Healing the Wolf
Author: shadow_in_eden
Characters: Rose, The Master
Rated: Adult (suicide attempt)
Summery: The Doctor never made contact with Rose after he sealed the dimensions. Isolated, Rose spirals into depression. An unlikely saviour steps in to fill the gap left by her Doctor.
Time frame: Post-Doomsday, pre-Lazarus Experiment
A/N: This is written in British English.
Cross-posted on A Teaspoon and an Open Mind.
It was a cold day, the overcast sky darkening as a storm flickered on the horizon. A grey mist of rain could be seen, millions of water drops falling into the poisoned sea. It was turbulent; white foam-tipped waves the colour of steel, smashing against the miserable beach below, a glorious show of might.
The wind was brisk, chilling his face and ruffling his short hair, flinging his tie over his shoulder. His eyes were glazed as he stared at the storm that edged closer.
The first drops started to fall, colder that the salt-scented wind, filled with female hormones that sank into his skin. Delightful, he thought sarcastically.
“Mr Saxon?” his P.A. murmured. Poor Marcus must not like the British weather.
The horizon flashed again, the silent violence stealing his breath for an instant. “One moment,” he replied. He had forgotten how glorious an oncoming storm could be. It set his hearts pounding. Such power, such promise of destruction. It was an apt title for his nemesis.
The drumming in his head thundered louder as his thoughts touched on the Doctor. Where was he now? At the end of the universe, being the one-man restaurant for the Futurekind. A smile spread across his mouth at the though, but faded quickly. No more interruptions in his plans. No more last minute saviour. No more witty repartee with someone almost as intelligent as he was.
It was something he could scarcely bear to think about.
Perhaps he was still alive. He could return, save him (hah! The irony) and… keep him. Oh yes. Yes, he liked that idea. Break him slowly. Tear everything away.
Oh yes.
The rain was getting steadily heavier, and Marcus had moved to stand under the café’s awning. The Master didn’t bother, letting the rain fall on him. His shoulders were quiet damp now, and his hair was weighted down with is, rivulets streaking down his temple and neck.
The drums beat in his blood, against the inside of his skull, in the very marrow of his bones. It demanded pain, torment, devastation - and the Doctor.
He expected the drums to get louder, and they did. But then they slowed, became muted, tuned to just his heartsbeat. His mind was quiet.
His eyes widened. What…
Someone walked past him, leaving the slick pavement to tread the scrubby grass. Blonde hair, red jacket, as soaked as he was, weaving her way towards the top of the cliff. He barely noticed, too surprised by the silence, not daring to breathe.
It didn’t last.
He knew it wouldn’t. It picked up, growing louder and faster. Da-da-da-dum. Why had it been muted? Da-da-da-dum. It shouldn’t have. Da-da-da-dum. What had been different?
His eyes blinked as a drop fell on his cheek and he realized he was no longer staring at the storm, but at the girl now by the bench. She didn’t sit, she didn’t even hesitate, walking closer to the edge.
Da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum.
He started forwards, the patchy grass slick underfoot. Was it her? He didn’t wait to think it through, he didn’t need to. His feet carried him faster. He knew it had been her. He also knew what she was moments from doing. “STOP!” he shouted, breaking into a run.
“Mr Saxon!” Marcus called after him in alarm.
His smooth-soled shoes slid in the grainy mud, but he didn’t slow. The girl stared to the storm, the thunder audible now. Her arms lifted away from her sides, as if she was about to embrace someone. As he got closer to her, the drums slowed again. Yes, it was her!
“No, no, no!” he screamed as her body tilted forwards. He dove for her ankles, the ground slamming air from his chest, hands grasping, missing her by inches. She fell from the cliff without a sound. The drums rushed back as she plummeted and the Master screamed in frustration. The splash of her hitting the water was lost in the distance. He scrambled up, not giving up on silence so easily. He pulled his mobile from his inner jacket pocket and dialled the emergency service.
