Fic: Valiant 19/38
Title: Valiant Chapter 19/38
Author: MeiLin
Characters/pairing in this chapter: Shae, Francine, Jack, Master, Doctor
Rating for this chapter: PG
Summary for this chapter: Miss Dexter settles on a plan of action and finds her resolve falls short.
A/N for this chapter: A version of this chapter appeared as the story "Empire's Waltz." It has been heavily revised and expanded for the novella.
Valiant Central Page
When Francine Jones came into the guest suite, trailing her housekeeping cart, the first thing she saw was a bed full of guns. The second thing was Shae Han, "Miss Dexter," sitting cross-legged in the middle of them, two guns in particular in front of her: A small black pistol and a much larger chrome monstrosity that looked as if it must weigh at least three kilos.
"Don't bother trying to take one," she said without looking up. "They're all unloaded, and the bullets stored elsewhere."
Francine glowered at her and headed for the bathroom with an armful of cleaning supplies. She hadn't realized Miss Dexter was on board; usually Shae kept busy on land as the Master's errand girl. "I wouldn't waste the bullet." She began wiping down the sink vanity.
"Have I thanked you for doing your part for the Saxon campaign?" said Shae idly, dismantling the small Makarov pistol in front of her. "I don't think I did, at least not effusively enough."
"Shut it," Francine's voice came from the bathroom.
"Now, really, there's gratitude for you. He could have just had you killed, you know."
"How would you get at Martha, then?" said Francine, her voice echoing in the shower stall.
"True enough." They both worked on in silence.
Francine leaned against the bathroom doorway for a moment. "Why exactly hasn't he sent you after her?" she asked sharply.
Shae looked up briefly from cleaning the gun barrel. "What makes you think he hasn't?" Neither would say the Master's name.
Francine fetched a garbage bag and emptied the room's trash cans with a clang. "What d'you think is going to happen to you, when this is all over?"
"I stay alive. Maybe I get to go home," Shae answered, as she cleaned and oiled the firing pin and began to reassemble the Makarov.
"And where's that, then?"
"Not that it's the concern of the help," said Shae as she wrestled with the trigger guard, "but I'm from 3000 years in your future."
Francine fired up the vacuum and gave the floor a swipe. Shae winced slightly from the sudden noise. "Just tell me this," Francine said when she'd finished. "Are you human?"
"Mostly."
"And you had no qualms about selling out your own people to an alien like him."
Shae looked up. "You are not my people." She returned to her work, her tongue slightly protruding between her teeth as she refitted the sear, the disconnector and various springs.
"Oh really," replied Francine. "And just exactly where do you think you come from, Miss Dexter? How will it work out for your time if humanity goes extinct in 2009?"
Shae was silent.
"Oh, clever girl, didn't think of that?" taunted Francine.
"Of course I've thought of that," snapped Shae without looking up. "This wasn't the plan."
"Maybe it wasn't your plan, but it's his."
"My only plan now is very probably your only plan: to survive," Shae replied, screwing the grips back onto the Makarov. "I can't stop him."
"No," said Francine, "but the Doctor and Martha can."
"The Doctor--you mean the drooling old man in the doggie house. And Martha--that's the daughter you sold out, correct?"
Francine's face contorted. "You told me she was in love with a terrorist! I was trying to keep her safe!"
"And how's that working out for her?"
Francine stiffened and she disappeared into the bathroom again with an armload of towels. When she returned, she repacked the cleaning supplies into her cart, swallowing hard. "I have faith in my daughter." Her voice shook.
Shae slammed the Makarov's 12-round magazine home with the butt of her hand. "Bit late, but good for you."
"I thought you said you kept the bullets elsewhere."
"I lied. Go scrub someone else's toilet," said Shae. She sighted down the gun, taking aim just to the left of Francine's head. Francine drew herself up to full height, rolled the cart into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.
"Bang," said Shae.
Jack Harkness woke from a slight doze. Someone was in his cell. He pulled perfunctorily at the chains keeping him on the bunk, sat up as best he could and blinked until his eyes focused. He frowned.
"You know, Shae," he said to the blonde woman standing near the door, "you carry that Desert Eagle on your hip long enough, one leg'll be bigger than the other."
