Lost Boys | By : Turkaholic Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 3820 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, any of its characters or trademarks. I make no money from the writing of this fanfiction |
Chapter One
The Master strode impatiently across the bridge of the Valiant, tapping his fingers on the lapel of his suit. His face was contorted in a familiar look of mixed pride and annoyance, his lips pressed together in deep thought.
The Doctor watched. His weary old eyes followed the Master’s every move, forwards and backwards across a backdrop of glittering orbs and burning continents. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, trying to think of what to say; like working out an equasion, he was sure that the right words said in the right order would be enough to stop the Master. But his mind wasn’t what it was.
“Master…”
The Master stopped, his fingers ceasing their incessant drumbeat. He looked around theatrically. Lucy giggled.
“I’m sorry, did someone hear something? It sounded like an insane old man talking gibberish.”
The Doctor gritted his teeth, trying to work up the strength to shout, but it was to no avail. Lucy smoothed her red dress elegantly and swayed over to her husband, taking his hand with that deceitfully innocent smile. The Master’s face split into a triumphant grin. “No?”
“Master, please…”
Finally, the empty eyes of the Master locked with his. The grin transformed into a snarl of contempt. “Oh… you. I’d almost forgotten about you, granddad. What’s wrong? You need your nappy changed?”
The Doctor clutched the arms of his chair as the Master jogged down the steps of the bridge. He knelt down beside him, the look of contempt still etched on his face.
“Master please, just stop. Just think about what you’re doing. These people –“
A hand shot out, and a finger pressed itself against his lips, cutting him off. The Master bared his teeth, a tongue darting out strangely. He hissed. “I would have thought,” He growled, staring into the Doctor’s dim eyes, “that adding a hundred or so years to you would have made you shut up for once.”
“Not until you understand.” The Doctor breathed, “You’ve got to stop this madness before it’s too late.”
The Master surveyed his captive for a moment, his dark, manic eyes darting across the Doctor’s face. The Doctor opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, the Master had jumped backwards, his expression once again changed to one of insane joy. “But where’s the fun in that?” He laughed, spreading his arms wide. “Oh, Doctor, don’t you see? This is the beginning of a new Timelord Empire! Imagine –“ He leapt up the steps, raising his arms towards the windows triumphantly, “An empire spanning galaxies! My little friends and I forging a brand new universe, planet by planet, with your beloved little Earth at the epicentre.” The Master closed his eyes blissfully and sighed, basking in the sunlight, and the heat of a thousand fires burning below. Lucy leaned against the rails, her head held high proudly and a superior look in her eye. The Doctor’s mind whirled in a flurry of possibilities and options, ideas to stop the Master; to make him see. None of them seemed valid.
After a moment, the Master turned, staring down at the old man like an insect; something disgusting. “And you, old man, you have the privilege of watching history in the making.” The Doctor stared up at him, still thinking of the right words to say. His hearts were beating so hard that his chest hurt, but that didn’t matter. What mattered now was trying to get through to him.
Jack stood against the wall of the Valiant, imagining the pain and frustration and grief the Doctor had felt at this moment. Right now below deck, Jack himself would be dying again. He’d lost count how many times he’d been killed while he was the Master’s prisoner, and mostly he’d tried to block it out since then.
He turned to look at the Doctor once more. He’d let go of his hand, and now had his arms folded tightly across his chest. His breathing seemed laboured, as if in tune with that of the old man who now sat, helpless in the chair. Jack wiped the crusting blood from his hand on his jacket, folding his arms, mimicking the Doctor.
“I was sure that the right words would change his mind.” Sighed the Doctor, stepping across the room towards himself. “Some phrase, some half-remembered moment from our childhood. Of course I knew Martha was out there, spreading the word, but I was never sure; never certain that our plan would work. Half the time, I thought I’d sent her out there to die.”
The Master grabbed his wife by the hand and swept her majestically across the bridge, turning his back on the old Doctor. They began to dance, both laughing, as though they were newlyweds on a honeymoon. Emergency broadcasts filtered through the Valiant’s systems; the screams and pleading in a thousand different languages mingled together, the desperate song of a world in pain. The Master and his wife danced through it all, hearing only music in their heads. One by one, the broadcasts subsided into silence, and Lucy and the Master shared a devouring kiss of triumph. The Doctor looked away.
“Master, our work is complete.” Came a childish voice. The Doctor heard the hum of an Orb as it floated through the air. The Master laughed and clapped his hands.
“Excellent! Oh… beautiful work, children! Any sign of the Martha girl yet?”
The Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat. He muttered under his breath, and waited.
“We tried and tried and tried to find pretty Martha, but she’s gone, and we can’t find her.”
The Doctor tried to keep his face neutral, to give away nothing, but nonetheless a smile found its way onto his ancient face.
The Master pressed his lips together until they were taut and pale, holding back his anger. His eyes passed over the Doctor carelessly, but then shot back as he noticed the smile. His brow furrowed angrily.
“Well never mind, boys and girls. Keep looking, and in the meantime –“ The Master leaned over the railings of the bridge, watching the Doctor’s expression carefully. “Tell me, what exactly was it that you said to our young Miss Jones?”
The Doctor’s smile spread further across his face, his old eyes wrinkling. He drew in a breath.
“Like I’d ever tell you.”
The Master’s eyes flashed with anger, his fingers digging into the metal in his hands. Lucy backed away. Apparently she had seen this kind of anger before.
“You… pathetic old man. You must be losing your marbles if you think I’ll let you stay quiet.”
The Doctor continued to smile. The Master’s face fell into a dark snarl. “It doesn’t matter. She’s… out of your reach; out of your control.” The Doctor smiled wider, raising his eyebrows. “…and doesn’t that just scare you.”
There was a horrific silence. Lucy had pressed herself against the wall, trying to avoid the wrath of her husband. The Doctor and the Master stared at each other; one with a look of intense venom, the other wrapped in a benevolent smile. A moment later, the Master screamed.
“Get that decrepit old fool off my bridge!”
Two guards rushed forward, guns in hand to do the Master’s bidding. The Doctor continued to smile. Before they could reach the door, the Master rushed forward, grinding his teeth like an animal. He stood before the Doctor. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ve got a special room for you. Excellent views, an en-suite, all the mod cons… and –oh yes…” The Master slammed his hands down on the arms of the Doctor’s wheelchair, his feral face mere inches from the Doctor’s, “…it’s Timelord-proof.”
With that, the Master stepped aside, his eyes following the old man out of the bridge, and into the corridor beyond.
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