Next part here.
Characters: Rose, The Master
Rated: Adult (suicide attempt)
Summery: The Doctor never made contact with Rose after he sealed the dimensions. Isolated, Rose spirals into depression. An unlikely saviour steps in to fill the gap left by her Doctor.
Time frame: Post-Doomsday, pre-Lazarus Experiment
A/N: This is written in British English.
Cross-posted on A Teaspoon and an Open Mind.
It was a cold day, the overcast sky darkening as a storm flickered on the horizon. A grey mist of rain could be seen, millions of water drops falling into the poisoned sea. It was turbulent; white foam-tipped waves the colour of steel, smashing against the miserable beach below, a glorious show of might.
The wind was brisk, chilling his face and ruffling his short hair, flinging his tie over his shoulder. His eyes were glazed as he stared at the storm that edged closer.
The first drops started to fall, colder that the salt-scented wind, filled with female hormones that sank into his skin. Delightful, he thought sarcastically.
“Mr Saxon?” his P.A. murmured. Poor Marcus must not like the British weather.
The horizon flashed again, the silent violence stealing his breath for an instant. “One moment,” he replied. He had forgotten how glorious an oncoming storm could be. It set his hearts pounding. Such power, such promise of destruction. It was an apt title for his nemesis.
The drumming in his head thundered louder as his thoughts touched on the Doctor. Where was he now? At the end of the universe, being the one-man restaurant for the Futurekind. A smile spread across his mouth at the though, but faded quickly. No more interruptions in his plans. No more last minute saviour. No more witty repartee with someone almost as intelligent as he was.
It was something he could scarcely bear to think about.
Perhaps he was still alive. He could return, save him (hah! The irony) and… keep him. Oh yes. Yes, he liked that idea. Break him slowly. Tear everything away.
Oh yes.
The rain was getting steadily heavier, and Marcus had moved to stand under the café’s awning. The Master didn’t bother, letting the rain fall on him. His shoulders were quiet damp now, and his hair was weighted down with is, rivulets streaking down his temple and neck.
The drums beat in his blood, against the inside of his skull, in the very marrow of his bones. It demanded pain, torment, devastation - and the Doctor.
He expected the drums to get louder, and they did. But then they slowed, became muted, tuned to just his heartsbeat. His mind was quiet.
His eyes widened. What…
Someone walked past him, leaving the slick pavement to tread the scrubby grass. Blonde hair, red jacket, as soaked as he was, weaving her way towards the top of the cliff. He barely noticed, too surprised by the silence, not daring to breathe.
It didn’t last.
He knew it wouldn’t. It picked up, growing louder and faster. Da-da-da-dum. Why had it been muted? Da-da-da-dum. It shouldn’t have. Da-da-da-dum. What had been different?
His eyes blinked as a drop fell on his cheek and he realized he was no longer staring at the storm, but at the girl now by the bench. She didn’t sit, she didn’t even hesitate, walking closer to the edge.
Da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum.
He started forwards, the patchy grass slick underfoot. Was it her? He didn’t wait to think it through, he didn’t need to. His feet carried him faster. He knew it had been her. He also knew what she was moments from doing. “STOP!” he shouted, breaking into a run.
“Mr Saxon!” Marcus called after him in alarm.
His smooth-soled shoes slid in the grainy mud, but he didn’t slow. The girl stared to the storm, the thunder audible now. Her arms lifted away from her sides, as if she was about to embrace someone. As he got closer to her, the drums slowed again. Yes, it was her!
“No, no, no!” he screamed as her body tilted forwards. He dove for her ankles, the ground slamming air from his chest, hands grasping, missing her by inches. She fell from the cliff without a sound. The drums rushed back as she plummeted and the Master screamed in frustration. The splash of her hitting the water was lost in the distance. He scrambled up, not giving up on silence so easily. He pulled his mobile from his inner jacket pocket and dialled the emergency service.
Next part here.