Ewww... more fanfic
It's Doctor Who fic this time. If the various Buffy fics I've started are any indication, I'll never finish anyting that takes longer than one sitting to write, but I would like to write more Who fic as well.
Title: Regeneration
Characters: Lucy Saxon, The Master
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through the end of series 3
The BBC owns these characters, but I wrote these words.
As she approached the armoire, Lucy was briefly surprised at how numb she felt. The numbness, and the blankness in her thoughts that would have worried her had she not been so numb, were familiar. But she retained enough energy to expect that, at this time of all times, she would be excited. These last steps were, after all, as crucial as the initial ones. Harry had taken pains to explain that, several times. She wasn't excited at all, just plodding slowly into their bedroom.
She inserted her wedding ring into the slight indentation in the armoire door. It all came down to rings- his and hers. Harry had been insistent about that as well, repeating it several times and making her repeat it back. She had supposed, dully, because all her suppositions were dull now, that he had been hypnotising her. It had been welcome enough, at the time. Her chest began to ache as she thought about the first of those conversations- fire and misery, my poor stunted children watching the candles go out at the end of the universe- I can't bear it! And Harry softly stroking her hair, whispering, shh, shh, it will be all right, my darling...
That conversation had made sense, had quieted her. Some of the others, including this plan, had been nonsense. She couldn't bring herself to care. She was mildly surprised to discover the armoire was much bigger on the inside than the outside. Thinking bemused, slow thoughts of lions and lampposts and snow, she walked toward the hexagonal console at the center of the room with the crystal tube rising out of it. There was a hand-scribbled note at the right place: YOUR RING HERE, and an arrow pointing to a socket on the console. She put it in.
There was a wheezing noise and a slight lurch. The crystal tube began to move up and down. When Lucy fell to the ground, she didn't bother getting up. Closing her eyes was easier.
When she finally opened them, she felt somewhat more composed. Still disinterested but a bit more energetic, she took a look at her surroundings. This, she realized, was Harry's TARDIS. Then, she shook her head. The Master's TARDIS, she reminded herself. He'd taken her to the other one- the Doctor's- a few times to brag about his modifications to it, and it looked similar. Considerably less ramshackle, without all the ridiculous attachments and encrustations to its console that Harry had taken such joy in destroying before her eyes. It had the same art-deco arches- ribs?- that the little blue box had had, but the walls were smooth.
She stood up and said, "Exterior view." She had been told to.
A picture formed in the air, of a large, stacked pile of wood burning fiercely. She thought she saw a figure move away from the fire, but ignored it and continued to search- another instruction. She quickly realized what the fire was and where Harry's ring must be. She waited for the fire to burn down before she went and got the ring. When she came back, she noted without much surprise that she was returning to a tree and not an armoire, but it still opened for her.
She looked for the other note on the console: MY RING HERE.
When she put the ring in, it was surrounded by a nimbus of glowing golden light. The nimbus faded after a while. A pleasant, neutral voice said Persona array is corrupt. Reconstruction will require operator assistance. An image of a bearded man, dressed all in black, with black hair and gloves, appeared. "Look into my eyes," it said. Despite herself, she snorted a laugh.
A net of golden light formed between her, the image of the bearded man, the rings, and one or two other places on the console. Compatibility verified, said the neutral voice. The image of the bearded man chucked.
She knew that chuckle.
"Harry?", she said. Abruptly, the bearded man vanished. In his place was a an image of Harry Saxon, more transparent-seeming, and connected by a thin gold line to the ring she had taken out of the ashes of Harry's funeral pyre.
"Hello, darling," he grinned. "Have you met my TARDIS? TARDIS, Lucy is an authorized operator- for purposes of reconstruction only."
Re-authorization confirmed. Her wedding ring popped out of its socket in the console. Harry looked a bit hurt when she made no move to pick it up. After a moment, she said, "Oh, of course, my darling." She put the ring on and smiled- but only with her lips.
The reconstruction was nothing like Lucy expected. It mostly took the form of long monologues in Harry's voice. Fifteen minutes into the first one, she stopped it and asked for a chair. The trip to get one and bring it back to the control room was very educational. She tried to poke her head into several of the rooms she passed, but the neutral voice insisted she wasn't allowed. After a few days, the monologues developed more into conversations- but there were some of her questions that Harry refused to answer. If she pressed the point, the neutral voice would say she was exceeding her authorization. She made sure to remember the times this happened. Some, she predicted- his real name, his exact age- and others- "Have you read Salman Rushdie?"- took her completely by surprise.
