Fic: Valiant 5/38
Title: Valiant Chapter 5/38
Author: MeiLin
Characters/pairing in this chapter: Master/Shae
Rating for this chapter: NC-17
Summary for this chapter: Shae learns the hard way to never play a player.
A/N for this chapter: A version of this chapter originally appeared as "A Ticket Home." It has been revised and expanded.
Valiant Central Page
Shae studied herself in the mirror. Harold Saxon was coming to dinner, and she had to look perfect. He was her ticket home--not right away, but he was her best shot in this godforsaken era.
Once she'd gotten into Gwen's computer, Shae had turned up the Archangel Network quickly; its technology most certainly did not belong in this time. Even better, the man behind Archangel--Defence Minister Saxon--had a completely fabricated background. While she didn't come right out and accuse Saxon of being out of his time when she made contact, she'd made it clear they might have common cause.
Shae fenced with him for a solid week before she agreed to make her escape from Cardiff and go to work for him. In the end all they could get out of each other was that neither of them were from "around here," and that would have to be enough.
Though he admitted he couldn't send her forward in time immediately, Saxon more than hinted that he knew how to do it. That was more than Jack had offered. A chance to go home versus a holding cell for life? She hadn't even considered it a choice.
Even so, Shae sincerely mourned Jack until she heard his voice on Saxon's speaker phone, very much alive. Anger, guilt, relief and astonishment had flooded her all at once. Shae had been absolutely sure she'd killed him; putting a bullet in his brain had been fairly convincing. Saxon didn't seem surprised, but all he would say to her was that "Harkness is unnatural."
Saxon was the one who gave her the new last name "Dexter." Lucy, he said, was his right-hand woman, and Shae would be his left. He gave her full rein to choose team members from the Home Office and the Defence Ministry and turned her loose.
She chose eight she knew she could bend to her liking, starting with MI-5 tactician Sean Molloy--ruggedly elegant, Irish and blond--and RAF intelligence officer Jane Da Silva, as dusky as Molloy was pale, the daughter of Brazilian immigrants. They made a lovely contrast in her bed--and often, she smiled to herself in the mirror. All eight of them had their merits, in and out of bed. When she was done with them, they were loyal only to their unit, and to her.
She, in turn, was loyal to Saxon. When he became Prime Minister, he could put any amount of effort and resources toward solving her problem. If, that is, he was far enough in her debt.
So she did whatever he asked her to do, without question. Her unit burgled one opponent's office, intimidated another, blackmailed a third. She'd forgotten the details of the rest. After a while, the dirty tricks, surveillance and sheer thuggery all blended together.
Then he gave her the mysterious man in the pin-striped suit to track, the one she knew through the Torchwood files as the Doctor. Saxon wouldn't say what he wanted with the man, just that he was "the only person in the universe who might stop me from becoming Prime Minister." That was enough for Shae.
She laid her trap through the haughty Francine Jones, mother of the suit's girlfriend Martha. "Miss Dexter" provided a sympathetic, well-tailored shoulder for all the mother's concern about her wayward daughter, and worried her further with--mostly true--tales of Martha's dangerous new boyfriend. Would Mrs. Jones cooperate to catch him? She would. When Shae was ready to round this Doctor up, all she had to do was pull the loop closed.
Now was the time to close other loops, she reflected, regarding Harold Saxon across the dinner table in her suite with a lazy smile on her face. She'd expected to bed him sooner, but everything came in its time. And, with Lucy gone campaigning in the north as the election approached, this was the time.
Sex as a tactic was something one did only in service to the mission. But in honesty, she found Saxon hypnotically sexy. His eyes were dark, almost feral, when he looked at her. So unlike the uncomplicated desire of her time--he was thrillingly savage, she thought, and completely unaware that she was the one in charge.
So now, when he came to stand by her softly commanding, "Up, Shae," she stood obediently and let him think it was his idea.
Saxon took her into his arms, pressing her close and kissing her fiercely. Her hands caressed his throat, and found the double heartbeat in the hollow there. She broke their kiss and raised an elegant eyebrow. "Not from around here, darling," he grinned. "Think of it this way--one heart for you and one for Lucy."
"You know very well I don't need your heart," she replied, laughing. "And why not Lucy on your right and me on your left? It's a big enough bed." She slipped her hands inside his suit coat and ran them up the smooth, expensive cotton of his dress shirt.
"Mmm," said Saxon, nuzzling her long neck, "Lucy doesn't share." He stripped off her jacket.
"You could persuade her to--ah!" she gasped in surprise as he bit her breast through her blouse. "You're very persuasive." Saxon smiled, walking her backwards to the bed and pushing her down on it, hard.
