What You Need and What You Can't Live Without -- Whotopia 1.9.1
Prompt: "I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven." Louisa May Alcott - Little Women - Spoken by Beth to Jo.
NOTE: AU after The Sound of Drums. Minor violence warning. And though the prompt WAS used as a jumping-off-point, there was a severe disconnect along the way.... Don't say I didn't warn you.
"Now, kneel before your Master, and accept your judgment."
The Doctor's green eyes flash as he sinks to his knees. Lucy's hand tightens on his shoulder, but the Master barely registers it. Nothing matters except the broken, hopeless slump of the Doctor's shoulders, the flat note in his voice. So unlike the playful Irish tilt to the last regeneration, the defiant familiarity and joy in which he'd recount their history, even while the Master took knives and brands and eventually his own screwdriver to his skin. It took so long to break that one, but oh, it was so worth it, to hear him begging as he bled dry.
"Doctor," he calls, and lifts his voice to be sure the cameras catch his every word, "you have been charged with multiple crimes, including, but not limited to, the genocide of the Time Lords, the destruction of the planet Gallifrey, the genocide of the Daleks, the destruction of the planet Skaro..." Just those four hurt the Doctor enough to suit him, but this is as much about a lesson as it is about the Doctor. He keeps going, down to every single person whose death was the Doctor's fault.
Three regenerations ago, when he was as he was when he first came on the Valiant, the Doctor protested as he ran down this list, announced his innocence if it wasn't directly his hand. This Doctor doesn't say a word.
"How do you plead?" he asks, as he comes, finally, to the end.
"Guilty." The Doctor's voice is barely a whisper, and the Master's smile is as gentle as his touch as he reaches down, lifts the Doctor's chin to see his face.
"Say it so they can all hear you."
The Doctor swallows, and when he repeats himself, his voice rings through the silent room. "Guilty."
The Master looks up long enough to look around, to savor the horror and the anger on the faces of the Doctor's friends. The freak looks murderous, Miss Noble looks sick, even the mechanical dog seems to be upset.
"Guilty," he repeats, and savors the word. "Yes. It's time for you to pay for your crimes." He reaches out his hand, points his weapon at Miss Smith. His eyes lock onto the Doctor's face as he presses the button. There's nothing but a twitch as the scream rings out. Back to trying to hide, still trying to be strong. The Master will fix that before the end.
One by one they go, all but the freak, who dies once for each of the other kills. The Doctor is crying by the time Miss Noble hits the floor.
"And now it's your turn." He kneels down before the Doctor, reaches out to caress his cheek. He leans in, whispers the Doctor's true name into his ear as he plunges a blade into each heart in turn.
The death is messy, but it's quick. The Master stands up, his hands covered in blood. He is smiling, and he is the last Time Lord in existence.
For a month, it's paradise.
The last view of the Doctor, wounded and bloody at his feet, sate the drums for weeks. Two more planets fall to his rule. The humans don't dare rebel, not after the things he's shown them. The Doctor's tortures and death, days spent with the freak, the burning of cities. Their obedience makes him proud. He even dismantles Archangel, once his army is large enough that he won't need it on other planets. It doesn't change a thing. Nothing is out there to stop him.
Nothing is out there worth fighting against.
When the drums come back, they are angrier than ever. This isn't what they wanted. The drums asked for a war, and he gave them destruction. The blood, the broken worlds.... It's all too easy. What happened to the fight, what happened to the thrill of victory? There's no thrill when all he has to do is send the Toclaphane down and they're begging for mercy before the first dozen kills. The new Time Lord empire was, is, his dream, but the drums don't care about his empire. The drums don't care what he wants.
They all can see it driving him mad. Lucy tries to help, but she is so very human sometimes and she is so very agreeable. She enjoys the blood, she loves to watch the worlds burn but she's glad to see them fall without a fight, she can't see why it isn't good enough for him. He can't explain. She wouldn't understand anyway. His soldiers, the ones that aren't Toclophane anyway, they stay out of his way. The Toclophane try to please him, with slaughter and destruction of cities and like children, they don't understand why it doesn't work anymore. The freak is the closest he gets to a fight anymore but it isn't enough, one man that can't actually do anything but taunt him does nothing to satisfy the drums.
