Doctor Who - "Paving the way for toclafane" (mild Master/Susan)
. Title: Paving the way for toclafane.
Summary: Susan and the Master plan for the future of time.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Susan Foreman, The Master
Author: Keenir.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: An Unearthly Child {1st}; Logopolis {4th}; The Sound Of Drums, Last of the Time Lords {10th}
Word Count: 1,306
Author’s note: doreyg asked me to write a Susan/Master fic, wherein Lucy Saxon is Susan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She waited.
Fire raced through, coursing into and between each and every tissue and organ in her body.
Nothing changed - internally.
A little changed in her appearance. Not as much as Grandfather changed, but even so, there was change. Susan gained two inches in height and a paler skin, more taut. Opening those eyes whose colour hadn’t changed, she saw how her hair’d grown out and was now, “Blonde.” Dirty blonde, and closed her eyes; she remembered how she used to shriek in fear and frustration - but that sort of thing didn’t seem to be in the cards for this time around.
In time she stood up again, setting instructions for her Makeshift. The Makeshift, a Piecemeal, built from the cannibalized ships left littering a battlefield which she alone had survived. Time Lord, Dalek, and knobs from a few assisting species. “Earth,” Susan said, stating her destination.
As time folded, Susan missed the whirr of a TARDIS. Time-tunneling technology was all she’d been able to come by, both during the Time War and in the now.
She waited.
``````````````````
Susan arrived in Wales just as soon as a TARDIS materialized- there was enough Dalek in the Makeshift to do that, and she didn’t object.
She stepped outside at the exact moment a man exited the TARDIS, her door facing his. Not Grandfather. “Hello,” she said, blonde hair dangling over her shoulder, draping what she felt had to be the most insipid choice of outfits in her life thus far.
He looked at her. Gauging her. Measuring her. Calculating… everything. Then he smiled. A disarming smile. “Oh hello. So good to see you - and another friendly face at that,” and Susan glanced at her doorwayaround herself, and saw that the chameleon circuits were making it look as though she was half-through a brick wall. “Care to go for a cuppa?” proffering his arm, even though neither of them had as yet left the comfort and security of their own ships.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m Susan.”
“I am the Master.”
She knew of him. Reputation preceeded him, as her own may have in reaching his ears. He was, in all but a few accounts, a friendly enemy of her Grandfather.
Still… tea!
Susan walked to a halfway point, the door closing behind her. Together, out for a spot of tea.
``````````````
“You’re the linchpin of peace for three hundred galaxies. So what brings the backbone of the Shadow Proclamation to this corner of this planet?”
Susan listened to the Master’s question, not to the crude humour of the teens - likely graduates, based on the words they were using in their hushed innuendo - at the bar behind her. “I am working on a new means of ensuring peace. Universe-wide, time-wide peace.”
“You don’t think small,” the Master said approvingly.
“I never do.”
“Hm,” as he took another draught of tea. “And this peace, what does it involve?”
“Toclafane,” Susan said.
“Fascinating,” the Master said as a plan formed in his mind. One of an even finer revenge than he’d already devised en route from a trillion years from now. “And may I assist you in this plan of yours?”
She smiled. While not a disarming smile, it was one which engendered trust in others. “But of course. I’d be happy to work with you, Master. In return, may I be of any assistance?”
“I think you may,” and let his fingers drum against the table.
```````````
“Yes, Master?” one of the Toclafane asked, appearing in the library of the Saxon residence, followed by three other Toclafane.
“This is my wife,” said the Master, gesturing to Susan beside him.
“The Master needs none,” said a second Toclafane.”
“She’s good company,” the Master said. “I can survive alone - I don’t like to.”
“Like us,” said the first Toclafane.
“Very much like you,” he agreed.
“We like the Master.”
“If the Master likes her,” said another Toclafane, “so do we.”
“I would like for you,” the Master said, “to do what this woman tells you. You are not to harm her, or anyone under her protection.”
“Yes, Master,” said one Toclafane.
“You’re nice, Master,” said another.
“We listen to the Mister Master,” said another.
“She is helping me,” the Master said, “just as I am helping you.”
“We will help her,” said one.
“Yes we shall,” said another.
“Helping helpers,” piped in another.
“Yay!” said another.
“We like helping,” the group of Toclafane said.
“Now go,” the Master asked of them, “go and tell all your friends.”
“Yes,” the Toclafane said, vanishing back to the future.
Susan gripped the Master’s hand for security. He didn’t tell her that her body temperature had risen to what was average for a Time Lord. He just squeezed back.
The next day, the Toclafane would claim their first human victim: a reporter woman who asked too many questions of Lucy Saxon.
``````````
Susan was walking through Kew Gardens one fine day, admiring the tree ferns. The Master had guesses - guesses galore - as to why she’d chosen ‘Lucy’ as her name for this regeneration…in the end, she’d relented and told him: not for the song, not for any living reason. As a reminder of what to do, as a clue to the plan being laid out.