"The Makarov is my everyday gun," Shae smiled, bumping the hip with the smaller black pistol riding on it for emphasis. She bumped the hip with the heavy chromed pistol strapped to it. "The Eagle's more for intimidation than use. Nothing scarier than a beautiful girl with a big fucking gun, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm more likely to be scared by lunatics with paradox machines, personally." He shifted on the bunk, trying to find a comfortable position other than prone, and studied her face. "Enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"
She tilted her head. "I take no pleasure in this."
"Smile says otherwise."
"Well," she said, moving closer and sinking down next to the bunk, "it is interesting, in a way. A very hot way." She traced her fingers down his bare arm, memories of Jack and Ianto in another time infusing her amused gaze.
"As hot as murdering me was?"
"But you got better."
"But you shot me. And yeah, I can't die, but that still hurt, 'Miss Dexter.'"
"But you got better, 'Jack.'" Shae sat down on the edge of the bunk, just out of his reach, and her face grew serious. "To be honest, I didn't know you couldn't die when I shot you. But I'm glad you're not dead, truly."
"Didn't see much remorse when you tried to kill us in Martha's car."
"I thought I could spirit you off, there was a chance that Saxon would just give you to me."
"Then you don't know him very well," smirked Jack.
Shae stood up quickly, her face twisting and her voice harsh: "You have no idea." She crossed to the wall opposite the bunk and folded her arms, composing herself quickly. "The other two were a threat. It was my job to eliminate threats."
"Really," he said. "What's your job now?"
"I'm still eliminating threats."
"And who's the current threat? Let me guess," he said, tapping his fingers against the bunk railing. "He sent you after Gwen and Martha, and that's why you're here." Shae did not reply. "Do you really think I'll tell you anything that might help you?"
Shae snorted. "I know enough about insurgencies in general and Gwen in particular, thank you. Martha is one girl, and she hasn't been able to stay in one place long enough to develop into a real threat. I'm not worried."
"Then why are you here?"
"I'm rarely on board. I just wanted to see you."
"Did you. How nice after all these weeks." Jack gave up trying to sit up and laid back down on the bunk, turning on his side as best he could to watch Shae. "Did he ever tell you what happened to the rest of them? How they died?"
Shae shifted uncomfortably against the wall. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to that."
"But you knew."
"I knew he wanted them out of the way. I didn't think he'd kill them. I didn't want to kill you when I did."
Jack's voice was soft, almost conversational for all its intensity. "They're buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in Pakistan. His men--YOUR men--shot Tosh in the head. Blew her beautiful brains out. Did he tell you that? She and Owen went together." His voice grew in volume and emotion, shaking. "Ianto--he bled to death in Gwen's arms. Ianto, Shae!"
Shae stared at him and then turned away, pale and trembling with the effort to control herself. "You know I didn't want this."
"Do I?" he spat, raising up on one hand. "This is on you, what happened to them, what's happening here, this is all on you!"
"It's on him, not me," she answered furiously.
Jack sat up again, straining against his shackles. "Their deaths are on you!" he shouted. "The death of this planet is on you!"
"No!" she shouted back. She ran out of the cell, her heavy gun slapping against her thigh. Jack lay back down on the bunk again, breathing hard and blinking back tears.
Suddenly Shae was back, her hands cupping his face, fingers lacing into his hair, kissing him passionately.
He broke the kiss with a bitter laugh. "Oh no. Not playing, sweetheart."
Shae looked down at him, her eyes shiny and her face set. "Neither am I."
And then she was gone again.
"Straight out of Strictly Come Dancing, except for that cannon on your leg," laughed the Master as he waltzed Shae round the conference room. "Really, darling, it's digging into my bollocks. Off it goes." Before Shae knew what he'd done, both of her gun holsters were stripped off her waist and sitting on the table.
They were alone in the conference room but for the Doctor, who sat listening inside his dog kennel. Music in three-quarter time came trilling out of the speakers. "Not my usual time signature," said the Master pulling Shae back into position, "but I do so love to dance. Had it composed in my honor. Like it? It's the Empire's Waltz. One-two-three, two-two-three..." He led her in big loops across the floor. "And how goes our little guerrilla hunt?"