And worlds continue to succumb to his rule as he grows more and more discontent. A year passes, two, and half the galaxy is under his control but the drums never stop, not even for a moment. He doesn't sleep, doesn't eat except what Lucy gives him when he's too distracted to notice he's doing it. He avoids everyone but the Toclophane and Harkness, and neither of them help him a damn bit.
Then the day comes when he pulls a knife on Harkness, and he gets no reaction.
The Master snarls, demands an explanation.
"What's the point?" Harkness asks, and his eyes are cold. "You win. Are you happy now? You win."
His rage is blinding, and he's killed Harkness six times before his heartsbeat slows back to normal.
The third year of his rule comes around, and he's finally had enough. The seeds of a plan begin to form in his mind. For the first time in months, he finds himself smiling. The relief on Lucy's face is impossible to ignore. She doesn't even complain when he stops sleeping in their bed, spending the nights awake, working. Finally, he knows what to do. How to fix himself.
The night he finally finishes it, he makes his way back through the Valiant, to their bedroom. Lucy sleeps, peaceful, unexpecting. He kisses her, one last time.
And then he walks back to his paradox machine. He takes a moment to look at it from the outside, to remember every detail of the police box that this machine will never look like again. The angry red pulsing greets him as he opens the doors, the screen still showing the coordinates he set.
He finishes the sequence, starts her up. The grinding is a bit more forced, it takes longer to dematerialize, but she works. She works just like a TARDIS ought to. He spends the trip through the time vortex laughing, and he's still grinning like a lunatic when he steps out of the tree she shifts into once she lands. He even whistles, strolling across the sidewalk and stopping to get a newspaper. December 29th. Not quite what he was aiming for, but close enough.
It doesn't take long to find what he's looking for. Three days later, exactly, he sees it. The police box is obvious, once you know it's there.
The Doctor steps out. And the Master steps into his line of sight, his grin still more lunatic than anything, and calls out. "Doctor." His voice very nealy trembles on the name.
The Doctor glances towards him, and the drums howl in defeat.
Muse: The Master (Saxon)
Word Count: 1313
Journal link
NOTE: AU after The Sound of Drums. Minor violence warning. And though the prompt WAS used as a jumping-off-point, there was a severe disconnect along the way.... Don't say I didn't warn you.
"Now, kneel before your Master, and accept your judgment."
The Doctor's green eyes flash as he sinks to his knees. Lucy's hand tightens on his shoulder, but the Master barely registers it. Nothing matters except the broken, hopeless slump of the Doctor's shoulders, the flat note in his voice. So unlike the playful Irish tilt to the last regeneration, the defiant familiarity and joy in which he'd recount their history, even while the Master took knives and brands and eventually his own screwdriver to his skin. It took so long to break that one, but oh, it was so worth it, to hear him begging as he bled dry.
"Doctor," he calls, and lifts his voice to be sure the cameras catch his every word, "you have been charged with multiple crimes, including, but not limited to, the genocide of the Time Lords, the destruction of the planet Gallifrey, the genocide of the Daleks, the destruction of the planet Skaro..." Just those four hurt the Doctor enough to suit him, but this is as much about a lesson as it is about the Doctor. He keeps going, down to every single person whose death was the Doctor's fault.
Three regenerations ago, when he was as he was when he first came on the Valiant, the Doctor protested as he ran down this list, announced his innocence if it wasn't directly his hand. This Doctor doesn't say a word.
"How do you plead?" he asks, as he comes, finally, to the end.
"Guilty." The Doctor's voice is barely a whisper, and the Master's smile is as gentle as his touch as he reaches down, lifts the Doctor's chin to see his face.
"Say it so they can all hear you."
The Doctor swallows, and when he repeats himself, his voice rings through the silent room. "Guilty."
The Master looks up long enough to look around, to savor the horror and the anger on the faces of the Doctor's friends. The freak looks murderous, Miss Noble looks sick, even the mechanical dog seems to be upset.
