembered him. The man who had been hers, who had loved her and grinned at her while mayhem unfolded around them, the tinge of madness in his eyes, but always, nonetheless, unchangingly Harry.
There was no Harry now. Only the Master.
There were many Lucys these days - the doll in a red dress that she knew didn’t suit her, who let him do what he wanted and who stood there passively, a puppet for him to play with. There was the abject Lucy, who scurried after him, a terrified slave fearful of her Master’s wrath. There was the Lucy who went through the form, an obedient appendage, something pretty on his arm as she bowed her head and looked enthusiastic and screamed his name in bed at night. And hidden deepest of all, under all the layers, there was the Lucy who still loved her Harry, who still clung to the hope she might one day find him again.
It had driven her mad.
She knew that however things might turn out, everything would end eventually. The Master had stood there in Utopia, his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin on her shoulder, while she watched the universe end, and he had spoken. She didn’t know if it was real or not, whether his speech had lasted one minute or an age, but she knew one thing absolutely.
The Master didn’t need her - not the way Harry had needed Lucy. He wanted her, but she wasn’t necessary any more.
He had spread her out on the cold rock and he had fucked her as the universe ended around them, a detached act for both of them, as he ranted above her passive body.
It didn’t matter after that. She knew that all things would end, that the Master would end, that Lucy would end, and that wasn’t what drove her mad. It gave her hope for the future, that this Time Lord, however insane, however ruthless, would eventually end, along with all of time and space.
Her madness was of a different order, fuelled that she would lose her other hope. It was the fear that all would end before she saw Harry again. Her only chance was to stay at the Master’s side, to pray that one day he would come back.
And so she stands there with a blank face, watching Martha Jones kneel at the Master’s feet, and a small smile plays in her mind. She doesn’t care about the girl, she can’t care about anyone, but in her mind yet another Lucy screams to kill the bitch who tried to destroy her mad hope, who tried to ensure that her Harry would never return.
It’s only when Martha turns the tables that Lucy begins to hope again, hope properly, lifted from the despair the Master drove her into. She hopes that the Doctor might save Harry, save them all, save her from the black madness that she has lived with this year. So she shuts her eyes and whispers “Doctor”, a fervent prayer that she shares with billions.
And it works. For a moment, it works. She can see him, she can see Harry as he cowers by the bulkhead, as he makes a bid for freedom afterwards and is stopped by Jack Harkness. She’s the only person who sees it, but her Harry is there for a moment.
But then the Doctor is there, saying he will keep him, safe, secure, separate from the universe itself, hidden in his TARDIS, taken away from her forever. And all hope is gone for poor, mad Lucy in her red dress, back in her pit of black despair.
There are so many voices in her head as she picks up the gun. So much clamour, yelling, drumming, but as she points the gun, she knows one thing.
If she can’t have Harry, then no-one else can.