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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

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Chapter 23
                The Master’s face seemed calm, and yet the Doctor could see through it; see the anger and the madness that emanated from him like a wave. He stared at Francine, holding the screwdriver at arm’s length, his head bowed just slightly as he took aim.
                Francine understood the danger. Even if she couldn’t see the anger the same way the Doctor could, she seemed to feel it as though it were a physical presence. Her eyes widened at the point of the screwdriver and she gasped, taking a step backwards unconsciously. She had seen the damage it could do. She had seen Jack die.
                Tish’s expression twisted in fear. She tried to place herself between her mother and the Master’s threatening arm, but Francine’s motherly instinct remained intact: She pushed her daughter from her roughly and stared into the Master’s eyes, raising her head proudly, even as tears began to form.
                The Doctor clamped his jaw. The Master was beyond words, now; incensed. He considered trying to snatch the screwdriver away from him, but that could put every person in the room in danger, and he already had enough deaths on his conscience. There was only one thing he could do.
                Silently, slowly, he began to move. Any sudden movements could push the other Timelord over the edge. He turned his back on the Master, ignoring the instincts of danger that screamed at him to keep him in sight. The presence of the laser screwdriver nudged at his subconscious like a needle in the back of his head.
                Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the look of horror on Tish’s face as she pulled herself back to her feet; saw surprise grow in the eyes of Francine as he came closer. He placed himself directly in front of her and turned around, eyes levelled at the Master in dark expectation.
                He hadn’t moved. Everything seemed still, as though the very air around them had frozen in place, just waiting. The Master’s arm still extended threateningly, now aiming at the Doctor rather than Francine.
                “What are you doing?” She breathed, her voice shaking, but the Doctor didn’t reply. He was holding his breath, waiting. The Master had changed in the blink of an eye, and there was nothing to guarantee he was even seeing anything except a target; something to destroy.
                The moment extended outwards, the Master’s face unmoving. The taller Timelord clenched his fists in preparation for what was to come, and yet a part of him – some small, whispering voice in his head – almost welcomed it. If he was going to die, it hissed, it seemed apt that it would be at the hands of the Master.
                Suddenly the Master’s brow furrowed. There was the faintest twitch of his fingers as he grasped the screwdriver; an instinctual jerk that seemed beyond his control. He stared furiously into the Doctor’s eyes for a moment, and then raised the weapon upwards slowly, shooting at the wall just above his head. It left a black smear on the panel, smoke rising lazily towards the ceiling.
                Francine, Tish and Lucy all jumped at the sudden noise. The Doctor didn’t. He watched the Master’s vacant face carefully, forcing any fear he had back into the recesses of his mind. The danger wasn’t over. He stood his ground, blocking Francine from harm as the Master’s expression flickered uncertainly.
                The Master lowered the screwdriver with an irritated snort. A sour smile appeared on his face. “Of course. You’re right, Doctor – what would I do without you?” He tapped the screwdriver against his lips as the smile spread wider. “If that old bird dies now, she’ll miss the family reunion.”
                The Doctor watched him slide the screwdriver back into his pocket. It was only then he allowed himself a silent, guarded sigh.
                “How did you know he wouldn’t kill you?”
                The Doctor raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I didn’t.” he said, simply. “I told you: the Master was unstable. Francine just said the wrong thing at the wrong time. It wasn’t her fault.”
                “She hated you.”
                Finally the Timelord laughed – the first honest laugh that Jack had heard since the memories had begun. “So do a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I’d let them die if I could stop it. Besides –“ he looked at Jack with playful humour in his face, “If the Master hadn’t killed me, Martha would instead.”
                Jack laughed nervously. “Oh god. Good point.”
                Both of them watched the scene in silence as the Master held out his hand, beckoning his wife to join him at the head of the steps. Jack’s mind, however, was still with the screwdriver.
“You didn’t even flinch, though.” He said eventually. “I can’t die, but even I still freak out a little when someone tries to kill me.”
                The laughter fell from the Doctor’s face, and Jack began to wish he hadn’t spoken. “There are worse things in this universe than death, Jack.” He muttered.
                Jack smiled bitterly. “I wouldn’t know.”
                The Doctor blinked slowly and looked out at the azure blue sky beyond the Valliant’s windows. He raised his eyebrows with a sigh. “I wish I didn’t.”
                “Now then!” Shouted the Master, suddenly manic once more. “If we’re all quite done with the pleasantries, it’s time for the show.”
                Lucy and the Master held hands imperiously as they walked over to the vast windows, staring out at the expanse of sky that lay beyond the Valliant. Behind him, the Doctor heard Martha’s mother let out a loud breath of relief. He heard Tish move forward once more to comfort her; heard them whispering together. He stood alone between the two pairs – Tish and her mother; the Master and his wife – and suddenly felt completely, utterly alone.
