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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 List
- 23
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Chapter 21
The Master’s hollow eyes were fixed on the distant sky, a dark look of impatience contorting his face. He leaned back against the railings of the bridge and scowled childishly, tapping his ring against the metal beneath his fingers.
                Tap tap tap tap… tap tap tap tap.
                “Harry?”
                The Master raised his eyes to Lucy’s face as she came to stand beside him. A dark smirk lifted one side of his mouth.
                “Not long now, my sweet little Lucy.”
                She smiled – a manic, open-lipped, wide-eyed smile as she laid long red fingernails reverently on her husband’s chest. She turned her face to the window, her complexion almost as pale as the clouds. “I can’t wait. Will it be beautiful, Harry?”
                The smirk widened into a blissful grin. His eyes flashed as he slid an arm around her shoulder. “Just watch. It will be magnificent.”
Lucy closed her eyes, mesmerised, and rested her head in his chest with her lips slightly parted. She slid her hand underneath his jacket and around his waist as the clamour of footsteps arose in the corridor. The Master let her lie against his chest for a few seconds more, the grin still plastered to his face as he looked through the polished glass at what lay far beneath them.
The footsteps became louder. The Master’s eyes flickered towards the door as it began to slide open. He leaned down and kissed Lucy’s pale hair playfully and pulled away from her. “Showtime. Let’s have some fun.”
                                                                ***
The Timelord looked into the dull, lifeless eyes of the guard that walked beside him, wondering whether it was possible to reach out; to connect. He had a big mouth, that he knew, but something about the almost vacant expression that lingered constantly behind those eyes made him doubt that even his way with words would have any impact.
He’d still been half asleep when they’d come for him – light headed and heavy lidded from a few hours of restless sleep – but even the faintest flicker of tiredness had disappeared with the sight of levelled guns; the soft but threatening click of metal: apparently the Master was still all too aware of how dangerous he could be.
Now, as he was marched by force along the corridor, the familiar feeling of adrenaline was rushing through him like a tidal wave. He could feel his hearts thundering violently against his ribcage, almost drowning out the shudder of so many heavily-booted feet trampling along the pristine, fluorescent-lit corridor. There was a creeping fear rising in him, pulling harder at his stomach the further they walked. If he’d been alone perhaps it would never have been so strong; but he wasn’t.
He could hear her breathing from here. Shallow. Laboured. Afraid.
Martha’s mother.
She’d looked at him in confusion, and then horrendous fear in her face when their eyes had met, but had said nothing, perhaps afraid of the guards that surrounded her. Even so, the Doctor knew what was going through her mind – it was the same thought that nagged at him, clawing at his insides. He kept his face in neutral, well aware that she and Tish were watching him from the corners of their eyes. He didn’t want to make their fear any greater.
The doors to the bridge rose up before them as they were forced around a sharp corner. Tish raised a hand to her mouth nervously, her other hand interlocking with her mother’s shaking fingers. “Oh god…”
The Doctor gritted his teeth, frowning hard as the door to the bridge rose up before them. He hissed for silence. Tish turned to look at him, her eyes wide in fear.
“We don’t know what this is about yet.” He whispered to her desperately, the sound of marching footsteps covering his words. “The Master thrives on fear and panic. Don’t give him more ammunition than he’s already got.”
The footsteps came to a halt outside the door. The Doctor swallowed back the clawing fear at his stomach as they stood, waiting for the door to open. Beside him, Martha’s mother let out a slow, deliberate breath and raised her head proudly. Despite this, she still clutched to Tish’s fingers.
“He wouldn’t have had any ammunition, if it weren’t for you.” She muttered coldly, her voice shaking. “He wouldn’t even be here. If he kills my daughter…”
“He won’t.” Even as the Doctor said it, it felt like a lie.
Martha’s mother ignored him. She stared ahead at the door as it began to slide open. Her voice dropped to a whisper; one so low that the Doctor knew the words were meant only for him. “If he kills my daughter, I’ll kill you.”
                                                                ***
“And here they are! The guests of honour.”
The Master vaulted gleefully down the steps as his prisoners were nudged through the door. A broad, welcoming smile spread across his face and he opened out his arms invitingly. The Doctor surveyed his face; his stance, and glared. He knew within a fraction of a second that the Master’s mania was in full swing. Whatever he was planning, talking to him would probably be pointless.