"Guilty," he repeats, and savors the word. "Yes. It's time for you to pay for your crimes." He reaches out his hand, points his weapon at Miss Smith. His eyes lock onto the Doctor's face as he presses the button. There's nothing but a twitch as the scream rings out. Back to trying to hide, still trying to be strong. The Master will fix that before the end.
One by one they go, all but the freak, who dies once for each of the other kills. The Doctor is crying by the time Miss Noble hits the floor.
"And now it's your turn." He kneels down before the Doctor, reaches out to caress his cheek. He leans in, whispers the Doctor's true name into his ear as he plunges a blade into each heart in turn.
The death is messy, but it's quick. The Master stands up, his hands covered in blood. He is smiling, and he is the last Time Lord in existence.
For a month, it's paradise.
The last view of the Doctor, wounded and bloody at his feet, sate the drums for weeks. Two more planets fall to his rule. The humans don't dare rebel, not after the things he's shown them. The Doctor's tortures and death, days spent with the freak, the burning of cities. Their obedience makes him proud. He even dismantles Archangel, once his army is large enough that he won't need it on other planets. It doesn't change a thing. Nothing is out there to stop him.
Nothing is out there worth fighting against.
When the drums come back, they are angrier than ever. This isn't what they wanted. The drums asked for a war, and he gave them destruction. The blood, the broken worlds.... It's all too easy. What happened to the fight, what happened to the thrill of victory? There's no thrill when all he has to do is send the Toclaphane down and they're begging for mercy before the first dozen kills. The new Time Lord empire was, is, his dream, but the drums don't care about his empire. The drums don't care what he wants.
They all can see it driving him mad. Lucy tries to help, but she is so very human sometimes and she is so very agreeable. She enjoys the blood, she loves to watch the worlds burn but she's glad to see them fall without a fight, she can't see why it isn't good enough for him. He can't explain. She wouldn't understand anyway. His soldiers, the ones that aren't Toclophane anyway, they stay out of his way. The Toclophane try to please him, with slaughter and destruction of cities and like children, they don't understand why it doesn't work anymore. The freak is the closest he gets to a fight anymore but it isn't enough, one man that can't actually do anything but taunt him does nothing to satisfy the drums.
And worlds continue to succumb to his rule as he grows more and more discontent. A year passes, two, and half the galaxy is under his control but the drums never stop, not even for a moment. He doesn't sleep, doesn't eat except what Lucy gives him when he's too distracted to notice he's doing it. He avoids everyone but the Toclophane and Harkness, and neither of them help him a damn bit.
Then the day comes when he pulls a knife on Harkness, and he gets no reaction.
The Master snarls, demands an explanation.
"What's the point?" Harkness asks, and his eyes are cold. "You win. Are you happy now? You win."
His rage is blinding, and he's killed Harkness six times before his heartsbeat slows back to normal.
The third year of his rule comes around, and he's finally had enough. The seeds of a plan begin to form in his mind. For the first time in months, he finds himself smiling. The relief on Lucy's face is impossible to ignore. She doesn't even complain when he stops sleeping in their bed, spending the nights awake, working. Finally, he knows what to do. How to fix himself.
The night he finally finishes it, he makes his way back through the Valiant, to their bedroom. Lucy sleeps, peaceful, unexpecting. He kisses her, one last time.
And then he walks back to his paradox machine. He takes a moment to look at it from the outside, to remember every detail of the police box that this machine will never look like again. The angry red pulsing greets him as he opens the doors, the screen still showing the coordinates he set.
He finishes the sequence, starts her up. The grinding is a bit more forced, it takes longer to dematerialize, but she works. She works just like a TARDIS ought to. He spends the trip through the time vortex laughing, and he's still grinning like a lunatic when he steps out of the tree she shifts into once she lands. He even whistles, strolling across the sidewalk and stopping to get a newspaper. December 29th. Not quite what he was aiming for, but close enough.
It doesn't take long to find what he's looking for. Three days later, exactly, he sees it. The police box is obvious, once you know it's there.
The Doctor steps out. And the Master steps into his line of sight, his grin still more lunatic than anything, and calls out. "Doctor." His voice very nealy trembles on the name.
The Doctor glances towards him, and the drums howl in defeat.
Muse: The Master (Saxon)
Word Count: 1313
Journal link