She tracked his mentions of Gallifrey and the Doctor. He proved willing enough to discuss these things in general terms, and sometimes even to discuss topics that seemed difficult for him- his image even cried a bit when he talked about the Time War and it almost seemed for a moment that he wanted to hold her- but the distance he would travel down those conversational paths was short indeed.
When she began to grow tired, the neutral voice would call a halt. The first time she asked about something- food, sleep, a shower- it was usually the image of Harry that answered. If the subject came up again, the question was answered by the neutral TARDIS voice.
She took careful note of how much food was in the kitchen. Harry, or the TARDIS- she was never quite sure exactly what or who she was talking to- seemed to agree that her "authorization" extended to keeping her in reasonably good shape. She ate perhaps a little bit more than she needed, and exercised a bit more to make up for it. The larder was large, but not moreso than it looked from the outside. When the time came, perhaps she would be directed to another kitchen... and perhaps not.
There was no television, but there were a few books and an enormous amount of recorded music. She laughed to herself when she realized the TARDIS was making a point of showing her only the rooms full of things she would recognize. Even the small part of the TARDIS she was allowed to see was rather posh. The exterior view was of some sort of bluff, facing sunset- and sometimes sunrise. She supposed that the TARDIS moved, if it did, while she slept- the "time rotor", which was apparently the name of the crystal tube, never moved while she was looking at it.
So she passed the days pleasantly enough, reading, talking, listening, eating, exercising and thinking. She thought more, and more quickly, than anyone had ever given her credit for- but there was nothing new about that.
When she became aware of just how many rooms she wasn't allowed to see, she asked Harry, "This place is a palace. Why did you bother living on the Valiant?"
His reply was intense. "Someone else built this. I built the Valiant- it was mine." For a moment, she wished she could kiss him.
She was surprised the first time Harry asked her about herself. The question was about charity work, and reminded her of their courtship, but this time he asked why she had done it. She eyed him intently while framing her response. She decided to answer honestly.
"I could never care about other people as much as my mother wanted me to. It wasn't just my mother- I got a lot of odd looks when Princess Diana died, because I didn't care, and I said so. I learnt to say the right things, and sometimes I even felt them. I'd feel sad for complete strangers some days, and then I'd go to my grandmother's funeral and not care at all. I went through all the things that are supposed to make you grieve- thought about her, said goodbye. And I felt nothing.
"After school, I got myself into a position where caring was my profession. I enjoyed doing my job well enough, and sometimes I was touched. You've seen me take the suffering of some others very personally- but only some. I saw some of the people I worked with throw their heart and soul into it. They lived to make a difference to the people who needed them. And on the day I realized that would never be me... I got myself a job in publishing."
Harry brought up some other topic. A few minutes later, she asked him another question.
"Harry, whose persona are we reconstructing?"
He didn't answer.
It was a few days- to judge by sleep- before she realized she was enjoying talking to him, and a few more before she became keenly aware that she missed him physically. The conversation had come round to an evening just before their wedding, and their mutual recollection of cutting asides about party guests they had made to each other, giggling furtively.
"Do you remember what we did later that evening?"
"I certainly do. It's a shame we can't do it again, but I'm a bit too intangible. I can't even leave the control room."
"Well, then I suppose we should just keep talking here. Of course, there's something you should know." And she leaned forward, but didn't whisper. "I'm not wearing underwear."
He wolf-grinned. "Show me." And she did.
After that, he gave her an extremely detailed and lengthy set of instructions. When she started to moan, his voice became hoarse.
Looking back on it, there were only two incidents she labeled "the big ones."
The first came when, for the first time, the TARDIS broke into the conversation. Persona reconstruction has reached two compatible alternatives, it said. Operator selection is required. Before she could even ask, she heard two sounds. Both were the familiar rhythm of drumming Harry was wont to tap out, his most frequent form of fidgeting. One set of drums was soft, the other almost unbearably loud. Her head began to hurt. Soft, soft, how do I make them shut up? she thought. And they did. Selection complete, the TARDIS said. Ready to resume reconstruction.
