[Doctor Who] "Dancing on the Edge of the New World" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's Doctor Who, Lucy/Master, I'm on the edge of glory; and I'm hanging on a moment with you.
The night of the election and Lucy sat watching the election coverage. Harry was out doing some last moment campaigning, though considering how many people had endorsed him, he barely needed the extra coverage: the whole country seemed to have fallen in love with her husband. Her mother had called earlier in the day to congratulate her for her husband's success, but she had replied modestly: "Mum, he's not been voted into office yet: the votes are still yet to be tallied."
"Don't be ridiculous: his opponents have fallen so far behind, they're barely in sight," her mum replied. "This time tomorrow, you'll be calling me from 10 Downing Street."
"Maybe, I hope so," Lucy replied, almost mortified by all this assurance.
Perhaps her mother's words had proven prophetic: the number of votes for Harry kept climbing, while his
opponents had stalled out, as if forgotten by the voters.
She dimly heard the door of their flat open. "Where's my first lady elect?" Harry called, fairly skipping into the room as he entered, clapping his hands and twirling on his toes, the skirts of his suit jacket flaring like a dancer's skirt. He paused, watching the commentator, then started lip syncing with the chatter, adding exaggerated hand gestures and postures. Lucy giggled, feeling her cheeks warm; he beamed at her, leaning down and kissing her, taking her hands in both of his. She let him pull her to her feet and as he held her at arms' length, let him twirl her into a tight spin, laughing in delight.
He drew her close, as close as when they had had their first dance at their wedding reception, his forehead touching hers. "Why so worried? Why is your face so drawn, Lucy, my love, my dove?" he asked.
"Oh, I just... I can't barely believe this is happening," she admitted. "The way the numbers have been going."
"Oh yes, up and up and up and *UP*," he chanted, twirling her again. "Like a balloon into the stratosphere, with the world laid out below us. This, Lucy-love, is our night of glory: I've shown you so much, beyond space and time. And now I will have the means to show the rest of the world what lies beyond its boundaries. We're dancing on the edges of those boundaries, on the edge of glory itself."
He dipped her, leaning over her. "And *you*, Lucy, will be my lady," he purred. "My ...companion."
"Yes..." she sighed, not sure what to say, left breathless by his wild promises. "I will be..."
"Oh, no, love," he said, kissing the pit of her throat. "You already are."
fic_promptly's Doctor Who, Lucy/Master, I'm on the edge of glory; and I'm hanging on a moment with you.
The night of the election and Lucy sat watching the election coverage. Harry was out doing some last moment campaigning, though considering how many people had endorsed him, he barely needed the extra coverage: the whole country seemed to have fallen in love with her husband. Her mother had called earlier in the day to congratulate her for her husband's success, but she had replied modestly: "Mum, he's not been voted into office yet: the votes are still yet to be tallied."
"Don't be ridiculous: his opponents have fallen so far behind, they're barely in sight," her mum replied. "This time tomorrow, you'll be calling me from 10 Downing Street."
"Maybe, I hope so," Lucy replied, almost mortified by all this assurance.
Perhaps her mother's words had proven prophetic: the number of votes for Harry kept climbing, while his
opponents had stalled out, as if forgotten by the voters.
She dimly heard the door of their flat open. "Where's my first lady elect?" Harry called, fairly skipping into the room as he entered, clapping his hands and twirling on his toes, the skirts of his suit jacket flaring like a dancer's skirt. He paused, watching the commentator, then started lip syncing with the chatter, adding exaggerated hand gestures and postures. Lucy giggled, feeling her cheeks warm; he beamed at her, leaning down and kissing her, taking her hands in both of his. She let him pull her to her feet and as he held her at arms' length, let him twirl her into a tight spin, laughing in delight.
He drew her close, as close as when they had had their first dance at their wedding reception, his forehead touching hers. "Why so worried? Why is your face so drawn, Lucy, my love, my dove?" he asked.
"Oh, I just... I can't barely believe this is happening," she admitted. "The way the numbers have been going."
"Oh yes, up and up and up and *UP*," he chanted, twirling her again. "Like a balloon into the stratosphere, with the world laid out below us. This, Lucy-love, is our night of glory: I've shown you so much, beyond space and time. And now I will have the means to show the rest of the world what lies beyond its boundaries. We're dancing on the edges of those boundaries, on the edge of glory itself."
He dipped her, leaning over her. "And *you*, Lucy, will be my lady," he purred. "My ...companion."
"Yes..." she sighed, not sure what to say, left breathless by his wild promises. "I will be..."
"Oh, no, love," he said, kissing the pit of her throat. "You already are."