"Oh, but you see, I don't really care to. It costs me so little to give her the illusion that she's my one and only. At least for now." He shed his suit coat, his tie, his shirt, his singlet. "More to the point, I don't care to share her. Not even with you. Perhaps especially with you."
Shae looked up at him, suddenly troubled. "I--"
"Be quiet." He casually continued removing the rest of his clothes, throwing them on a chair. "You're bright, for a human. But not bright enough. None of you are, from whenever you are. I never understood what he saw in you lot. Apart from this. Humans are brilliant at this!" He threw his last sock on the pile and himself on the bed. "Now. Let's see what's under the suit, shall we?"
He kissed her roughly, forcing her lips open with his tongue. He tore through the buttons on her blouse and the fastenings of her bra. His mouth was strangely cool, his fingers cold on her skin as he peeled off her skirt and knickers.
Saxon bit her again, hard, on the neck. This wasn't going at all well. She'd have to spoil her submissive illusion, but she didn't take unwelcome pain from anyone and had the physical skill to guarantee she didn't have to. "You're hurting me," she said, pushing him away.
He laughed. "Yes! I am!" To her great surprise, he easily pinned her down and bit the other side of her neck. Shae twisted her body in a maneuver that would have thrown anyone else halfway across the room, but Saxon simply smiled and held her in place, unruffled. She stared at him incredulously.
"Oh, Shae. Did you expect hearts and flowers when I finally fucked you?" His touch gentled, though he didn't release her. He kissed her slowly, softly and thoroughly, working to arouse her again. "Don't fight me, and I won't hurt you." He kept up the kisses, shifting his hands to mold her breasts until she moaned--and then he pinched one nipple, hard. "Unless I feel like it." He laughed again, forced her legs apart, and entered her in one sharp motion.
Shae could feel his dual heartbeats deep inside her now, his skin cold against hers, and his eyes cold and dark and cruel. She scrabbled for purchase on the bed, her own eyes wide and frantic.
"Oh, you should be frightened, sweetheart," he whispered, smiling.
To her shock, she felt a firm push against her well-trained psychic defenses, and she redoubled them, shutting a thick door in her mind. "NO," she thought at him.
He batted her defenses away like cobwebs and came crashing into her head. "NEVER tell me no, Shae. NEVER." Images filled her mind--a thousand different versions of her own violent death, the faces of the Doctor and Saxon himself changing over and over, silver spheres holding terrible secrets, a beautiful domed city framed against an orange sky, billions of beings dying...and drums. A drumbeat that wouldn't stop, no matter how she begged.
She felt him pulling everything she had ever known or felt from her mind as if he were riffling through a book. "Master Trainer--was that really your title? It just gets better and better!" he said, his face contorted in a wild grin. He pulled her hair back painfully, exposing her throat to him. "Scream for me, Shae. Lucy can't scream any more and I miss it so."
He was everywhere, his body and mind pounding into hers. "What are you?" she cried.
"Oh, I have so, so longed to tell you," he growled in her ear as his movements fell into relentless tempo with the drumming. "I am your Master. And by the time I am done with you, you will love whatever I choose to do to you, and you will love whatever I choose to have you do. You will love it, Shae. You will love me and you will fear me..."
The Master left just before morning, whistling. Shae knew he slept little, but she hadn't really believed him when he'd said that he didn't sleep at all. She did now.
Her head was pounding and every muscle ached. She dragged herself up and caught a glimpse of her haggard face in the mirror opposite the bed. For the first time in 15 years, she did not see Master Trainer Han looking back at her.
What to do. She couldn't call Jack, though she longed to. What would she say? Hello, Jack, sorry I killed you, so glad you got better. Me? I've been helping a sadistic alien take over the country, how about you? Does Ianto miss me, has he thrown out my favorite coffee cup yet? Can I move into that nice cell in the basement now?
No. Never the cell.
Shae made it to the bathroom, rinsed the blood from her mouth, and took a shower in the hottest water she could stand, trying to burn his cold touch from her body.
She examined her bruises. None would be visible once she'd dressed--he'd apparently done this before. Not for the first time she wondered what Lucy looked like under her prim clothing, but now she was thinking less of her porcelain beauty and more of what scars she might have. "She can't scream any more and I miss it," he'd said.
She squared her shoulders in the mirror and gave herself a long stare. If she was no longer Master Trainer Han, then she would be Miss Dexter to the outside world, and Agent Han within. She would complete this mission: She would, at worst, survive, and, at best, get home. If that meant serving Harold Saxon--the Master--then she would serve him, until she didn't have to any more.