                The Master looked over his shoulder at the lack of movement. “Up you come then, children.” He said loudly, with a pompous smile. “You should be honoured: front row seats.” His eyes flashed, his voice lowering to a reverent growl. “Come bear witness to your Master’s majesty.”
                The Doctor felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. This was finally it – the reason they’d been summoned. The Master’s moods were swinging so dangerously that even he wasn’t sure what would be waiting for them out of those windows, but he did know that the other Timelord had an obsessive taste for showmanship, and he was almost certain that the Master would never start without the Doctor as a captive audience.
                The Doctor looked to the door. It was guarded by half a dozen, heavily-armed human guards, and he already knew how well the Master had prepared for him – stepping outside that door was a death sentence, even if he could get through. Claustrophobia prodded his insides as Francine and Tish walked reluctantly past him, urged on by the soft click of threatening metal: guns were being cocked.
                “Harry has agents working for him in every work camp; every city on the Earth.”
                The voice broke the claustrophobia. It made him frown in confusion – it had been so unexpected. He’d hardly ever heard Lucy Saxon speak, and when he had it had been directly to her husband, not to an audience. This time, however, those quiet, breathy syllables were directed towards him and the room at large, and they were full of pride.
                “Every movement down on the surface,” she continued, her cream-coloured dress glowing in the brightness of the distant Sun, “every whisper of rebellion reaches us here.”
                “…so that’s how you’re doing it.” Muttered the Doctor, darkly. He moved forwards subconsciously, moving closer to the Master as he spoke directly to him. “I’d wondered. Because maintaining this level of control… that takes more than the Archangel network could ever manage.”
                “Humans” spat the Master, his back turned, “so easily corruptible.”
                “Not all of us.” Came Tish’s voice, suddenly; a wounded tone in her shaking voice. The Doctor gritted his teeth and ran up the steps to protect her, the sound of steel clanging under his feet. “We’re better than that.”
                The Doctor came to a halt beside Tish at the window, feeling a mixture of pride and fear at her words. He touched her hand comfortingly. The Master’s lips twitched downwards into a snarl.
                “She’s right.” Whispered the Doctor, directing the Master’s attentions back onto him. “Just because you choose to see the worst in them doesn’t mean they’re not worth anything.”
                “Oh Doctor…” snorted the Master, a sneer creeping up his averted face, “always so optimistic. It’s sweet… and a bit pathetic.”
                The Doctor swallowed hard. “Master…”
                “No, no no!”
                The Master let go of Lucy’s hand and snarled, striding over to the Doctor with a dark glare on his face. He licked his lips, thoughtfully. “I’d rather not have to gag you for this,” he growled quietly, “but if you insist on droning on like an old woman I’ll do it.”
                The Doctor and the Master looked into each other’s eyes darkly for a moment, brows furrowed as some non-verbal fight took place. After a moment the Doctor sighed in frustration and looked away. The Master smirked in triumph.
                “Better.” He growled, flashing his teeth, and then walked back towards the window, and his waiting wife. She smiled at him as he came closer, looking up into his face in admiration. He slid a finger under her chin and tilted it upwards. “I think it’s time, don’t you? Let’s tell them.
                “Earlier today,” he continued to the room at large, “my little friends the Toclafane whispered something in my ear: an uprising. Those disgusting little apes actually think they can fight me.” He laughed; a humourless sound that fell into silence almost as soon as it started. His lips tilted up into a snarl. “It’s time this useless planet realised who they’re dealing with.”
                The Doctor held his tongue, his brain ticking furiously over the options before him. Talking to the Master would be pointless – more than pointless, in fact. He didn’t doubt for a second that the Master meant what he said about gagging him. There was a glint of euphoria in the Master’s eyes now; dangerous and volatile. There was nothing he could do until he knew exactly what the Master had planned, and even then he couldn’t guarantee that whatever his options were, they would keep Tish and Francine safe.
                “Behold!” Whispered the Master loudly, his voice full of arrogance. He spread his arms wide, casting them outwards slowly. “As I baptise my new dominion in blood.”
                Finally, the Doctor allowed himself to follow the Master’s line of sight downwards, out of the windows and down towards the distant surface. A cold, creeping dread spread through his body as he realised what it was he was looking at.
                Far below them, the sea sparkled and glittered like a thousand trembling sapphires, catching the rays of the Sun in a spectacular display of natural beauty. Dotted among the sapphires were pedestals of green, although scorched and charred; tortured by the Master’s first assault on the surface.
                Francine frowned in confusion. Tish gasped quietly and turned to the Doctor, looking into his wide, frowning eyes nervously.
                “Hang on… isn’t that-“
                “Japan.” Growled the Doctor. He finally understood.
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Lost Boys