Just a human with two hearts (1/?)
Title: Just a Human with Two Hearts
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: R for violence gore, and hell, this is Torchwood. What did you think was going to happen?
Summary: She fought in the War, and it left her scarred, now with nowhere to go, can she rebuild herself on the slow path?
Notes: Ok, this is yet another backstory for Lacey Harkness. This one is for the RPG Time Crash on IJ. This is the game where my friends and I like to joke that we took Torchwood and Doctor Who Canon, and chucked it out the Window. This story starts on Gallifrey, and then moves to sometime after Countrycide. Enjoy. :)
She knelt between the Journeyman and the Prophet, her weapon at the ready, a cold look in her ice blue eyes. “Never thought this would be how it ended,” Prophet said, a hollow laugh from her lips.
Mystic barked out her own laugh, “I know what you mean, but rather here, on my feet than waiting for it to come. What we do here will ensure the survival of the Time Lords.”
Journeyman looked at the shorter of the two red haired women. “No wonder you became known as the Ice General. All for the race, nothing for yourself, and a race that has hated your kind.”
She glared at him. “Despite my inferior heritage, Gallifrey was still my home, the only one I’ve known, and I’d rather die here, now. On my terms, and if the fob watched officials remember me, they’ll remember a woman who fought for a race who never gave her anything, instead of a mistake.”
Journeyman shut up, he knew better than to argue with her. Policy had changed so much since she had been a child on Gallifrey, and half bloods were no longer treated as she had been, but the damage had been done. She’d never be more than an inferior being to the full blood time lords. He wondered if she hadn’t been treated like that, if she would have become the Ice General.
Prophet interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve got incoming,” she said, nodding as the Daleks showed their ugly metal bodies.
“Here we go, it’d do or die. Prophet, Journyman, it’s been an honour,” she said standing. “Now let’s buy the Lady President time.” The Mystic took one last look before charging the battlefield.
It was a short battle, but they were pushed back towards the Citadel, Mystic looked at her two comrades, “Really don’t think we’re making it out of this one,” she chuckled humourlessly. They were standing there when the explosion threw them into the air. Mystic felt herself flying, grabbing her side as she screamed in pain, the shrapnel ripping a hole in her side. Her head cracked hard against the wall, dazing her as rubble continued to fall on her. She brushed some off her with a groan as she accessed her situation. The wound in her side was serious, regeneration worthy, especially considering how fast she was bleeding out. Several internal injuries as well, battered ribs, broken arm, mangled leg, concussion, she thought. Oh yeah, she was a dead woman. Maybe this would be the time she was lucky and wouldn’t regenerate at all.
Somehow, the half breed managed to get herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall. She would not die lying down. She looked up dully at the Dalek coming towards her. She chuckled. “Come to finish what you started, have you? Well, too bad,” she sneered at the creature, “See this?” She held up the detonator in her hand, “This is for that lovely Tardis you were so kind to be next to.” Before it could even utter an Exterminate, Mystic hit the button destroying her Tardis, the Dalek, and sending her flying once again. She should have hit the wall by now she thought, wondering why the blast had surrounded her with a white light.
The light faded and she found herself falling into a place she didn’t know. It wasn’t the Citadel. She’d never seen it before. She landed with a thud at the base of some kind of sculpture, or tower, in a pool of water, now turning red with her blood as it flowed out of the wound in her side. She could feel the burn inside her as her body started to rearrange it’s cells. Dammit, she was going to regenerate. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up from her coma. If she were really, really lucky, she’d just close her eyes and never open them again.
The dying woman could hear voices around her, strange voices. They weren’t Journeyman, Prophet or Bishop, certainly not Fred or Theta either. A face appeared in her fading vision, and she found herself nearly pushing up on her elbows, despite the pain. He was blurry, fading in and out, but she could swear that he looked just like the young man who showed her around her first trip to earth. “Max?” she asked, before succumbing to her injuries. She fell back into unconsciousness as it became difficult to breathe, her hearts slowing, stopping. Within seconds she was gone.