Shae was silent for a moment. "Gwen Cooper. We've lost her scent, but I'm sure she'll pop back up again. Gwen always does, and in the meantime the damage she's causing isn't enough for real concern." The Master spun her around under his arm and took her back up again. "Martha Jones," Shae said, catching her breath, "is very slippery. We always seem to be a step behind her. The people are hiding her."
The Master took a little skipping step in the air before resuming the smooth glide. "Then kill the people."
"The Toclafane have been doing exactly that," she replied evenly. "But you can't kill them all and have anyone left for your factories, sir."
"True. No matter. She's just a lovesick girl." He dipped Shae nearly to the floor and brought her back up nose to nose. "Ah!" he said in mock rapture, "you dance divinely, Miss Han!"
"I'm fairly sure there's no dipping in the waltz," Shae murmured.
"There is now, baby!" chortled the Master. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth. "My dance, my planet, my rules. Soon, my universe." He let her go, and she stumbled a few steps away from him, wiping a bit of blood from her lip where he'd nipped her. She discreetly calculated the distance to her guns on the table.
"D'you know, Shae, I wouldn't expect a smart girl like you to try to kill a god," the Master said in a confidential tone. He pulled the guns' two magazines from his jacket pocket, showed them to her, and put them back in the pocket. She would never understand how he could move so quickly; she'd never seen him disarm the guns.
"Why would you think I'd try that?" she said cautiously, mustering as calm a face as she could.
"Oh, I didn't. Just taking away the temptation." He smiled. "Shall we?" She put one hand on his shoulder, and his arm came around her waist again, hugging her closely, his cheek against hers. "What's my name, Shae?"
"Master."
"And what will you do for me?"
"Whatever you tell me to." Her face over his shoulder was grim, tears beginning to form. As they circled around the room, she saw the Doctor had come out of his kennel and was watching them with his sorrowful brown eyes. Her face hardened under his gaze, and then crumpled. "And I'll love it."
"There's my good girl," murmured the Master. "One-two-three, two-two-three, three-two-three--do try to keep up, Shae--and you're wetting my suit coat." He pulled back and looked at her tear-streaked face. "I can never resist a crying woman," he said, licking the tears from her cheek. "And you can't resist me, can you?"
Shae shook her head wordlessly.
Author: MeiLin
Characters/pairing in this chapter: Shae, Francine, Jack, Master, Doctor
Rating for this chapter: PG
Summary for this chapter: Miss Dexter settles on a plan of action and finds her resolve falls short.
A/N for this chapter: A version of this chapter appeared as the story "Empire's Waltz." It has been heavily revised and expanded for the novella.
Valiant Central Page
When Francine Jones came into the guest suite, trailing her housekeeping cart, the first thing she saw was a bed full of guns. The second thing was Shae Han, "Miss Dexter," sitting cross-legged in the middle of them, two guns in particular in front of her: A small black pistol and a much larger chrome monstrosity that looked as if it must weigh at least three kilos.
"Don't bother trying to take one," she said without looking up. "They're all unloaded, and the bullets stored elsewhere."
Francine glowered at her and headed for the bathroom with an armful of cleaning supplies. She hadn't realized Miss Dexter was on board; usually Shae kept busy on land as the Master's errand girl. "I wouldn't waste the bullet." She began wiping down the sink vanity.
"Have I thanked you for doing your part for the Saxon campaign?" said Shae idly, dismantling the small Makarov pistol in front of her. "I don't think I did, at least not effusively enough."
"Shut it," Francine's voice came from the bathroom.
"Now, really, there's gratitude for you. He could have just had you killed, you know."
"How would you get at Martha, then?" said Francine, her voice echoing in the shower stall.
"True enough." They both worked on in silence.
Francine leaned against the bathroom doorway for a moment. "Why exactly hasn't he sent you after her?" she asked sharply.
Shae looked up briefly from cleaning the gun barrel. "What makes you think he hasn't?" Neither would say the Master's name.
Francine fetched a garbage bag and emptied the room's trash cans with a clang. "What d'you think is going to happen to you, when this is all over?"
"I stay alive. Maybe I get to go home," Shae answered, as she cleaned and oiled the firing pin and began to reassemble the Makarov.
"And where's that, then?"
"Not that it's the concern of the help," said Shae as she wrestled with the trigger guard, "but I'm from 3000 years in your future."