For now, there was an election to finish.
Author: MeiLin
Characters/pairing in this chapter: Master/Shae
Rating for this chapter: NC-17
Summary for this chapter: Shae learns the hard way to never play a player.
A/N for this chapter: A version of this chapter originally appeared as "A Ticket Home." It has been revised and expanded.
Valiant Central Page
Shae studied herself in the mirror. Harold Saxon was coming to dinner, and she had to look perfect. He was her ticket home--not right away, but he was her best shot in this godforsaken era.
Once she'd gotten into Gwen's computer, Shae had turned up the Archangel Network quickly; its technology most certainly did not belong in this time. Even better, the man behind Archangel--Defence Minister Saxon--had a completely fabricated background. While she didn't come right out and accuse Saxon of being out of his time when she made contact, she'd made it clear they might have common cause.
Shae fenced with him for a solid week before she agreed to make her escape from Cardiff and go to work for him. In the end all they could get out of each other was that neither of them were from "around here," and that would have to be enough.
Though he admitted he couldn't send her forward in time immediately, Saxon more than hinted that he knew how to do it. That was more than Jack had offered. A chance to go home versus a holding cell for life? She hadn't even considered it a choice.
Even so, Shae sincerely mourned Jack until she heard his voice on Saxon's speaker phone, very much alive. Anger, guilt, relief and astonishment had flooded her all at once. Shae had been absolutely sure she'd killed him; putting a bullet in his brain had been fairly convincing. Saxon didn't seem surprised, but all he would say to her was that "Harkness is unnatural."
Saxon was the one who gave her the new last name "Dexter." Lucy, he said, was his right-hand woman, and Shae would be his left. He gave her full rein to choose team members from the Home Office and the Defence Ministry and turned her loose.
She chose eight she knew she could bend to her liking, starting with MI-5 tactician Sean Molloy--ruggedly elegant, Irish and blond--and RAF intelligence officer Jane Da Silva, as dusky as Molloy was pale, the daughter of Brazilian immigrants. They made a lovely contrast in her bed--and often, she smiled to herself in the mirror. All eight of them had their merits, in and out of bed. When she was done with them, they were loyal only to their unit, and to her.
She, in turn, was loyal to Saxon. When he became Prime Minister, he could put any amount of effort and resources toward solving her problem. If, that is, he was far enough in her debt.
So she did whatever he asked her to do, without question. Her unit burgled one opponent's office, intimidated another, blackmailed a third. She'd forgotten the details of the rest. After a while, the dirty tricks, surveillance and sheer thuggery all blended together.
Then he gave her the mysterious man in the pin-striped suit to track, the one she knew through the Torchwood files as the Doctor. Saxon wouldn't say what he wanted with the man, just that he was "the only person in the universe who might stop me from becoming Prime Minister." That was enough for Shae.
She laid her trap through the haughty Francine Jones, mother of the suit's girlfriend Martha. "Miss Dexter" provided a sympathetic, well-tailored shoulder for all the mother's concern about her wayward daughter, and worried her further with--mostly true--tales of Martha's dangerous new boyfriend. Would Mrs. Jones cooperate to catch him? She would. When Shae was ready to round this Doctor up, all she had to do was pull the loop closed.
Now was the time to close other loops, she reflected, regarding Harold Saxon across the dinner table in her suite with a lazy smile on her face. She'd expected to bed him sooner, but everything came in its time. And, with Lucy gone campaigning in the north as the election approached, this was the time.
Sex as a tactic was something one did only in service to the mission. But in honesty, she found Saxon hypnotically sexy. His eyes were dark, almost feral, when he looked at her. So unlike the uncomplicated desire of her time--he was thrillingly savage, she thought, and completely unaware that she was the one in charge.
So now, when he came to stand by her softly commanding, "Up, Shae," she stood obediently and let him think it was his idea.
Saxon took her into his arms, pressing her close and kissing her fiercely. Her hands caressed his throat, and found the double heartbeat in the hollow there. She broke their kiss and raised an elegant eyebrow. "Not from around here, darling," he grinned. "Think of it this way--one heart for you and one for Lucy."
"You know very well I don't need your heart," she replied, laughing. "And why not Lucy on your right and me on your left? It's a big enough bed." She slipped her hands inside his suit coat and ran them up the smooth, expensive cotton of his dress shirt.
"Mmm," said Saxon, nuzzling her long neck, "Lucy doesn't share." He stripped off her jacket.
"You could persuade her to--ah!" she gasped in surprise as he bit her breast through her blouse. "You're very persuasive." Saxon smiled, walking her backwards to the bed and pushing her down on it, hard.
