Can't Trust That Day Chapter 1
Title: Can't Trust That Day
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Rating: Overall NC-17
Summary: When the Master returns, the Doctor finds that he can't forgive and forget as easily as he once did. The Master is resuming his game with a vengeance, but is left slighted and furious by a Doctor who wants no part of it. Yet where both Timelords see irreconcilable wounds, when both can't forsee a day where there will be compromise between them, a TARDIS sees a surprising solution within a last-ditch effort to save a dying race.
Warnings: Slash, mpreg
Spoilers: S3, pretty AU for S4
Okay, so the idea for this story came from the fact that there is very little mpreg in the DW fandom, and from what I've seen, it's either cracky or very darkficish. I wanted to provide the medium. I aimed for an actual serious plot, but not horribly gruesome and depressing.
I really hope I did a decent job. D: I could spend the next four months proofreading it, but I gave myself a posting deadline. For better or worse. So, here goes.
Chapter 1: Within You and Without You
The first time the Doctor heard about it was on the planet Astoriia in the Tolixicliv Galaxy’s lunar system.
Lumora, the Eternally Lit City, was the most brilliant place that had ever sprung up on a planet without a sun. The buildings towered into the forever dark sky, glowing with a pale blue luminescence from the slabs of lantern rock they were built with. Flashing signs hung from every shop open for business and filled entire streets with bursts of multicoloured light. Clusters of people in bright splashes of clothing milled around nearly every sector of the city like moths to a flame, and the safety lights of overhead ships sent neon streaks zooming through the air in every colour imaginable as they flew upwards to reach the docking port, a huge floating station that was the entrance point for spaceships hailing from every other planet in the system.
It was gorgeous, gigantic and incredibly lively, and it was just the place the Doctor wanted to be.
Most came here just for the light show, but not the Doctor. If it was just a beautiful sight he was after, he could have popped over to some strongly magnetized planet to see a polar aurora, or maybe find a young nebula float beneath. Fascinating things, nebulas were. But then he would have turned, eager to share the how’s and why’s and magic with Martha, only for the harsh grip of loneliness to surge up and wrap around him when he realised she was back on Earth, millions of light years away. An Earth that was once again safe after a year of hell.
No, he needed all that Lumora had to offer. He needed the bustling crowd to consume him, the bright lights and loud noises to wash over him until he was drowning, he needed to be part of something continuous like the Eternally Lit City and the darkness hanging over them. He needed it because was so, so tired of losing things before he was ready to lose them, like Martha, like every companion he’d ever had. Like his home world. Like the Master.
The Doctor sought refuge at an empty table of a busy outdoor café after letting the endless wave of bodies carry him through four sectors straight. He settled back in his chair and stretched his long legs out beneath him, tilting his head to observe the people crowded around the cylindrical computer link protruding from the ground in the centre of the array of tables and chairs.
The Doctor had learned a long time ago that the best way to catch up on current information for any particular planet was to linger around the citizens and their media, catching snatches of conversation and hacking in to the occasional computer terminal. In the case of Lumora, there were computer links placed all over the city where citizens plugged in their holo-cards to download incoming broadcasts from the Inter-Planar News Organisation.
The people gathered around the café’s terminal were buzzing about something, holding up their holo-cards to watch the tiny images projected from them. “Can you believe what they’re saying about Ulghiron?” Someone piped up, followed by a few murmured agreements. The Doctor frowned slightly, leaning towards the crowd. Ulghiron was one of the smaller planets stuck at the end of the lunar system, generally a quiet and unassuming place. What could possibly be going on there?
Someone else tutted in displeasure. “Who was the idiot that decided to bar passenger ships from the place? Me an’ the family already rented a ship and everything, was going on holiday to see the Luster mines.” There was another similarly disgruntled comment, and soon the crowd had broken off into conversations too muddled for the Doctor to follow. His frown turned thoughtful as he pulled back to rest comfortably in his chair.
No passenger ships to Ulghiron? That was strange. Why would a planet like that close itself off? Well, save internal unrest, but that was unlikely. Especially with how surprised the nearby crowd had seemed on learning the news.
Whatever it was, it was most likely temporary. Even a bit of political turmoil couldn’t last very long on such a docile planet. The Doctor had been to Ulghiron less than a handful of times, and the Luster mines were indeed a spectacular site. Maybe he should pop over there before he left the lunar system and see the mines again. Martha would love it….
Shaking his head forcefully, the Doctor pushed his chair back and stood. He turned to the flow of people travelling behind him on the walkway, pushing forward and melting into the crowd once more.
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It was on the planet of Tsukarion that he started to get suspicious.
The Doctor had gotten his fill after a week of bustling around Lumora. He appreciated the never-ending swell of energy that the city seemed to run on, and that was in fact what he came there for in the first place, but Lumora was truly a city of overwhelming people, parties, and no sleep. And despite all the action and adventure the Doctor gladly took part in, he was over 900 years old. A veritable old man. He may not have felt his age physically, but the strain of so many centuries behind him weighed heavily on his mind. There was only so much never-ending swelling energy he could take.
Tsukarion was an exact counterbalance to Astoriia. It was a tiny, rather rural planet within easy travelling distance of the surrounding planets. Not that he needed to worry about that with the TARDIS and all, but there was something comforting about staying tucked snugly within this lunar system for a while, for reasons the Doctor didn’t much care to investigate.
Tsukarion was a bit technologically behind compared to its neighbours, and the population was small and spread out. But the hot springs nestled up in the planet’s few mountain ranges, surrounded by croppings of pale capensi flowers and reflecting silvery wisps of moonlight off their waters, possessed a soft and subtle beauty that bright and flashy Lumora could never have.
The Doctor was just stepping into the steaming water of one said hot spring, sinking down with a deep sigh and dipping his head back until it was almost resting in a patch of glowing flowers. His mind was carefully wiped blank, as it always was when he visited these hot springs. But it was hard to keep it like that this time, with the pain of that loss still fresh and achingly sharp in his mind.