The image of Harry had disappeared.
She thought very carefully, then spoke. "What's happening?"
Reconstruction is suspended after direct operator interface.
"Is it going to happen again? The suspension?"
Reconstruction is suspended for direct operator access or upon request of authorized operator.
She held her breath. "Could I request a suspension?"
You are authorized to suspend reconstruction.
She laughed and clapped and danced around the control room, but was careful to compose herself before she told the TARDIS to resume. There were other incidents where the TARDIS required operator selection. She was never aware of making a conscious choice between alternatives, and looking back on it she was sometimes unsure that she had actually chosen- but none of the other incidents involved anything more wrenching than the taste of foods.
After that first "big one", she suspended reconstruction periodically and had a few chats with the TARDIS. It was always very helpful in spelling out exactly what she was and wasn't authorized to do, when she asked about various things.
The second "big one" came when she asked Harry, not for the first time, a question she'd asked him before coming to the TARDIS. The specific question was, "What's your favorite Marx Brothers movie?" His brow furrowed a bit and he said, "I can't remember." She tried very hard not to show her eagerness at this response.
"TARDIS, suspend reconstruction, please."
Suspended. The image of Harry disappeared.
"He just gave me a wrong answer. I know what his favorite Marx Brothers movie is- it's Duck Soup. Unless he was lying when he told me, I suppose. Can you check that?"
There was an uncomfortably long pause before the TARDIS replied. The relevant information is not accessible to the reconstructed persona.
"Can you take my word for it? I'm telling the truth- you can check, if you like." She was- that was crucial. She mentally crossed her fingers.
Information supplied by operator will be vetted for compatibility. If found to be compatible, the information will be used in reconstruction.
Her jaw dropped. Did it just say what I thought it said?
"What if I make a mistake and tell you something that isn't true?" Come on, come on...
Verifiably untrue information is not compatible. Other information will be assigned a compatibility index and incorporated if sufficiently compatible. Not as good as she was hoping, but still...
"So if I remember something about him, you'll put it in if it sounds enough like it might be right?"
Yes.
She thought about that for a long time, then and afterwards. He must have known he had been taking a terrible risk, leaving himself in her hands- literally- as he had. There was precious little choice, of course. He had to choose between this and a number of equally unpleasant alternatives.
It all came down to one question, she supposed. But it had better be the last question she asked him. One last question and one last answer.
She'd expected to run out of food. She had made several plans, and was quite looking forward to trying one of them- but in the event, the whole thing took less than a month.
Reconstruction complete. Harry smiled widely.
"Scheherazade," Lucy said.
Verified
Harry walked up to her, and his phantom lips kissed her forehead.
"I've enjoyed our conversations, sweetheart. I truly have. Our life together has been wonderful, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But it's going to be different, now. I have to move on."
She kept her voice light. "My goodness, Harry, it sounds like you're leaving me."
"Far from it! I could never leave you, Lucy. My faithful bride, my sweet companion. But..." He walked behind her. "I need a body."
"Mine."
"I'm afraid so. TARDIS, deploy chameleon arch."
Reconstruction has not been verified.
He was momentarily speechless.
Lucy turned to face him. "I wouldn't be a proper operator if I didn't give my best effort, would I, darling? So I'm afraid I can't sign off-"
He cut her off. "Verify reconstruction!"
Scheherazade mode requires the consent of all operators to verify persona.
She put a finger to his lips. "Before you explore what will no doubt be a long and creative series of ways to escape this, let me explain. It will be much quicker."
Slowly, he nodded.
"If you'll only accept my body, I'm afraid I'll have to suspend reconstruction until I feel more ready. I'm sorry to say I may never feel ready for that kind of closeness. I'll do my best to... pass away... under the chameleon arch, but who knows how it will turn out? On the other hand...
"You're my beloved, my husband..." This time, she did whisper. "My master." She drew it out. Oh, if only you were solid.... She could feel herself blushing all over. "I'm more than pleased to offer you my body, as soon as possible, and repeatedly. It's long past time we got back to that... but we have to get through this other business first. You need a body donor, and you have a time machine. It can't be that complicated."