She was Lucy. Like the fossil. And now she heard -
“Gallifrey burned,” the Master said in his gentlest voice.
“Say who?” Susan asked, not turning around.
“Says your grandfather.” He’d just told me a few minutes ago. “He said he was there, watched it burn.”
She turned around, pivoting on the ball of her foot. “No...Gallifrey?"
"Afraid not. This plan of mine,” the Master said, close to her. “Do you want to back out, maybe go for a holiday elsewhere while I carry it out?”
“No,” she said. “In the final days of the War… A Dalek contingent… Heading right for Earth.”
“And instead, they burned with the rest of their kind. Our world died, and this one survived. Should we leave it be, advance to the next step without it?”
“No.” And, in his ear, all Lucy soft and pleasing, “More.”
The Master smiled.
``````````````````
While the Doctor was an aged guest of the Saxons on board the Valiant, Lucy Saxon came to visit him. “Hello,” she said, crossing her legs and sitting in a handy padded chair.
“Lucy Saxon,” Grandfather said. “Did your dear Master send you?”
“No.” She looked him in the eyes, deeply so. Humans would say she was peering into his soul.
He probably thought she was staring. Or challenging.
“We can let you out. If you’ll help.”
“Help what?” the Doctor asked. “Help you fight the Toclafane?”
“We need toclafane.” Not my husband’s Toclafane - not even the legends of we Time Lords. The Daleks appropriated our word, made it mean ‘we shall return and triumph!’ That is the word I use.
“Then what do you need me for?”
“You’re the Doctor.” You’re my grandfather.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Not now.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, straightened up, walked away.
She’d wait.
```````````````
Susan uncovered the Master, removing the stones one by one, each rock by itself.
He had been buried by falling rocks before - Logopolis came to mind - and it hadn’t been regeneration-worthy then or now. It just wasn’t a circumstance he cared to recall, or repeat.
“You rescued me,” he said.
“Of course I did,” Susan said. “You said you would help.”
“And so I shall.” Right now, he was just bruised. And sore.
“But no revenge.”
“Of course,” grimacing - which he hid as a grimace of pain, not of the thwarted plans he had for getting back at Martha Jones. And Jack Harkness. And, naturally, the Doctor.
“Just a while longer,” Susan told him. What good is reviving the Time Lord’s hallowed geniuses from the vaults of time, if we make undue haste? “We wait.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
Summary: Susan and the Master plan for the future of time.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Susan Foreman, The Master
Author: Keenir.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: An Unearthly Child {1st}; Logopolis {4th}; The Sound Of Drums, Last of the Time Lords {10th}
Word Count: 1,306
Author’s note: doreyg asked me to write a Susan/Master fic, wherein Lucy Saxon is Susan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She waited.
Fire raced through, coursing into and between each and every tissue and organ in her body.
Nothing changed - internally.
A little changed in her appearance. Not as much as Grandfather changed, but even so, there was change. Susan gained two inches in height and a paler skin, more taut. Opening those eyes whose colour hadn’t changed, she saw how her hair’d grown out and was now, “Blonde.” Dirty blonde, and closed her eyes; she remembered how she used to shriek in fear and frustration - but that sort of thing didn’t seem to be in the cards for this time around.
In time she stood up again, setting instructions for her Makeshift. The Makeshift, a Piecemeal, built from the cannibalized ships left littering a battlefield which she alone had survived. Time Lord, Dalek, and knobs from a few assisting species. “Earth,” Susan said, stating her destination.
As time folded, Susan missed the whirr of a TARDIS. Time-tunneling technology was all she’d been able to come by, both during the Time War and in the now.
She waited.
``````````````````
Susan arrived in Wales just as soon as a TARDIS materialized- there was enough Dalek in the Makeshift to do that, and she didn’t object.
She stepped outside at the exact moment a man exited the TARDIS, her door facing his. Not Grandfather. “Hello,” she said, blonde hair dangling over her shoulder, draping what she felt had to be the most insipid choice of outfits in her life thus far.
He looked at her. Gauging her. Measuring her. Calculating… everything. Then he smiled. A disarming smile. “Oh hello. So good to see you - and another friendly face at that,” and Susan glanced at her doorwayaround herself, and saw that the chameleon circuits were making it look as though she was half-through a brick wall. “Care to go for a cuppa?” proffering his arm, even though neither of them had as yet left the comfort and security of their own ships.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m Susan.”
“I am the Master.”
She knew of him. Reputation preceeded him, as her own may have in reaching his ears. He was, in all but a few accounts, a friendly enemy of her Grandfather.
Still… tea!
Susan walked to a halfway point, the door closing behind her. Together, out for a spot of tea.