Because it was all too easy to let the clouds of steam and surrounding darkness carry him back countless years, so far it barely seemed real anymore, to the baths at the Academy, where there was only one person he ever visited the great steaming rooms with, and bathing was the last thing on their minds…
So the Doctor preferred to visit Tsukarion’s hot springs when there was a good amount of people to fill them. People were a good distraction. This time, though, the place was empty, save himself and three old men at the other end of the spring, but the Doctor seemed to be settled far enough away that the men didn’t notice him. Even so, their conversation floated effortlessly through the thick moisture and the eternal stillness of night.
“…And I heard Ulghiron isn’t even letting all the cargo ships in now.” The Doctor perked with curiosity as the words reached his ears. A second, hard-edged voice broke in. “Seems all they need now is that Zaluzian metal they keep flying in. They’re planning something, I know it.” A third and wobbling voice interjected. “Now, practically everyone imports Zaluzian metal. I’m willing to bet there’s just some construction going on.”
“But then why would they cut off their other cargo supplies?” The first voice reminded, and the men settled into a light argument before moving on to discuss how their yearly crops were doing.
The Doctor slid down further into the hot water as his brow creased at the words of the old men. Something was happening in Ulghiron. Oh, how he would like to say it was only construction, but that didn’t explain the exclusion of cargo ships, or passenger ships, for that matter. And it seemed that Zaluzian metal played a key part in this. Whatever ‘this’ was. He needed to find out what was happening.
There was always something to investigate. Always a wrong to right. It never ended. And it always tore out more than he wanted to give, always left him feeling more weary and lonelier than ever when he had no one to share the absolute brilliance, the absolute horror of saving the universe with.
The Doctor exhaled lowly and let his head drop until it was buried in the capensi flowers behind him, taking in the fragrant scent and wishing, just a bit, that he could be buried in them forever, with his blank mind and the steam and the dark.
But it was only a small part of him wishing. The other parts were already mapping out the coordinates to his next destination.
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When he heard the name Harold Saxon, for just one, choking moment, the Doctor thought it was too good to be true.
His next stop had been the industrial Zaluzia, figuring it was a good place to start if all the fuss was about Zaluzian metal. It was rather by accident that the Doctor appeared amongst a cluster of looming metallic factories, shining superbly in the moonlight, but he thanked his good landing and quickly slipped into the strings of milling factory employees.
He expertly blended in with the busy workers for a while, making little noise and listening intently to any barked orders or curt conversations in hopes of finding out which building dealt with exports. There, he could have a peek at the finished product for any suspicious abnormalities, maybe find some records or spreadsheets or a helpful person to tell him what the metal was being used for.
It was in passing the designated break area, where employees lounged around a half-covered gathering of tables and chatted leisurely, that the word ‘Ulghiron’ floated up to the Doctor’s ears. The Timelord’s head jerked to the side, and he quietly headed for the closest outer table, where a man and a woman were seated. It was the first time he’d heard the planet mentioned, so he figured he might as well have a listen in.
As he crept closer, the Doctor began to make out the man and woman’s conversation with clarity over the din of conversation behind them. In hindsight, he wished he had better prepared himself for the information he heard, but how could he? Without crossing his own timeline, of course.
“-I know, and anyway, what’s this Harold Saxon doing with all the metal he’s ordering?” The man’s voice was vaguely annoyed, but the Doctor couldn’t register that or anything else as his speedy thought processes came to a grinding halt. His hearts stuttered painfully, hopefully.
The woman cut in, sounding suspicious. “My question is, how did he get on the inside? Ulghiron’s Double Council ain’t exactly known for welcoming outsiders. It’s like he appeared outta nowhere.”
The Doctor absently tried to suck in a breath, but found that his throat had closed itself off and was stubbornly refusing to let any air wheeze through. He was half-certain his respiratory bypass system was going to kick in.
Harold Saxon. The Master. They were talking about the Master, here and now.
A thousand emotions broke free from their carefully-tucked nooks inside him and whirled like a violent storm through the Doctor’s mind, tearing up awful and frightening and brilliant memories in their wake. It was dizzying, and maddening, and he had to stumble forward to the man and woman’s table to prevent himself from collapsing underneath the pressure.
The Doctor ignored their startled looks and leaned heavily onto the table’s surface, struggling to regain control of his breath. Somehow, he forced his voice out. “I’m sorry, what was that name?” He croaked, and the pair stared at him like he was a complete nutter for a good five seconds before the woman spoke up. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, and the Doctor gulped down a large amount of air, his voice steadying a bit. “ I’m the Doctor, but that’s not important. That name, Harold Saxon, are you absolutely sure you have that right?”
The man cocked his eyebrow, bewildered. “Course I am. He’s the one we’re filling these orders for. But-” he didn’t get to finish as the Doctor heaved himself up from the table with a hasty thank you, turned, and bolted in the opposite direction, weaving through throngs of employees effortlessly.
He didn’t stop until he reached the dark crevice between two of the factories where his TARDIS was parked. He had a time of fumbling with his key before he finally forced the door open and pushed himself inside, immediately heading for the central consol and punching in the coordinates to Ulghiron,
The Doctor had told himself, harshly and repeatedly, to accept what had happened on Earth. The Master was gone. For good. His oldest friend and greatest enemy. His…
Now he was truly the last of his kind. And the universe didn’t graciously slow to a stop because he was broken and grieving and utterly alone. Life went on. So he forced himself to move on as well.
Of course, there was always a tiny part of himself that persisted in the notion that the Master wouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to die, that he had to have escaped somehow. The Doctor never indulged that part of himself. False hope hurt too much. He had been there, helpless as the Master’s life extinguished as easily as a candle flame. Without regenerations, the Master was so fragile, so mortal. So human. And humans didn’t come back from the dead.
The Doctor paced around the rumbling console room in a rush of nervous energy, his hearts beating wildly. Oh, but the Master wasn’t human, he was, he was the Master. He was terribly, wickedly clever and of course he wouldn’t allow himself to die. How did he do it? The Doctor would have to ask, when he saw him.