"You magnificent bitch," he said. But he was grinning as he said it. "I knew I was right to marry you."
"By the way, dear, I think it's best we postpone verification until after we have the body in hand. I also need to ask you one last question."
He nodded again, studying her intently.
"Did you settle on this plan, with the ring, because you thought I'd be easier to fool than the Doctor?"
He thought before he answered. She gave him credit for that.
"No. I didn't think I'd have to fool you for as long, though." He blinked, surprised by his own answer. Then: "Oh, of course. Scheherazade mode again?"
"Yes. I can hardly be expected to verify with confidence unless I can be certain your answers are truthful, can I? When the TARDIS explained operator verification and custom modes to me, I suggested verbal data checking... and here we are. Of course, it wouldn't give me access to much data, so it limited me to one question. It's quite zealous about your welfare. I like that about it." And she grinned back.
His voice was low. "We need to get me a new body now, Mrs. Saxon."
"Right away, Master. Care to tell me how?"
"Surprise me." She was pleased by that.
There really aren't many reasons for a man in a suit and tie to be standing on the side of a bridge. Timing the materialization was tricky, but gravity only works the one way, after all. He was briefly disoriented- who wouldn't be?- and Lucy was quick with the hypodermic. She banged him up a bit loading him into the chameleon arch, and her look was so apologetic that Harry burst out laughing. She swatted him, playfully, and grimaced when her hand passed through him.
"He'll do?"
"Well enough," he said.
She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. The image of his hand passed through hers, but it was warm, and she grinned again.
"TARDIS, end Scheherazade mode."
Persona verified. Incarnating.
There was a flash of golden light so large, bright and prolonged that Lucy had to look away. When she looked back, the man in the chameleon arch looked more like her Harry than he had before. Bluer eyes than Harry Saxon, a different nose, a different chin- but close enough.
He stood up, then bounded across the room and hugged her.
"Welcome back, sweetheart. Are you going to kill me?" She just blurted it out. She hated that, but it was a special occasion, she reminded herself.
"No. Are you going to kill me?"
She teared up. "Oh, Harry... that's the sweetest question you've ever asked me."
The kiss was prolonged and enthusiastic. So was the christening of the TARDIS console afterward, though it did give them both some interesting scratches.
Title: Regeneration
Characters: Lucy Saxon, The Master
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through the end of series 3
The BBC owns these characters, but I wrote these words.
As she approached the armoire, Lucy was briefly surprised at how numb she felt. The numbness, and the blankness in her thoughts that would have worried her had she not been so numb, were familiar. But she retained enough energy to expect that, at this time of all times, she would be excited. These last steps were, after all, as crucial as the initial ones. Harry had taken pains to explain that, several times. She wasn't excited at all, just plodding slowly into their bedroom.
She inserted her wedding ring into the slight indentation in the armoire door. It all came down to rings- his and hers. Harry had been insistent about that as well, repeating it several times and making her repeat it back. She had supposed, dully, because all her suppositions were dull now, that he had been hypnotising her. It had been welcome enough, at the time. Her chest began to ache as she thought about the first of those conversations- fire and misery, my poor stunted children watching the candles go out at the end of the universe- I can't bear it! And Harry softly stroking her hair, whispering, shh, shh, it will be all right, my darling...
That conversation had made sense, had quieted her. Some of the others, including this plan, had been nonsense. She couldn't bring herself to care. She was mildly surprised to discover the armoire was much bigger on the inside than the outside. Thinking bemused, slow thoughts of lions and lampposts and snow, she walked toward the hexagonal console at the center of the room with the crystal tube rising out of it. There was a hand-scribbled note at the right place: YOUR RING HERE, and an arrow pointing to a socket on the console. She put it in.
There was a wheezing noise and a slight lurch. The crystal tube began to move up and down. When Lucy fell to the ground, she didn't bother getting up. Closing her eyes was easier.
When she finally opened them, she felt somewhat more composed. Still disinterested but a bit more energetic, she took a look at her surroundings. This, she realized, was Harry's TARDIS. Then, she shook her head. The Master's TARDIS, she reminded herself. He'd taken her to the other one- the Doctor's- a few times to brag about his modifications to it, and it looked similar. Considerably less ramshackle, without all the ridiculous attachments and encrustations to its console that Harry had taken such joy in destroying before her eyes. It had the same art-deco arches- ribs?- that the little blue box had had, but the walls were smooth.