``````````````
“You’re the linchpin of peace for three hundred galaxies. So what brings the backbone of the Shadow Proclamation to this corner of this planet?”
Susan listened to the Master’s question, not to the crude humour of the teens - likely graduates, based on the words they were using in their hushed innuendo - at the bar behind her. “I am working on a new means of ensuring peace. Universe-wide, time-wide peace.”
“You don’t think small,” the Master said approvingly.
“I never do.”
“Hm,” as he took another draught of tea. “And this peace, what does it involve?”
“Toclafane,” Susan said.
“Fascinating,” the Master said as a plan formed in his mind. One of an even finer revenge than he’d already devised en route from a trillion years from now. “And may I assist you in this plan of yours?”
She smiled. While not a disarming smile, it was one which engendered trust in others. “But of course. I’d be happy to work with you, Master. In return, may I be of any assistance?”
“I think you may,” and let his fingers drum against the table.
```````````
“Yes, Master?” one of the Toclafane asked, appearing in the library of the Saxon residence, followed by three other Toclafane.
“This is my wife,” said the Master, gesturing to Susan beside him.
“The Master needs none,” said a second Toclafane.”
“She’s good company,” the Master said. “I can survive alone - I don’t like to.”
“Like us,” said the first Toclafane.
“Very much like you,” he agreed.
“We like the Master.”
“If the Master likes her,” said another Toclafane, “so do we.”
“I would like for you,” the Master said, “to do what this woman tells you. You are not to harm her, or anyone under her protection.”
“Yes, Master,” said one Toclafane.
“You’re nice, Master,” said another.
“We listen to the Mister Master,” said another.
“She is helping me,” the Master said, “just as I am helping you.”
“We will help her,” said one.
“Yes we shall,” said another.
“Helping helpers,” piped in another.
“Yay!” said another.
“We like helping,” the group of Toclafane said.
“Now go,” the Master asked of them, “go and tell all your friends.”
“Yes,” the Toclafane said, vanishing back to the future.
Susan gripped the Master’s hand for security. He didn’t tell her that her body temperature had risen to what was average for a Time Lord. He just squeezed back.
The next day, the Toclafane would claim their first human victim: a reporter woman who asked too many questions of Lucy Saxon.
``````````
Susan was walking through Kew Gardens one fine day, admiring the tree ferns. The Master had guesses - guesses galore - as to why she’d chosen ‘Lucy’ as her name for this regeneration…in the end, she’d relented and told him: not for the song, not for any living reason. As a reminder of what to do, as a clue to the plan being laid out.
She was Lucy. Like the fossil. And now she heard -
“Gallifrey burned,” the Master said in his gentlest voice.
“Say who?” Susan asked, not turning around.
“Says your grandfather.” He’d just told me a few minutes ago. “He said he was there, watched it burn.”
She turned around, pivoting on the ball of her foot. “No...Gallifrey?"
"Afraid not. This plan of mine,” the Master said, close to her. “Do you want to back out, maybe go for a holiday elsewhere while I carry it out?”
“No,” she said. “In the final days of the War… A Dalek contingent… Heading right for Earth.”
“And instead, they burned with the rest of their kind. Our world died, and this one survived. Should we leave it be, advance to the next step without it?”
“No.” And, in his ear, all Lucy soft and pleasing, “More.”
The Master smiled.
``````````````````
While the Doctor was an aged guest of the Saxons on board the Valiant, Lucy Saxon came to visit him. “Hello,” she said, crossing her legs and sitting in a handy padded chair.
“Lucy Saxon,” Grandfather said. “Did your dear Master send you?”
“No.” She looked him in the eyes, deeply so. Humans would say she was peering into his soul.
He probably thought she was staring. Or challenging.
“We can let you out. If you’ll help.”
“Help what?” the Doctor asked. “Help you fight the Toclafane?”
“We need toclafane.” Not my husband’s Toclafane - not even the legends of we Time Lords. The Daleks appropriated our word, made it mean ‘we shall return and triumph!’ That is the word I use.
“Then what do you need me for?”
“You’re the Doctor.” You’re my grandfather.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Not now.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, straightened up, walked away.
She’d wait.
```````````````
Susan uncovered the Master, removing the stones one by one, each rock by itself.
He had been buried by falling rocks before - Logopolis came to mind - and it hadn’t been regeneration-worthy then or now. It just wasn’t a circumstance he cared to recall, or repeat.
“You rescued me,” he said.
“Of course I did,” Susan said. “You said you would help.”
“And so I shall.” Right now, he was just bruised. And sore.
“But no revenge.”
“Of course,” grimacing - which he hid as a grimace of pain, not of the thwarted plans he had for getting back at Martha Jones. And Jack Harkness. And, naturally, the Doctor.
“Just a while longer,” Susan told him. What good is reviving the Time Lord’s hallowed geniuses from the vaults of time, if we make undue haste? “We wait.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End