Saw the Master. Alive and breathing. No doubt with a leering, smug grin, knowing how he’d tricked the Doctor so horribly. Ten points to tally up on his side of the scoreboard.
The initial, incredible thrill slowly died down as darker feelings seeped into the Doctor’s mind, no longer bound up and pushed down where he couldn’t feel them and hurt from them. With the Master, that was what it all came down to. This game. This stupid bloody twisted game of theirs, where the Master never won and the Doctor always lost.
A game where the Master obsessed over finding ways to rip the Doctor to shreds and shove him ever closer to the edge, like the truly sick being he was. And the Doctor was even sicker for always finding it in him to forgive the Master.
Even with all the errors they had both made, the Doctor was beginning to think he was the one who’d made the most colossally grievous and unforgivable mistake. Because after so many centuries, even after everything the Master had done, he couldn’t quite stamp out the hope that someday, it could really be about just the two of them again. Like when they were Theta and Koschei, and they lived to make the other tick and nobody got hurt but themselves. In reality, that possibility had faded centuries ago.
He was the greatest fool in the universe, always wishing for the impossible.
The TARDIS gave one last rough jerk as it tumbled out onto its destination. It was dark when the Doctor
stepped out into the world, but his sight had adjusted to being in the lunar system long ago. The thick, navy-coloured grass cushioned his steps as the Doctor rounded the side of the building he’d landed behind, taking in the sight before him.
He had set his coordinates for the biggest city in Ulghiron, and it seemed he’d landed in a residential area. The huge, full moon above cast a waxy glow on the dome-shaped houses spread out before the Doctor, each dome built with a thick, clear polycarbonate roof to let the sparse moonlight filter through.
The Doctor gazed solemnly out over the homes, each filled with a family and a story. It was quiet, very quiet, and the Doctor didn’t see any of the people he knew were there, but that was how it was on Ulghiron, even in the cities. Peaceful. Unassuming. Safe.
As he made his way out of the residential area and down into the business section of the city, the Doctor began to see a few of Ulghiron’s citizens milling around the market and looking just as he remembered them, small and ghostly white with the pale hair and eyes their species had developed over millennia of living under the moon.
The average person from another planet might be disconcerted with how unpopulated Ulghiron seemed, but the Doctor knew most Ulghiron citizens were employed in the Luster mines, and spent more time underground than above. Except, of course, the ones running the above-ground businesses, and the ones in the large, dark building the Doctor was targeting.
Ulghiron didn’t have many governmental structures, and the Double Council’s meeting hall was by far the largest. It loomed like a beast behind the smaller buildings in the business sector, an odd contrast to the benign nature of the city’s inhabitants. The Doctor quickened his pace as the building drew nearer.
He already had his psychic paper out by the time he reached the front doors of the meeting hall. If his need to duck through the doors wasn’t a clue for the security inside, one look at him would be more than enough for them to tell he was an outsider. And judging by the way passenger ships were cut off from Ulghiron, his appearance might not be warmly received. It might not have been under normal circumstances, either. The people of Ulghiron were insular and cautious by nature.
Just as the Doctor suspected. The two dark-uniformed security guards stared at him in confusion as he emerged, hunched, through the doors. He didn’t make it two steps before one hastily spoke up. “Excuse me, sir, I cannot let-” The Doctor cut the smaller being off with a flash of the paper in his hand.
“I’m the overseer of exports from Zaluzia. I have a few questions for Mr. Saxon concerning his shipments. Could you point me in his direction?” The security guard’s filmy eyes scrutinized the badge in the Doctor’s hand for a moment before relenting to its apparent authenticity and giving directions to an office on the corner of the seventh floor. The Doctor thanked him and headed for the magnetised chutes he spotted a few employees clambering into across the spacious hall.
Once the rather narrow chute spat him out at the appropriate floor, trepidation once again filled the Doctor with anxious energy as he hurried down the corridor, his eyes darting to the symbols above the various rounded doorways he passed, searching for the one the security guard told him about.
And like the guard had said, the curved symbol he was looking for was above the last door of the hallway, the only door that was remodeled to be taller than the others down the line. All the energy buzzing through him swelled into a tight knot in his chest, and at that moment, the Doctor didn’t know what would be worse. To open up that door and find the Master, or to find nothing.
He did know for certain, though, that he would stand there in indecision for a century if he let himself. The Doctor forced a deep breath that he didn’t really need down his throat and placed his fingers into the slot in the door, tugging at the latch within and letting the door swing open a fraction with a barely audible click. He cautiously stepped through the doorway.
“Tell me, Doctor, were you contemplating the relative merits of inter-galactic praxiometry out there?” And there was the voice. His voice. The flood of achingly familiar psychic presence that the Doctor both craved and dreaded.
The office itself wasn’t very large. A firm and sturdy sofa-like piece of furniture was backed against the left wall, illuminated by the thin moonlight peering down through the clear ceiling. And other than that one piece, there were no items of luxury, no wild flourish in the dark and nearly bare room that was wholly too small for the Master.
In fact, the only flourish was the Master himself, seated behind a standard crystalline desk in the centre of the office. His elbows were propped up on the desk and his chin rested on interlaced fingers, and even his mediocre surroundings couldn’t dim the way he held himself. It was the air of someone who was enormously important, and expected others to know it.
And the glare of the imported desk lamp settled beside the Master quite efficiently highlighted the petulant scowl marring the Timelord’s features. “You’re really not supposed to be here, Doctor. Even I wasn’t expecting to see your mug pop up on the surveillance equipment so soon.”
With a long-suffering sigh, the Master leaned back and swiveled himself around in his pod-like chair. “You always have to ruin things, don’t you? I haven’t even overthrown the government yet.” The Doctor remained silent, shutting the door fully behind him. He watched the other Timelord with solemn eyes. His internal dialogue was a jumble of MasterMasterMasterohMaster- and he desperately tried to reign it in.
Without a glance to his companion, the Master stood from his chair and stretched in a very feline fashion, drawing his arms above his head. “Ugh, you wouldn’t believe what irritating little paper pushers these Ulghiron creatures can be.” He rounded the desk leisurely, his dark eyes coming to rest on the Doctor and warming with a spark of deadly competition. It was all so familiar. So utterly, horribly familiar. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to come back in a few months?”