She stood up and said, "Exterior view." She had been told to.
A picture formed in the air, of a large, stacked pile of wood burning fiercely. She thought she saw a figure move away from the fire, but ignored it and continued to search- another instruction. She quickly realized what the fire was and where Harry's ring must be. She waited for the fire to burn down before she went and got the ring. When she came back, she noted without much surprise that she was returning to a tree and not an armoire, but it still opened for her.
She looked for the other note on the console: MY RING HERE.
When she put the ring in, it was surrounded by a nimbus of glowing golden light. The nimbus faded after a while. A pleasant, neutral voice said Persona array is corrupt. Reconstruction will require operator assistance. An image of a bearded man, dressed all in black, with black hair and gloves, appeared. "Look into my eyes," it said. Despite herself, she snorted a laugh.
A net of golden light formed between her, the image of the bearded man, the rings, and one or two other places on the console. Compatibility verified, said the neutral voice. The image of the bearded man chucked.
She knew that chuckle.
"Harry?", she said. Abruptly, the bearded man vanished. In his place was a an image of Harry Saxon, more transparent-seeming, and connected by a thin gold line to the ring she had taken out of the ashes of Harry's funeral pyre.
"Hello, darling," he grinned. "Have you met my TARDIS? TARDIS, Lucy is an authorized operator- for purposes of reconstruction only."
Re-authorization confirmed. Her wedding ring popped out of its socket in the console. Harry looked a bit hurt when she made no move to pick it up. After a moment, she said, "Oh, of course, my darling." She put the ring on and smiled- but only with her lips.
The reconstruction was nothing like Lucy expected. It mostly took the form of long monologues in Harry's voice. Fifteen minutes into the first one, she stopped it and asked for a chair. The trip to get one and bring it back to the control room was very educational. She tried to poke her head into several of the rooms she passed, but the neutral voice insisted she wasn't allowed. After a few days, the monologues developed more into conversations- but there were some of her questions that Harry refused to answer. If she pressed the point, the neutral voice would say she was exceeding her authorization. She made sure to remember the times this happened. Some, she predicted- his real name, his exact age- and others- "Have you read Salman Rushdie?"- took her completely by surprise.
She tracked his mentions of Gallifrey and the Doctor. He proved willing enough to discuss these things in general terms, and sometimes even to discuss topics that seemed difficult for him- his image even cried a bit when he talked about the Time War and it almost seemed for a moment that he wanted to hold her- but the distance he would travel down those conversational paths was short indeed.
When she began to grow tired, the neutral voice would call a halt. The first time she asked about something- food, sleep, a shower- it was usually the image of Harry that answered. If the subject came up again, the question was answered by the neutral TARDIS voice.
She took careful note of how much food was in the kitchen. Harry, or the TARDIS- she was never quite sure exactly what or who she was talking to- seemed to agree that her "authorization" extended to keeping her in reasonably good shape. She ate perhaps a little bit more than she needed, and exercised a bit more to make up for it. The larder was large, but not moreso than it looked from the outside. When the time came, perhaps she would be directed to another kitchen... and perhaps not.
There was no television, but there were a few books and an enormous amount of recorded music. She laughed to herself when she realized the TARDIS was making a point of showing her only the rooms full of things she would recognize. Even the small part of the TARDIS she was allowed to see was rather posh. The exterior view was of some sort of bluff, facing sunset- and sometimes sunrise. She supposed that the TARDIS moved, if it did, while she slept- the "time rotor", which was apparently the name of the crystal tube, never moved while she was looking at it.
So she passed the days pleasantly enough, reading, talking, listening, eating, exercising and thinking. She thought more, and more quickly, than anyone had ever given her credit for- but there was nothing new about that.
When she became aware of just how many rooms she wasn't allowed to see, she asked Harry, "This place is a palace. Why did you bother living on the Valiant?"
His reply was intense. "Someone else built this. I built the Valiant- it was mine." For a moment, she wished she could kiss him.
She was surprised the first time Harry asked her about herself. The question was about charity work, and reminded her of their courtship, but this time he asked why she had done it. She eyed him intently while framing her response. She decided to answer honestly.
