10. [visual | location: Martha's Flat] Don't look in the mirror / At the face you don't recognize

[would_be_doctor]

Martha's image appears on the screen. Her hair's down, and she's dressed in a nightie that may or may not seem a bit unusual for her, but at least it appears she has had the good sense to pop a lab coat on over it. For all the good that will do

Comments

Hee. 'Ergh.' Yeah thanks Doctor :P

[would_be_doctor]

Martha's body jumped a little-- not at the sudden thudding up the stairs or the knocking, for the Master had at least some poise under pressure, sometimes-- but at the sound of his own voice raised to the level of near-panic. Unfortunately, her pathetic ears weren't quite Time Lord enough for him to pick up the precise words.

He was already down in the clinic, having seen Aximili earlier in the day, and currently cataloging the various sedatives and sharp implements she had on hand-- just for future reference. Now he selected a scalpel from the drawer gripping it tightly in Martha's hand as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs. And there was his own body, Martha likely inside it.

"Harold Saxon," he said, with no shortage of pleasure. "Fancy seeing you here."

But it's such a catchy little beat!

[would_be_doctor]

The Master stood stock still for a moment, processing this turn of events. The Doctor. Not Martha Jones. The Doctor was in control of his body, and had thought to come here to turn to his little ape companion as usual, and hadn't the slightest who 'Martha' really was.

Ignoring the problem of Martha Jones still on the loose (once again), this was just getting better and better.

What would Martha do at this moment, he wondered, twiddling the scalpel idly between her fingers. Ah. Yes.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked sweetly.

There's a difference? You clearly need to listen to more pop music.

[would_be_doctor]

The horror of watching the Doctor mutilate his own facial expressions was only ameliorated by watching the Doctor attempt to deal with what must have been a pounding headache by now. The Master could still hear the drums, of course-- they were his, and always would be-- but in Martha's head they were a faint echo compared to what they once were. And the Doctor had no experience in tempering them, no mental blocks to slot into place. It had taken the Master years to build his own, and they'd never even been a guarantee of peace.

"Now you know what it's like," he couldn't help but mutter, very quietly. And then he straightened up, looking his own self dead in the eye. He knew the answer he wanted most at the moment, if only because Martha would never have told him. "All right. Who am I married to?"

Thus adding to the horror. - _ -

[would_be_doctor]

Mickey. The Master spent too many precious moments racking his memory for any such name. There was one mention he'd run across in the TARDIS data banks, because truly there was nothing like combing through the Doctor's past exploits when one was extremely bored during one's stranding on Earth. That and dismantling the bitch to make a mockery of the Doctor, his beloved little monkeys, and time itself. Of course.

But surely he couldn't mean Rose's Mickey. Even the Doctor hadn't thought much of him, for Rassilon's sake. That had to say something.

The Master caught himself wrinkling Martha's nose and put an end to it, settling for a small smile. "It really is you, isn't it?"

OF COURSE YOU WILL- But then, dancing is nothing new for this Master so DO YOUR WORST

[would_be_doctor]

Saying something like "Shut up, Doctor" would likely blow his cover (although perhaps not-- the Master would be surprised if Martha or anyone else could refrain for long, considering it was, well. The Doctor), so the Master instead pursed Martha's lips just a little and waited for him to finish. Being shushed directly after didn't improve his mood much.

Finding Amy. Now there was an idea. The Master hadn't even been properly introduced yet.

"Do you think he's gotten to her already?" he asked, manufacturing a look of concern. "Where do you think they might have gone?"

x/

[would_be_doctor]

Ah, so he and this Amy had a place, did they? The Master felt a new twinge of irritation he couldn't quite place. Being trapped in this body was likely beginning to affect him-- humans were so weak, their emotions so volatile.

He didn't have too long to dwell on it, thankfully; the Doctor was racing his body out the door, earning a roll of the eyes before the Master reluctantly followed. At least Martha's shoes, pedestrian as they were, were good for running. But her woefully inefficient respiratory system was setting him at a decidedly slower pace.

[would_be_doctor]

By the time the Master made it to the tram station, Martha's body was almost completely out of breath. He busied himself trying to catch it again, only to recoil as the Doctor turned on him.

Never mentioned him. Of course. Why should he be surprised? And, come to think of it, why should he even care?

It took all of the Master's strength not to slap his own hand out of his own mouth, but he couldn't quite resist grabbing it.

"Nasty habit," he snapped, before he could stop himself. And then, to smooth it over a bit, a joke: "Besides, you don't know where those hands have been."