And just as easy as that, the Master would start their game over. As if the ending to their last meeting had never happened. As if the Master hadn’t crossed the line in the worst way. But it was the Master. The line didn’t exist for him.
The Doctor still hadn’t uttered a word, still hadn’t moved an inch, and the Master frowned in budding annoyance. They studied each other quietly, tensely, for a long moment before understanding flashed across the Master’s face and his features instantly turned smug. “Oh, you’re not still sore about our last encounter, are you?” The Doctor’s shoulders stiffened, but he still didn’t give the satisfaction of a verbal response.
The Master left his desk and started toward his companion with slow, deliberate steps. “I bet you’re wondering how I did it.” He stopped a few scant feet from the Doctor, all the arrogance and self-absorption and insanity leaching from his smirk into his eyes. They were nearly glowing, now, in the darkness wrapped around them. “It was a bit brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
He lifted his hand up with all the casualness of someone examining their fingernails. The large ring on the Master’s finger caught the moonlight, flashing emerald. “I imprinted my biodata into it. And then it was a simple matter of having a backup body. Oh, and the bloody time I had of picking my TARDIS out of the Silver Devastation.” Realisation bled into the Doctor’s features, and the Master grinned fully, his teeth gleaming like a predator’s. “Tell me how clever I am.”
The Master didn’t seem to be perturbed by the Doctor’s lack of response anymore as he continued. “But you didn’t have any idea, Doctor. I wonder what was running through your head as I lay dying in your arms.” As the Doctor’s eyes hardened, amusement grew in the Master’s. Devilish, twisted amusement.
“I wonder what you were you were feeling as you shed those tears for me. When you realised how powerless you were.” The Master crept closer until he had closed the gap between their bodies, close enough that the Doctor clearly watched as something like sorrow transformed the Master’s gaze. “Were you feeling the weight of the universe bearing down on you? Were you being torn apart, knowing you were the very last of our kind? My dear Doctor…” He lifted his hand and placed it against the Doctor’s cheek, trailing his fingers down the smooth skin.
And it was that mockery of gentleness and warmth, of care, that made the Doctor snap.
In an instant, he had the front of the Master’s suit in an iron grip as his eyes blazed with pure, seething fury. “You left me. I was alone.” He forced the words through his teeth, watching as the false sympathy dropped from the Master’s visage and different, more guarded emotions flitted across his face like shadows.
“But I didn’t.” Something mutual, uncomfortable, and very far from arrogant burned lowly in the Master’s eyes. The Doctor could see it swirl and jump and fight as the Master tried to quell it. Their faces were so close. The Doctor could feel the buzz of energy between their tense, barely-touching bodies. His mind jolted as their psychic fields bumped up against one another, and there were about five things he wanted to do simultaneously to the man in his grip.
They could both sense they were teetering on something dangerous, and the Master made the first move to stop it. He jerked himself from the Doctor’s hold and stepped back hastily. “So where’s your pet human? I didn’t see one skulking around on surveillance.” The question came out bitterly, and was doubly so for the Doctor. He didn’t give an answer.
“What are you doing here?” A counter-question was always a good avoidance, and the Doctor really did want to know. Whatever reason the Master had for choosing a tiny, passive planet like Ulghiron, it could only be on the worse side of bad. The Master grinned again as he regained some of his smug exterior.
“I presented these good people with a solution to their meteorite problem. It is such a bother, being so close to an unpredictable asteroid belt.” He turned and strolled toward his desk, clearly enjoying the situation once more. His gaze found the Doctor, all challenge. Daring to be defied.
“What to do, Doctor, what to do?” The Master’s fingers found the surface of his desk and began tapping out that infernal rhythm. “Are you going to demand that I come with you? Drag me back to your dilapidated box by force?” He was practically alight with amusement. “Ooh, maybe you’ll cuff us together, or some rubbish like that.”
The Master leaned back against his desk, and the Doctor saw his amusement shift to excitement. “Or you can stay here and watch me work. You’ll see my genius in action.” Maybe it was the many centuries shared between them, but the Doctor could read the Master at that moment as if he were broadcasting a script of his thoughts above his head.
He wanted the Doctor to do just that. He wanted their game to resume with a vengeance. He wanted them to push and pull each other in the competition between them that never, never ended. The Master wanted yet another way to wrench the Doctor’s hearts out over and over and over again in their stupid, bloody game.
The Doctor was tired of playing games.
“No.” the word was soft, even to his own ears, and the Master regarded him with an idly curious look. “What are you going to do, then?” The Timelord asked, his tone in the same humour as and adult asking a young child what they wanted to be after they made it through the Academy.
“I’m going to leave.” He knew his answer was unexpected as he watched all smug emotion flee the Master’s face, leaving a blank mask in its wake before the other Timelord quickly recovered himself. “And leave this planet at my mercy? Oh, whatever has happened to the universe’s tortured hero?” He snorted, flicking an invisible speck off the arm of his suit jacket.
The Doctor turned, reaching out to open the door. If he’d bothered to look back before he stepped out into the hall, he would have seen the Master’s face tighten in displeasure and something else unidentifiable. But he didn’t. The Doctor closed the door firmly behind him and started down the hall the way he‘d come. He knew, deep down, that the Master was right. Of course he couldn’t leave these unsuspecting people to the Master’s plans. He’d be back.
But for now, he couldn’t handle the Master and his schemes and a game where the other player pushed the rules so much he couldn’t recognise when he’d pushed too far.
And so the Doctor headed back to his TARDIS, the only plan beyond that to get as far away as possible.
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So there it is. Oh Jesus.
Second chapter to follow shortly, and...constructive criticism welcome? -hides-
Well, I needed to get this story out before Christmas, when all our little fan theories about the Master's return get smacked in the face by the real deal. Which I am so fucking excited about. GUHHH
Okay, I'm out now, for reals.