Francine fired up the vacuum and gave the floor a swipe. Shae winced slightly from the sudden noise. "Just tell me this," Francine said when she'd finished. "Are you human?"
"Mostly."
"And you had no qualms about selling out your own people to an alien like him."
Shae looked up. "You are not my people." She returned to her work, her tongue slightly protruding between her teeth as she refitted the sear, the disconnector and various springs.
"Oh really," replied Francine. "And just exactly where do you think you come from, Miss Dexter? How will it work out for your time if humanity goes extinct in 2009?"
Shae was silent.
"Oh, clever girl, didn't think of that?" taunted Francine.
"Of course I've thought of that," snapped Shae without looking up. "This wasn't the plan."
"Maybe it wasn't your plan, but it's his."
"My only plan now is very probably your only plan: to survive," Shae replied, screwing the grips back onto the Makarov. "I can't stop him."
"No," said Francine, "but the Doctor and Martha can."
"The Doctor--you mean the drooling old man in the doggie house. And Martha--that's the daughter you sold out, correct?"
Francine's face contorted. "You told me she was in love with a terrorist! I was trying to keep her safe!"
"And how's that working out for her?"
Francine stiffened and she disappeared into the bathroom again with an armload of towels. When she returned, she repacked the cleaning supplies into her cart, swallowing hard. "I have faith in my daughter." Her voice shook.
Shae slammed the Makarov's 12-round magazine home with the butt of her hand. "Bit late, but good for you."
"I thought you said you kept the bullets elsewhere."
"I lied. Go scrub someone else's toilet," said Shae. She sighted down the gun, taking aim just to the left of Francine's head. Francine drew herself up to full height, rolled the cart into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.
"Bang," said Shae.
Jack Harkness woke from a slight doze. Someone was in his cell. He pulled perfunctorily at the chains keeping him on the bunk, sat up as best he could and blinked until his eyes focused. He frowned.
"You know, Shae," he said to the blonde woman standing near the door, "you carry that Desert Eagle on your hip long enough, one leg'll be bigger than the other."
"The Makarov is my everyday gun," Shae smiled, bumping the hip with the smaller black pistol riding on it for emphasis. She bumped the hip with the heavy chromed pistol strapped to it. "The Eagle's more for intimidation than use. Nothing scarier than a beautiful girl with a big fucking gun, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm more likely to be scared by lunatics with paradox machines, personally." He shifted on the bunk, trying to find a comfortable position other than prone, and studied her face. "Enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"
She tilted her head. "I take no pleasure in this."
"Smile says otherwise."
"Well," she said, moving closer and sinking down next to the bunk, "it is interesting, in a way. A very hot way." She traced her fingers down his bare arm, memories of Jack and Ianto in another time infusing her amused gaze.
"As hot as murdering me was?"
"But you got better."
"But you shot me. And yeah, I can't die, but that still hurt, 'Miss Dexter.'"
"But you got better, 'Jack.'" Shae sat down on the edge of the bunk, just out of his reach, and her face grew serious. "To be honest, I didn't know you couldn't die when I shot you. But I'm glad you're not dead, truly."
"Didn't see much remorse when you tried to kill us in Martha's car."
"I thought I could spirit you off, there was a chance that Saxon would just give you to me."
"Then you don't know him very well," smirked Jack.
Shae stood up quickly, her face twisting and her voice harsh: "You have no idea." She crossed to the wall opposite the bunk and folded her arms, composing herself quickly. "The other two were a threat. It was my job to eliminate threats."
"Really," he said. "What's your job now?"
"I'm still eliminating threats."
"And who's the current threat? Let me guess," he said, tapping his fingers against the bunk railing. "He sent you after Gwen and Martha, and that's why you're here." Shae did not reply. "Do you really think I'll tell you anything that might help you?"
Shae snorted. "I know enough about insurgencies in general and Gwen in particular, thank you. Martha is one girl, and she hasn't been able to stay in one place long enough to develop into a real threat. I'm not worried."
"Then why are you here?"
"I'm rarely on board. I just wanted to see you."
"Did you. How nice after all these weeks." Jack gave up trying to sit up and laid back down on the bunk, turning on his side as best he could to watch Shae. "Did he ever tell you what happened to the rest of them? How they died?"