"Oh, but you see, I don't really care to. It costs me so little to give her the illusion that she's my one and only. At least for now." He shed his suit coat, his tie, his shirt, his singlet. "More to the point, I don't care to share her. Not even with you. Perhaps especially with you."
Shae looked up at him, suddenly troubled. "I--"
"Be quiet." He casually continued removing the rest of his clothes, throwing them on a chair. "You're bright, for a human. But not bright enough. None of you are, from whenever you are. I never understood what he saw in you lot. Apart from this. Humans are brilliant at this!" He threw his last sock on the pile and himself on the bed. "Now. Let's see what's under the suit, shall we?"
He kissed her roughly, forcing her lips open with his tongue. He tore through the buttons on her blouse and the fastenings of her bra. His mouth was strangely cool, his fingers cold on her skin as he peeled off her skirt and knickers.
Saxon bit her again, hard, on the neck. This wasn't going at all well. She'd have to spoil her submissive illusion, but she didn't take unwelcome pain from anyone and had the physical skill to guarantee she didn't have to. "You're hurting me," she said, pushing him away.
He laughed. "Yes! I am!" To her great surprise, he easily pinned her down and bit the other side of her neck. Shae twisted her body in a maneuver that would have thrown anyone else halfway across the room, but Saxon simply smiled and held her in place, unruffled. She stared at him incredulously.
"Oh, Shae. Did you expect hearts and flowers when I finally fucked you?" His touch gentled, though he didn't release her. He kissed her slowly, softly and thoroughly, working to arouse her again. "Don't fight me, and I won't hurt you." He kept up the kisses, shifting his hands to mold her breasts until she moaned--and then he pinched one nipple, hard. "Unless I feel like it." He laughed again, forced her legs apart, and entered her in one sharp motion.
Shae could feel his dual heartbeats deep inside her now, his skin cold against hers, and his eyes cold and dark and cruel. She scrabbled for purchase on the bed, her own eyes wide and frantic.
"Oh, you should be frightened, sweetheart," he whispered, smiling.
To her shock, she felt a firm push against her well-trained psychic defenses, and she redoubled them, shutting a thick door in her mind. "NO," she thought at him.
He batted her defenses away like cobwebs and came crashing into her head. "NEVER tell me no, Shae. NEVER." Images filled her mind--a thousand different versions of her own violent death, the faces of the Doctor and Saxon himself changing over and over, silver spheres holding terrible secrets, a beautiful domed city framed against an orange sky, billions of beings dying...and drums. A drumbeat that wouldn't stop, no matter how she begged.
She felt him pulling everything she had ever known or felt from her mind as if he were riffling through a book. "Master Trainer--was that really your title? It just gets better and better!" he said, his face contorted in a wild grin. He pulled her hair back painfully, exposing her throat to him. "Scream for me, Shae. Lucy can't scream any more and I miss it so."
He was everywhere, his body and mind pounding into hers. "What are you?" she cried.
"Oh, I have so, so longed to tell you," he growled in her ear as his movements fell into relentless tempo with the drumming. "I am your Master. And by the time I am done with you, you will love whatever I choose to do to you, and you will love whatever I choose to have you do. You will love it, Shae. You will love me and you will fear me..."
The Master left just before morning, whistling. Shae knew he slept little, but she hadn't really believed him when he'd said that he didn't sleep at all. She did now.
Her head was pounding and every muscle ached. She dragged herself up and caught a glimpse of her haggard face in the mirror opposite the bed. For the first time in 15 years, she did not see Master Trainer Han looking back at her.
What to do. She couldn't call Jack, though she longed to. What would she say? Hello, Jack, sorry I killed you, so glad you got better. Me? I've been helping a sadistic alien take over the country, how about you? Does Ianto miss me, has he thrown out my favorite coffee cup yet? Can I move into that nice cell in the basement now?
No. Never the cell.
Shae made it to the bathroom, rinsed the blood from her mouth, and took a shower in the hottest water she could stand, trying to burn his cold touch from her body.
She examined her bruises. None would be visible once she'd dressed--he'd apparently done this before. Not for the first time she wondered what Lucy looked like under her prim clothing, but now she was thinking less of her porcelain beauty and more of what scars she might have. "She can't scream any more and I miss it," he'd said.
She squared her shoulders in the mirror and gave herself a long stare. If she was no longer Master Trainer Han, then she would be Miss Dexter to the outside world, and Agent Han within. She would complete this mission: She would, at worst, survive, and, at best, get home. If that meant serving Harold Saxon--the Master--then she would serve him, until she didn't have to any more.
For now, there was an election to finish.