"I could never care about other people as much as my mother wanted me to. It wasn't just my mother- I got a lot of odd looks when Princess Diana died, because I didn't care, and I said so. I learnt to say the right things, and sometimes I even felt them. I'd feel sad for complete strangers some days, and then I'd go to my grandmother's funeral and not care at all. I went through all the things that are supposed to make you grieve- thought about her, said goodbye. And I felt nothing.
"After school, I got myself into a position where caring was my profession. I enjoyed doing my job well enough, and sometimes I was touched. You've seen me take the suffering of some others very personally- but only some. I saw some of the people I worked with throw their heart and soul into it. They lived to make a difference to the people who needed them. And on the day I realized that would never be me... I got myself a job in publishing."
Harry brought up some other topic. A few minutes later, she asked him another question.
"Harry, whose persona are we reconstructing?"
He didn't answer.
It was a few days- to judge by sleep- before she realized she was enjoying talking to him, and a few more before she became keenly aware that she missed him physically. The conversation had come round to an evening just before their wedding, and their mutual recollection of cutting asides about party guests they had made to each other, giggling furtively.
"Do you remember what we did later that evening?"
"I certainly do. It's a shame we can't do it again, but I'm a bit too intangible. I can't even leave the control room."
"Well, then I suppose we should just keep talking here. Of course, there's something you should know." And she leaned forward, but didn't whisper. "I'm not wearing underwear."
He wolf-grinned. "Show me." And she did.
After that, he gave her an extremely detailed and lengthy set of instructions. When she started to moan, his voice became hoarse.
Looking back on it, there were only two incidents she labeled "the big ones."
The first came when, for the first time, the TARDIS broke into the conversation. Persona reconstruction has reached two compatible alternatives, it said. Operator selection is required. Before she could even ask, she heard two sounds. Both were the familiar rhythm of drumming Harry was wont to tap out, his most frequent form of fidgeting. One set of drums was soft, the other almost unbearably loud. Her head began to hurt. Soft, soft, how do I make them shut up? she thought. And they did. Selection complete, the TARDIS said. Ready to resume reconstruction.
The image of Harry had disappeared.
She thought very carefully, then spoke. "What's happening?"
Reconstruction is suspended after direct operator interface.
"Is it going to happen again? The suspension?"
Reconstruction is suspended for direct operator access or upon request of authorized operator.
She held her breath. "Could I request a suspension?"
You are authorized to suspend reconstruction.
She laughed and clapped and danced around the control room, but was careful to compose herself before she told the TARDIS to resume. There were other incidents where the TARDIS required operator selection. She was never aware of making a conscious choice between alternatives, and looking back on it she was sometimes unsure that she had actually chosen- but none of the other incidents involved anything more wrenching than the taste of foods.
After that first "big one", she suspended reconstruction periodically and had a few chats with the TARDIS. It was always very helpful in spelling out exactly what she was and wasn't authorized to do, when she asked about various things.
The second "big one" came when she asked Harry, not for the first time, a question she'd asked him before coming to the TARDIS. The specific question was, "What's your favorite Marx Brothers movie?" His brow furrowed a bit and he said, "I can't remember." She tried very hard not to show her eagerness at this response.
"TARDIS, suspend reconstruction, please."
Suspended. The image of Harry disappeared.
"He just gave me a wrong answer. I know what his favorite Marx Brothers movie is- it's Duck Soup. Unless he was lying when he told me, I suppose. Can you check that?"
There was an uncomfortably long pause before the TARDIS replied. The relevant information is not accessible to the reconstructed persona.
"Can you take my word for it? I'm telling the truth- you can check, if you like." She was- that was crucial. She mentally crossed her fingers.
Information supplied by operator will be vetted for compatibility. If found to be compatible, the information will be used in reconstruction.
Her jaw dropped. Did it just say what I thought it said?
"What if I make a mistake and tell you something that isn't true?" Come on, come on...
Verifiably untrue information is not compatible. Other information will be assigned a compatibility index and incorporated if sufficiently compatible. Not as good as she was hoping, but still...
"So if I remember something about him, you'll put it in if it sounds enough like it might be right?"
Yes.