Chapter 2: http://randomkyuu.livejournal.com/4213.html#cutid1
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Rating: Overall NC-17
Summary: When the Master returns, the Doctor finds that he can't forgive and forget as easily as he once did. The Master is resuming his game with a vengeance, but is left slighted and furious by a Doctor who wants no part of it. Yet where both Timelords see irreconcilable wounds, when both can't forsee a day where there will be compromise between them, a TARDIS sees a surprising solution within a last-ditch effort to save a dying race.
Warnings: Slash, mpreg
Spoilers: S3, pretty AU for S4
Okay, so the idea for this story came from the fact that there is very little mpreg in the DW fandom, and from what I've seen, it's either cracky or very darkficish. I wanted to provide the medium. I aimed for an actual serious plot, but not horribly gruesome and depressing.
I really hope I did a decent job. D: I could spend the next four months proofreading it, but I gave myself a posting deadline. For better or worse. So, here goes.
Chapter 1: Within You and Without You
The first time the Doctor heard about it was on the planet Astoriia in the Tolixicliv Galaxy’s lunar system.
Lumora, the Eternally Lit City, was the most brilliant place that had ever sprung up on a planet without a sun. The buildings towered into the forever dark sky, glowing with a pale blue luminescence from the slabs of lantern rock they were built with. Flashing signs hung from every shop open for business and filled entire streets with bursts of multicoloured light. Clusters of people in bright splashes of clothing milled around nearly every sector of the city like moths to a flame, and the safety lights of overhead ships sent neon streaks zooming through the air in every colour imaginable as they flew upwards to reach the docking port, a huge floating station that was the entrance point for spaceships hailing from every other planet in the system.
It was gorgeous, gigantic and incredibly lively, and it was just the place the Doctor wanted to be.
Most came here just for the light show, but not the Doctor. If it was just a beautiful sight he was after, he could have popped over to some strongly magnetized planet to see a polar aurora, or maybe find a young nebula float beneath. Fascinating things, nebulas were. But then he would have turned, eager to share the how’s and why’s and magic with Martha, only for the harsh grip of loneliness to surge up and wrap around him when he realised she was back on Earth, millions of light years away. An Earth that was once again safe after a year of hell.
No, he needed all that Lumora had to offer. He needed the bustling crowd to consume him, the bright lights and loud noises to wash over him until he was drowning, he needed to be part of something continuous like the Eternally Lit City and the darkness hanging over them. He needed it because was so, so tired of losing things before he was ready to lose them, like Martha, like every companion he’d ever had. Like his home world. Like the Master.
The Doctor sought refuge at an empty table of a busy outdoor café after letting the endless wave of bodies carry him through four sectors straight. He settled back in his chair and stretched his long legs out beneath him, tilting his head to observe the people crowded around the cylindrical computer link protruding from the ground in the centre of the array of tables and chairs.
The Doctor had learned a long time ago that the best way to catch up on current information for any particular planet was to linger around the citizens and their media, catching snatches of conversation and hacking in to the occasional computer terminal. In the case of Lumora, there were computer links placed all over the city where citizens plugged in their holo-cards to download incoming broadcasts from the Inter-Planar News Organisation.
The people gathered around the café’s terminal were buzzing about something, holding up their holo-cards to watch the tiny images projected from them. “Can you believe what they’re saying about Ulghiron?” Someone piped up, followed by a few murmured agreements. The Doctor frowned slightly, leaning towards the crowd. Ulghiron was one of the smaller planets stuck at the end of the lunar system, generally a quiet and unassuming place. What could possibly be going on there?
Someone else tutted in displeasure. “Who was the idiot that decided to bar passenger ships from the place? Me an’ the family already rented a ship and everything, was going on holiday to see the Luster mines.” There was another similarly disgruntled comment, and soon the crowd had broken off into conversations too muddled for the Doctor to follow. His frown turned thoughtful as he pulled back to rest comfortably in his chair.
No passenger ships to Ulghiron? That was strange. Why would a planet like that close itself off? Well, save internal unrest, but that was unlikely. Especially with how surprised the nearby crowd had seemed on learning the news.
Whatever it was, it was most likely temporary. Even a bit of political turmoil couldn’t last very long on such a docile planet. The Doctor had been to Ulghiron less than a handful of times, and the Luster mines were indeed a spectacular site. Maybe he should pop over there before he left the lunar system and see the mines again. Martha would love it….
Shaking his head forcefully, the Doctor pushed his chair back and stood. He turned to the flow of people travelling behind him on the walkway, pushing forward and melting into the crowd once more.
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It was on the planet of Tsukarion that he started to get suspicious.
The Doctor had gotten his fill after a week of bustling around Lumora. He appreciated the never-ending swell of energy that the city seemed to run on, and that was in fact what he came there for in the first place, but Lumora was truly a city of overwhelming people, parties, and no sleep. And despite all the action and adventure the Doctor gladly took part in, he was over 900 years old. A veritable old man. He may not have felt his age physically, but the strain of so many centuries behind him weighed heavily on his mind. There was only so much never-ending swelling energy he could take.
Tsukarion was an exact counterbalance to Astoriia. It was a tiny, rather rural planet within easy travelling distance of the surrounding planets. Not that he needed to worry about that with the TARDIS and all, but there was something comforting about staying tucked snugly within this lunar system for a while, for reasons the Doctor didn’t much care to investigate.
Tsukarion was a bit technologically behind compared to its neighbours, and the population was small and spread out. But the hot springs nestled up in the planet’s few mountain ranges, surrounded by croppings of pale capensi flowers and reflecting silvery wisps of moonlight off their waters, possessed a soft and subtle beauty that bright and flashy Lumora could never have.
The Doctor was just stepping into the steaming water of one said hot spring, sinking down with a deep sigh and dipping his head back until it was almost resting in a patch of glowing flowers. His mind was carefully wiped blank, as it always was when he visited these hot springs. But it was hard to keep it like that this time, with the pain of that loss still fresh and achingly sharp in his mind.