Shae shifted uncomfortably against the wall. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to that."
"But you knew."
"I knew he wanted them out of the way. I didn't think he'd kill them. I didn't want to kill you when I did."
Jack's voice was soft, almost conversational for all its intensity. "They're buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in Pakistan. His men--YOUR men--shot Tosh in the head. Blew her beautiful brains out. Did he tell you that? She and Owen went together." His voice grew in volume and emotion, shaking. "Ianto--he bled to death in Gwen's arms. Ianto, Shae!"
Shae stared at him and then turned away, pale and trembling with the effort to control herself. "You know I didn't want this."
"Do I?" he spat, raising up on one hand. "This is on you, what happened to them, what's happening here, this is all on you!"
"It's on him, not me," she answered furiously.
Jack sat up again, straining against his shackles. "Their deaths are on you!" he shouted. "The death of this planet is on you!"
"No!" she shouted back. She ran out of the cell, her heavy gun slapping against her thigh. Jack lay back down on the bunk again, breathing hard and blinking back tears.
Suddenly Shae was back, her hands cupping his face, fingers lacing into his hair, kissing him passionately.
He broke the kiss with a bitter laugh. "Oh no. Not playing, sweetheart."
Shae looked down at him, her eyes shiny and her face set. "Neither am I."
And then she was gone again.
"Straight out of Strictly Come Dancing, except for that cannon on your leg," laughed the Master as he waltzed Shae round the conference room. "Really, darling, it's digging into my bollocks. Off it goes." Before Shae knew what he'd done, both of her gun holsters were stripped off her waist and sitting on the table.
They were alone in the conference room but for the Doctor, who sat listening inside his dog kennel. Music in three-quarter time came trilling out of the speakers. "Not my usual time signature," said the Master pulling Shae back into position, "but I do so love to dance. Had it composed in my honor. Like it? It's the Empire's Waltz. One-two-three, two-two-three..." He led her in big loops across the floor. "And how goes our little guerrilla hunt?"
Shae was silent for a moment. "Gwen Cooper. We've lost her scent, but I'm sure she'll pop back up again. Gwen always does, and in the meantime the damage she's causing isn't enough for real concern." The Master spun her around under his arm and took her back up again. "Martha Jones," Shae said, catching her breath, "is very slippery. We always seem to be a step behind her. The people are hiding her."
The Master took a little skipping step in the air before resuming the smooth glide. "Then kill the people."
"The Toclafane have been doing exactly that," she replied evenly. "But you can't kill them all and have anyone left for your factories, sir."
"True. No matter. She's just a lovesick girl." He dipped Shae nearly to the floor and brought her back up nose to nose. "Ah!" he said in mock rapture, "you dance divinely, Miss Han!"
"I'm fairly sure there's no dipping in the waltz," Shae murmured.
"There is now, baby!" chortled the Master. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth. "My dance, my planet, my rules. Soon, my universe." He let her go, and she stumbled a few steps away from him, wiping a bit of blood from her lip where he'd nipped her. She discreetly calculated the distance to her guns on the table.
"D'you know, Shae, I wouldn't expect a smart girl like you to try to kill a god," the Master said in a confidential tone. He pulled the guns' two magazines from his jacket pocket, showed them to her, and put them back in the pocket. She would never understand how he could move so quickly; she'd never seen him disarm the guns.
"Why would you think I'd try that?" she said cautiously, mustering as calm a face as she could.
"Oh, I didn't. Just taking away the temptation." He smiled. "Shall we?" She put one hand on his shoulder, and his arm came around her waist again, hugging her closely, his cheek against hers. "What's my name, Shae?"
"Master."
"And what will you do for me?"
"Whatever you tell me to." Her face over his shoulder was grim, tears beginning to form. As they circled around the room, she saw the Doctor had come out of his kennel and was watching them with his sorrowful brown eyes. Her face hardened under his gaze, and then crumpled. "And I'll love it."
"There's my good girl," murmured the Master. "One-two-three, two-two-three, three-two-three--do try to keep up, Shae--and you're wetting my suit coat." He pulled back and looked at her tear-streaked face. "I can never resist a crying woman," he said, licking the tears from her cheek. "And you can't resist me, can you?"
Shae shook her head wordlessly.