Tish and her mother lingered behind the Doctor silently for a moment. The Master’s face fell sadly. He dropped his arms to his sides. “No? No hugs and kisses?” He pouted. “I’d hoped we could move past all this.”
There was more silence. Lucy Saxon made her way slowly down the steps, resting her porcelain hand on the rail gently. Her head lilted to the side in childish curiosity at the three figures near the doorway and she seated herself gracefully in one of the seats around the table.
“What do you want?” called Martha’s mother, levelling a hate-filled glare at the Master. He smiled sardonically and stalked towards her. She clutched more tightly at Tish’s fingers. The Doctor held his breath.
“Oh I like you.” He laughed darkly. “Old Mother Jones has some fire in her. It’s almost a shame I’m about to douse it out.”
“What do you mean?” the Doctor interjected sharply.
The Doctor hadn’t meant to speak. He’d been determined to take his own advice and not rise to the bait, but the comment made him uneasy. If the worst was coming, he wanted to know.
The Master slowly turned his head. He snorted, a theatrical look of irritation adorning his face. “Hello? I was having a private conversation with Mrs. Jones. Learn some manners.”
The Doctor shook his head slowly, glaring into the Master’s face. “Don’t play games with us, Master, because I swear-“
The Master suddenly stood back and clapped his hands together, cutting the Doctor off. “Games! What an excellent idea.” He stepped back and slid onto the table, sitting with a single leg dangling over the edge, child-like. He rested his hands on his knees, his mouth curling upwards in a snarl. “Ooh I’ve got one. Let’s play ‘I’ve got a secret.’”
There was a nervous pause. Tish and her mother exchanged glances. The tone in the Timelord’s voice had grown suddenly sinister. The Master looked into each of their faces, one by one, studying them. “Who wants to go first? Mrs. Jones? …little Tish? You, Doctor?”
The Doctor felt his stomach tense. The Master was playing with them now, like a cat pawing at a dying mouse. He gritted his teeth hard and stared into the manic eyes of the Master, wondering yet again at how much he could change in so little time. Last night’s walk had taken them up to the Valiant’s landing deck again, and they’d had what – by the Master’s standards, at least – had been a civilised conversation. Now he was staring into the eyes of a monster once more. Why it still hurt and surprised him after nearly a millennium, the Doctor didn’t know.
The Master tapped his finger impatiently on his knee, waiting for one of them to speak. When they didn’t he growled. “Why are you always so boring? Fine, I’ll start.”
Lucy Saxon watched with passive amusement as her husband pushed himself back up to his full height. He closed his eyes and stretched, cracking his neck slowly, apparently savouring the silence and the almost tangible sense of fear that was growing with each passing moment. The Doctor tried to keep his own fear to himself: he knew the Master too well; he knew that showing fear would be playing into his hands.
“I’ve got a secret.” He whispered loudly; dangerously. A sinister glint entered his eye. “Want to guess what it is?”
The Doctor heard Tish shuffle uncomfortably behind him. He twitched his fingers, signalling her to stay calm, but he couldn’t tell if she understood. He couldn’t even tell if she was watching.
The Master continued to watch in silence for a moment, but patience had never been one of his virtues, and the Doctor knew it. Whatever the Master wanted to say to him – them, had to come out soon. He was right.
The Master’s snarl broke. It cracked into a euphoric smile, like plaster cracking away from a crumbling wall. His eyes wrinkled into slits and he threw his head back, laughing triumphantly. The noise made the Doctor’s fists clench in dread.
“Oh yes! It’s days like this that make this pathetic existence worth bothering with!”
He jumped up onto the table with the dexterity of a cheetah and swept down on Lucy, taking her hand in his. With a smile to match her husband’s she stepped carefully up onto the table, stilettoes clicking against glass. He held her hand and looked down at the three figures before him, awaiting their reaction to what he said next.
The Doctor felt despair hit him again, harder than ever before, because he knew – even before the words even came out of the Master’s mouth – that only one thing could make him so maniacally, ecstatically happy.
“I’ve found Martha Jones!”

Note: just as an aside, don’t worry: we’re not up to the point you might be thinking (that would be a very short year)!
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Lost Boys