Because it was all too easy to let the clouds of steam and surrounding darkness carry him back countless years, so far it barely seemed real anymore, to the baths at the Academy, where there was only one person he ever visited the great steaming rooms with, and bathing was the last thing on their minds…
So the Doctor preferred to visit Tsukarion’s hot springs when there was a good amount of people to fill them. People were a good distraction. This time, though, the place was empty, save himself and three old men at the other end of the spring, but the Doctor seemed to be settled far enough away that the men didn’t notice him. Even so, their conversation floated effortlessly through the thick moisture and the eternal stillness of night.
“…And I heard Ulghiron isn’t even letting all the cargo ships in now.” The Doctor perked with curiosity as the words reached his ears. A second, hard-edged voice broke in. “Seems all they need now is that Zaluzian metal they keep flying in. They’re planning something, I know it.” A third and wobbling voice interjected. “Now, practically everyone imports Zaluzian metal. I’m willing to bet there’s just some construction going on.”
“But then why would they cut off their other cargo supplies?” The first voice reminded, and the men settled into a light argument before moving on to discuss how their yearly crops were doing.
The Doctor slid down further into the hot water as his brow creased at the words of the old men. Something was happening in Ulghiron. Oh, how he would like to say it was only construction, but that didn’t explain the exclusion of cargo ships, or passenger ships, for that matter. And it seemed that Zaluzian metal played a key part in this. Whatever ‘this’ was. He needed to find out what was happening.
There was always something to investigate. Always a wrong to right. It never ended. And it always tore out more than he wanted to give, always left him feeling more weary and lonelier than ever when he had no one to share the absolute brilliance, the absolute horror of saving the universe with.
The Doctor exhaled lowly and let his head drop until it was buried in the capensi flowers behind him, taking in the fragrant scent and wishing, just a bit, that he could be buried in them forever, with his blank mind and the steam and the dark.
But it was only a small part of him wishing. The other parts were already mapping out the coordinates to his next destination.
---------
When he heard the name Harold Saxon, for just one, choking moment, the Doctor thought it was too good to be true.
His next stop had been the industrial Zaluzia, figuring it was a good place to start if all the fuss was about Zaluzian metal. It was rather by accident that the Doctor appeared amongst a cluster of looming metallic factories, shining superbly in the moonlight, but he thanked his good landing and quickly slipped into the strings of milling factory employees.
He expertly blended in with the busy workers for a while, making little noise and listening intently to any barked orders or curt conversations in hopes of finding out which building dealt with exports. There, he could have a peek at the finished product for any suspicious abnormalities, maybe find some records or spreadsheets or a helpful person to tell him what the metal was being used for.
It was in passing the designated break area, where employees lounged around a half-covered gathering of tables and chatted leisurely, that the word ‘Ulghiron’ floated up to the Doctor’s ears. The Timelord’s head jerked to the side, and he quietly headed for the closest outer table, where a man and a woman were seated. It was the first time he’d heard the planet mentioned, so he figured he might as well have a listen in.
As he crept closer, the Doctor began to make out the man and woman’s conversation with clarity over the din of conversation behind them. In hindsight, he wished he had better prepared himself for the information he heard, but how could he? Without crossing his own timeline, of course.
“-I know, and anyway, what’s this Harold Saxon doing with all the metal he’s ordering?” The man’s voice was vaguely annoyed, but the Doctor couldn’t register that or anything else as his speedy thought processes came to a grinding halt. His hearts stuttered painfully, hopefully.
The woman cut in, sounding suspicious. “My question is, how did he get on the inside? Ulghiron’s Double Council ain’t exactly known for welcoming outsiders. It’s like he appeared outta nowhere.”
The Doctor absently tried to suck in a breath, but found that his throat had closed itself off and was stubbornly refusing to let any air wheeze through. He was half-certain his respiratory bypass system was going to kick in.
Harold Saxon. The Master. They were talking about the Master, here and now.
A thousand emotions broke free from their carefully-tucked nooks inside him and whirled like a violent storm through the Doctor’s mind, tearing up awful and frightening and brilliant memories in their wake. It was dizzying, and maddening, and he had to stumble forward to the man and woman’s table to prevent himself from collapsing underneath the pressure.
The Doctor ignored their startled looks and leaned heavily onto the table’s surface, struggling to regain control of his breath. Somehow, he forced his voice out. “I’m sorry, what was that name?” He croaked, and the pair stared at him like he was a complete nutter for a good five seconds before the woman spoke up. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, and the Doctor gulped down a large amount of air, his voice steadying a bit. “ I’m the Doctor, but that’s not important. That name, Harold Saxon, are you absolutely sure you have that right?”
The man cocked his eyebrow, bewildered. “Course I am. He’s the one we’re filling these orders for. But-” he didn’t get to finish as the Doctor heaved himself up from the table with a hasty thank you, turned, and bolted in the opposite direction, weaving through throngs of employees effortlessly.
He didn’t stop until he reached the dark crevice between two of the factories where his TARDIS was parked. He had a time of fumbling with his key before he finally forced the door open and pushed himself inside, immediately heading for the central consol and punching in the coordinates to Ulghiron,
The Doctor had told himself, harshly and repeatedly, to accept what had happened on Earth. The Master was gone. For good. His oldest friend and greatest enemy. His…
Now he was truly the last of his kind. And the universe didn’t graciously slow to a stop because he was broken and grieving and utterly alone. Life went on. So he forced himself to move on as well.
Of course, there was always a tiny part of himself that persisted in the notion that the Master wouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to die, that he had to have escaped somehow. The Doctor never indulged that part of himself. False hope hurt too much. He had been there, helpless as the Master’s life extinguished as easily as a candle flame. Without regenerations, the Master was so fragile, so mortal. So human. And humans didn’t come back from the dead.
The Doctor paced around the rumbling console room in a rush of nervous energy, his hearts beating wildly. Oh, but the Master wasn’t human, he was, he was the Master. He was terribly, wickedly clever and of course he wouldn’t allow himself to die. How did he do it? The Doctor would have to ask, when he saw him.
Saw the Master. Alive and breathing. No doubt with a leering, smug grin, knowing how he’d tricked the Doctor so horribly. Ten points to tally up on his side of the scoreboard.