She thought about that for a long time, then and afterwards. He must have known he had been taking a terrible risk, leaving himself in her hands- literally- as he had. There was precious little choice, of course. He had to choose between this and a number of equally unpleasant alternatives.
It all came down to one question, she supposed. But it had better be the last question she asked him. One last question and one last answer.
She'd expected to run out of food. She had made several plans, and was quite looking forward to trying one of them- but in the event, the whole thing took less than a month.
Reconstruction complete. Harry smiled widely.
"Scheherazade," Lucy said.
Verified
Harry walked up to her, and his phantom lips kissed her forehead.
"I've enjoyed our conversations, sweetheart. I truly have. Our life together has been wonderful, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But it's going to be different, now. I have to move on."
She kept her voice light. "My goodness, Harry, it sounds like you're leaving me."
"Far from it! I could never leave you, Lucy. My faithful bride, my sweet companion. But..." He walked behind her. "I need a body."
"Mine."
"I'm afraid so. TARDIS, deploy chameleon arch."
Reconstruction has not been verified.
He was momentarily speechless.
Lucy turned to face him. "I wouldn't be a proper operator if I didn't give my best effort, would I, darling? So I'm afraid I can't sign off-"
He cut her off. "Verify reconstruction!"
Scheherazade mode requires the consent of all operators to verify persona.
She put a finger to his lips. "Before you explore what will no doubt be a long and creative series of ways to escape this, let me explain. It will be much quicker."
Slowly, he nodded.
"If you'll only accept my body, I'm afraid I'll have to suspend reconstruction until I feel more ready. I'm sorry to say I may never feel ready for that kind of closeness. I'll do my best to... pass away... under the chameleon arch, but who knows how it will turn out? On the other hand...
"You're my beloved, my husband..." This time, she did whisper. "My master." She drew it out. Oh, if only you were solid.... She could feel herself blushing all over. "I'm more than pleased to offer you my body, as soon as possible, and repeatedly. It's long past time we got back to that... but we have to get through this other business first. You need a body donor, and you have a time machine. It can't be that complicated."
"You magnificent bitch," he said. But he was grinning as he said it. "I knew I was right to marry you."
"By the way, dear, I think it's best we postpone verification until after we have the body in hand. I also need to ask you one last question."
He nodded again, studying her intently.
"Did you settle on this plan, with the ring, because you thought I'd be easier to fool than the Doctor?"
He thought before he answered. She gave him credit for that.
"No. I didn't think I'd have to fool you for as long, though." He blinked, surprised by his own answer. Then: "Oh, of course. Scheherazade mode again?"
"Yes. I can hardly be expected to verify with confidence unless I can be certain your answers are truthful, can I? When the TARDIS explained operator verification and custom modes to me, I suggested verbal data checking... and here we are. Of course, it wouldn't give me access to much data, so it limited me to one question. It's quite zealous about your welfare. I like that about it." And she grinned back.
His voice was low. "We need to get me a new body now, Mrs. Saxon."
"Right away, Master. Care to tell me how?"
"Surprise me." She was pleased by that.
There really aren't many reasons for a man in a suit and tie to be standing on the side of a bridge. Timing the materialization was tricky, but gravity only works the one way, after all. He was briefly disoriented- who wouldn't be?- and Lucy was quick with the hypodermic. She banged him up a bit loading him into the chameleon arch, and her look was so apologetic that Harry burst out laughing. She swatted him, playfully, and grimaced when her hand passed through him.
"He'll do?"
"Well enough," he said.
She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. The image of his hand passed through hers, but it was warm, and she grinned again.
"TARDIS, end Scheherazade mode."
Persona verified. Incarnating.
There was a flash of golden light so large, bright and prolonged that Lucy had to look away. When she looked back, the man in the chameleon arch looked more like her Harry than he had before. Bluer eyes than Harry Saxon, a different nose, a different chin- but close enough.
He stood up, then bounded across the room and hugged her.
"Welcome back, sweetheart. Are you going to kill me?" She just blurted it out. She hated that, but it was a special occasion, she reminded herself.
"No. Are you going to kill me?"
She teared up. "Oh, Harry... that's the sweetest question you've ever asked me."
The kiss was prolonged and enthusiastic. So was the christening of the TARDIS console afterward, though it did give them both some interesting scratches.