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: R for violence gore, and hell, this is Torchwood. What did you think was going to happen?
Summary: She fought in the War, and it left her scarred, now with nowhere to go, can she rebuild herself on the slow path?
Notes: Ok, this is yet another backstory for Lacey Harkness. This one is for the RPG Time Crash on IJ. This is the game where my friends and I like to joke that we took Torchwood and Doctor Who Canon, and chucked it out the Window. This story starts on Gallifrey, and then moves to sometime after Countrycide. Enjoy. :)
She knelt between the Journeyman and the Prophet, her weapon at the ready, a cold look in her ice blue eyes. “Never thought this would be how it ended,” Prophet said, a hollow laugh from her lips.
Mystic barked out her own laugh, “I know what you mean, but rather here, on my feet than waiting for it to come. What we do here will ensure the survival of the Time Lords.”
Journeyman looked at the shorter of the two red haired women. “No wonder you became known as the Ice General. All for the race, nothing for yourself, and a race that has hated your kind.”
She glared at him. “Despite my inferior heritage, Gallifrey was still my home, the only one I’ve known, and I’d rather die here, now. On my terms, and if the fob watched officials remember me, they’ll remember a woman who fought for a race who never gave her anything, instead of a mistake.”
Journeyman shut up, he knew better than to argue with her. Policy had changed so much since she had been a child on Gallifrey, and half bloods were no longer treated as she had been, but the damage had been done. She’d never be more than an inferior being to the full blood time lords. He wondered if she hadn’t been treated like that, if she would have become the Ice General.
Prophet interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve got incoming,” she said, nodding as the Daleks showed their ugly metal bodies.
“Here we go, it’d do or die. Prophet, Journyman, it’s been an honour,” she said standing. “Now let’s buy the Lady President time.” The Mystic took one last look before charging the battlefield.
It was a short battle, but they were pushed back towards the Citadel, Mystic looked at her two comrades, “Really don’t think we’re making it out of this one,” she chuckled humourlessly. They were standing there when the explosion threw them into the air. Mystic felt herself flying, grabbing her side as she screamed in pain, the shrapnel ripping a hole in her side. Her head cracked hard against the wall, dazing her as rubble continued to fall on her. She brushed some off her with a groan as she accessed her situation. The wound in her side was serious, regeneration worthy, especially considering how fast she was bleeding out. Several internal injuries as well, battered ribs, broken arm, mangled leg, concussion, she thought. Oh yeah, she was a dead woman. Maybe this would be the time she was lucky and wouldn’t regenerate at all.
Somehow, the half breed managed to get herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall. She would not die lying down. She looked up dully at the Dalek coming towards her. She chuckled. “Come to finish what you started, have you? Well, too bad,” she sneered at the creature, “See this?” She held up the detonator in her hand, “This is for that lovely Tardis you were so kind to be next to.” Before it could even utter an Exterminate, Mystic hit the button destroying her Tardis, the Dalek, and sending her flying once again. She should have hit the wall by now she thought, wondering why the blast had surrounded her with a white light.
The light faded and she found herself falling into a place she didn’t know. It wasn’t the Citadel. She’d never seen it before. She landed with a thud at the base of some kind of sculpture, or tower, in a pool of water, now turning red with her blood as it flowed out of the wound in her side. She could feel the burn inside her as her body started to rearrange it’s cells. Dammit, she was going to regenerate. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up from her coma. If she were really, really lucky, she’d just close her eyes and never open them again.
The dying woman could hear voices around her, strange voices. They weren’t Journeyman, Prophet or Bishop, certainly not Fred or Theta either. A face appeared in her fading vision, and she found herself nearly pushing up on her elbows, despite the pain. He was blurry, fading in and out, but she could swear that he looked just like the young man who showed her around her first trip to earth. “Max?” she asked, before succumbing to her injuries. She fell back into unconsciousness as it became difficult to breathe, her hearts slowing, stopping. Within seconds she was gone.