The initial, incredible thrill slowly died down as darker feelings seeped into the Doctor’s mind, no longer bound up and pushed down where he couldn’t feel them and hurt from them. With the Master, that was what it all came down to. This game. This stupid bloody twisted game of theirs, where the Master never won and the Doctor always lost.
A game where the Master obsessed over finding ways to rip the Doctor to shreds and shove him ever closer to the edge, like the truly sick being he was. And the Doctor was even sicker for always finding it in him to forgive the Master.
Even with all the errors they had both made, the Doctor was beginning to think he was the one who’d made the most colossally grievous and unforgivable mistake. Because after so many centuries, even after everything the Master had done, he couldn’t quite stamp out the hope that someday, it could really be about just the two of them again. Like when they were Theta and Koschei, and they lived to make the other tick and nobody got hurt but themselves. In reality, that possibility had faded centuries ago.
He was the greatest fool in the universe, always wishing for the impossible.
The TARDIS gave one last rough jerk as it tumbled out onto its destination. It was dark when the Doctor
stepped out into the world, but his sight had adjusted to being in the lunar system long ago. The thick, navy-coloured grass cushioned his steps as the Doctor rounded the side of the building he’d landed behind, taking in the sight before him.
He had set his coordinates for the biggest city in Ulghiron, and it seemed he’d landed in a residential area. The huge, full moon above cast a waxy glow on the dome-shaped houses spread out before the Doctor, each dome built with a thick, clear polycarbonate roof to let the sparse moonlight filter through.
The Doctor gazed solemnly out over the homes, each filled with a family and a story. It was quiet, very quiet, and the Doctor didn’t see any of the people he knew were there, but that was how it was on Ulghiron, even in the cities. Peaceful. Unassuming. Safe.
As he made his way out of the residential area and down into the business section of the city, the Doctor began to see a few of Ulghiron’s citizens milling around the market and looking just as he remembered them, small and ghostly white with the pale hair and eyes their species had developed over millennia of living under the moon.
The average person from another planet might be disconcerted with how unpopulated Ulghiron seemed, but the Doctor knew most Ulghiron citizens were employed in the Luster mines, and spent more time underground than above. Except, of course, the ones running the above-ground businesses, and the ones in the large, dark building the Doctor was targeting.
Ulghiron didn’t have many governmental structures, and the Double Council’s meeting hall was by far the largest. It loomed like a beast behind the smaller buildings in the business sector, an odd contrast to the benign nature of the city’s inhabitants. The Doctor quickened his pace as the building drew nearer.
He already had his psychic paper out by the time he reached the front doors of the meeting hall. If his need to duck through the doors wasn’t a clue for the security inside, one look at him would be more than enough for them to tell he was an outsider. And judging by the way passenger ships were cut off from Ulghiron, his appearance might not be warmly received. It might not have been under normal circumstances, either. The people of Ulghiron were insular and cautious by nature.
Just as the Doctor suspected. The two dark-uniformed security guards stared at him in confusion as he emerged, hunched, through the doors. He didn’t make it two steps before one hastily spoke up. “Excuse me, sir, I cannot let-” The Doctor cut the smaller being off with a flash of the paper in his hand.
“I’m the overseer of exports from Zaluzia. I have a few questions for Mr. Saxon concerning his shipments. Could you point me in his direction?” The security guard’s filmy eyes scrutinized the badge in the Doctor’s hand for a moment before relenting to its apparent authenticity and giving directions to an office on the corner of the seventh floor. The Doctor thanked him and headed for the magnetised chutes he spotted a few employees clambering into across the spacious hall.
Once the rather narrow chute spat him out at the appropriate floor, trepidation once again filled the Doctor with anxious energy as he hurried down the corridor, his eyes darting to the symbols above the various rounded doorways he passed, searching for the one the security guard told him about.
And like the guard had said, the curved symbol he was looking for was above the last door of the hallway, the only door that was remodeled to be taller than the others down the line. All the energy buzzing through him swelled into a tight knot in his chest, and at that moment, the Doctor didn’t know what would be worse. To open up that door and find the Master, or to find nothing.
He did know for certain, though, that he would stand there in indecision for a century if he let himself. The Doctor forced a deep breath that he didn’t really need down his throat and placed his fingers into the slot in the door, tugging at the latch within and letting the door swing open a fraction with a barely audible click. He cautiously stepped through the doorway.
“Tell me, Doctor, were you contemplating the relative merits of inter-galactic praxiometry out there?” And there was the voice. His voice. The flood of achingly familiar psychic presence that the Doctor both craved and dreaded.
The office itself wasn’t very large. A firm and sturdy sofa-like piece of furniture was backed against the left wall, illuminated by the thin moonlight peering down through the clear ceiling. And other than that one piece, there were no items of luxury, no wild flourish in the dark and nearly bare room that was wholly too small for the Master.
In fact, the only flourish was the Master himself, seated behind a standard crystalline desk in the centre of the office. His elbows were propped up on the desk and his chin rested on interlaced fingers, and even his mediocre surroundings couldn’t dim the way he held himself. It was the air of someone who was enormously important, and expected others to know it.
And the glare of the imported desk lamp settled beside the Master quite efficiently highlighted the petulant scowl marring the Timelord’s features. “You’re really not supposed to be here, Doctor. Even I wasn’t expecting to see your mug pop up on the surveillance equipment so soon.”
With a long-suffering sigh, the Master leaned back and swiveled himself around in his pod-like chair. “You always have to ruin things, don’t you? I haven’t even overthrown the government yet.” The Doctor remained silent, shutting the door fully behind him. He watched the other Timelord with solemn eyes. His internal dialogue was a jumble of MasterMasterMasterohMaster- and he desperately tried to reign it in.
Without a glance to his companion, the Master stood from his chair and stretched in a very feline fashion, drawing his arms above his head. “Ugh, you wouldn’t believe what irritating little paper pushers these Ulghiron creatures can be.” He rounded the desk leisurely, his dark eyes coming to rest on the Doctor and warming with a spark of deadly competition. It was all so familiar. So utterly, horribly familiar. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to come back in a few months?”
And just as easy as that, the Master would start their game over. As if the ending to their last meeting had never happened. As if the Master hadn’t crossed the line in the worst way. But it was the Master. The line didn’t exist for him.
The Doctor still hadn’t uttered a word, still hadn’t moved an inch, and the Master frowned in budding annoyance. They studied each other quietly, tensely, for a long moment before understanding flashed across the Master’s face and his features instantly turned smug. “Oh, you’re not still sore about our last encounter, are you?” The Doctor’s shoulders stiffened, but he still didn’t give the satisfaction of a verbal response.
The Master left his desk and started toward his companion with slow, deliberate steps. “I bet you’re wondering how I did it.” He stopped a few scant feet from the Doctor, all the arrogance and self-absorption and insanity leaching from his smirk into his eyes. They were nearly glowing, now, in the darkness wrapped around them. “It was a bit brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
He lifted his hand up with all the casualness of someone examining their fingernails. The large ring on the Master’s finger caught the moonlight, flashing emerald. “I imprinted my biodata into it. And then it was a simple matter of having a backup body. Oh, and the bloody time I had of picking my TARDIS out of the Silver Devastation.” Realisation bled into the Doctor’s features, and the Master grinned fully, his teeth gleaming like a predator’s. “Tell me how clever I am.”
The Master didn’t seem to be perturbed by the Doctor’s lack of response anymore as he continued. “But you didn’t have any idea, Doctor. I wonder what was running through your head as I lay dying in your arms.” As the Doctor’s eyes hardened, amusement grew in the Master’s. Devilish, twisted amusement.
“I wonder what you were you were feeling as you shed those tears for me. When you realised how powerless you were.” The Master crept closer until he had closed the gap between their bodies, close enough that the Doctor clearly watched as something like sorrow transformed the Master’s gaze. “Were you feeling the weight of the universe bearing down on you? Were you being torn apart, knowing you were the very last of our kind? My dear Doctor…” He lifted his hand and placed it against the Doctor’s cheek, trailing his fingers down the smooth skin.
And it was that mockery of gentleness and warmth, of care, that made the Doctor snap.
In an instant, he had the front of the Master’s suit in an iron grip as his eyes blazed with pure, seething fury. “You left me. I was alone.” He forced the words through his teeth, watching as the false sympathy dropped from the Master’s visage and different, more guarded emotions flitted across his face like shadows.
“But I didn’t.” Something mutual, uncomfortable, and very far from arrogant burned lowly in the Master’s eyes. The Doctor could see it swirl and jump and fight as the Master tried to quell it. Their faces were so close. The Doctor could feel the buzz of energy between their tense, barely-touching bodies. His mind jolted as their psychic fields bumped up against one another, and there were about five things he wanted to do simultaneously to the man in his grip.
They could both sense they were teetering on something dangerous, and the Master made the first move to stop it. He jerked himself from the Doctor’s hold and stepped back hastily. “So where’s your pet human? I didn’t see one skulking around on surveillance.” The question came out bitterly, and was doubly so for the Doctor. He didn’t give an answer.
“What are you doing here?” A counter-question was always a good avoidance, and the Doctor really did want to know. Whatever reason the Master had for choosing a tiny, passive planet like Ulghiron, it could only be on the worse side of bad. The Master grinned again as he regained some of his smug exterior.
“I presented these good people with a solution to their meteorite problem. It is such a bother, being so close to an unpredictable asteroid belt.” He turned and strolled toward his desk, clearly enjoying the situation once more. His gaze found the Doctor, all challenge. Daring to be defied.
“What to do, Doctor, what to do?” The Master’s fingers found the surface of his desk and began tapping out that infernal rhythm. “Are you going to demand that I come with you? Drag me back to your dilapidated box by force?” He was practically alight with amusement. “Ooh, maybe you’ll cuff us together, or some rubbish like that.”
The Master leaned back against his desk, and the Doctor saw his amusement shift to excitement. “Or you can stay here and watch me work. You’ll see my genius in action.” Maybe it was the many centuries shared between them, but the Doctor could read the Master at that moment as if he were broadcasting a script of his thoughts above his head.
He wanted the Doctor to do just that. He wanted their game to resume with a vengeance. He wanted them to push and pull each other in the competition between them that never, never ended. The Master wanted yet another way to wrench the Doctor’s hearts out over and over and over again in their stupid, bloody game.
The Doctor was tired of playing games.
“No.” the word was soft, even to his own ears, and the Master regarded him with an idly curious look. “What are you going to do, then?” The Timelord asked, his tone in the same humour as and adult asking a young child what they wanted to be after they made it through the Academy.
“I’m going to leave.” He knew his answer was unexpected as he watched all smug emotion flee the Master’s face, leaving a blank mask in its wake before the other Timelord quickly recovered himself. “And leave this planet at my mercy? Oh, whatever has happened to the universe’s tortured hero?” He snorted, flicking an invisible speck off the arm of his suit jacket.
The Doctor turned, reaching out to open the door. If he’d bothered to look back before he stepped out into the hall, he would have seen the Master’s face tighten in displeasure and something else unidentifiable. But he didn’t. The Doctor closed the door firmly behind him and started down the hall the way he‘d come. He knew, deep down, that the Master was right. Of course he couldn’t leave these unsuspecting people to the Master’s plans. He’d be back.
But for now, he couldn’t handle the Master and his schemes and a game where the other player pushed the rules so much he couldn’t recognise when he’d pushed too far.
And so the Doctor headed back to his TARDIS, the only plan beyond that to get as far away as possible.
-------
So there it is. Oh Jesus.
Second chapter to follow shortly, and...constructive criticism welcome? -hides-
Well, I needed to get this story out before Christmas, when all our little fan theories about the Master's return get smacked in the face by the real deal. Which I am so fucking excited about. GUHHH
Okay, I'm out now, for reals.
Chapter 2: http://randomkyuu.livejournal.com/4213.html#cutid1