Master/Lucy - "Little Faith"
Title: Little Faith Rating: NC-17 for some implied sex, violence Summary: The Master, resurrected Warnings: Character death, plus spoilers for all of the seasons, especially the last three episodes of season three (Utopia, The Sound of the Drums, Last of the Time Lords)
Comments welcome.
In that cool, autumn morning Lucy's fingers barely managed to grasp the ring. Her hand shook as she pulled the item out of the funeral pyre, barely recognizing what she was doing in the haze of her command-induced stupor.
She was on autopilot these past few days, perhaps even weeks-she did not know anymore-barely moving except for the sake of knowing what was to come first. What was to come first was the instruction-instructions, rather-with which her husband had left her. Harry-her departed beloved, the Master-had left her with so much, but the rest was up to her.
Faith, she figured, would pull her through.
As she robotically strolled away from the smoldering piles of wood that still smoked in the crisp October air, she casually deposited the ring in her purse. Lucy could almost hear a small "ping" as it hit one of the metallic objects that lay within.
If she were to believe-and not doubt-her husband and Master's instructions, he would walk the Earth again. And they would be together, forever.
Forever. Such a bizarre word to use, in spite of all he had taught her about her own nature. She felt her life slipping away from her with each passing day, the years on her clock being ticked off and ripped away. It was one less day to spend, one less day with innumerable but casual regrets. Regretting, for instance, that she were not with him right now for one more moment with her arm strewn about his hips, her head leaning against his solid, warm shoulder. Images of her naked, clutching black silken bedsheets as she gasped beneath him suddenly gripped her, and she forced them away with a shuddering sigh.
She fingered the instrument in her purse. It was long and slender, and she could almost see her husband grasp it in his hands, raising it above him as he commanded the masses below-a dark, yet distant fallen angel with whom she had fallen in love. How could she not? Lucy could still hear his voice and see him in her mind's eye: dark, bright, but beautiful.
Smirking, she remembered his words to the Doctor, telling him that the instrument was configured for his biodata alone and no other could possibly use it. For he was the Lord and Master of the miserable planet Earth, and soon over the entire world-and the Doctor was but dust beneath his feet.
But her husband in all of his puissance had lied. Within the laser screwdriver also contained codes which allowed Lucy-his beloved wife-the keys to be able to use the device when the time came.
And that time was approaching rapidly as the leaves fell to their freedom from the trees above her. They swirled around on the ground beneath her feet, hopelessly succumbing to the wind yet joyful in their mobility. Soon, so soon, she would have the ability to once again change the world-and resurrect her fallen beloved.
If only he would forgive her that one moment of weakness, eternity would be theirs. She fingered the still lingering bruise on her cheek. How many times had she doubted him, and received his blows of remorse? If only he had known how much she regretted her brief rebellions towards him, for still in all she knew how wrong she had been, and how so right he was.
So terribly, terribly right.
It was but a few, brief days after the election that named Harold Saxon the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Lucy was still for all intents and purposes still the wife of the Prime Minister. No one could possibly know she was a widow, let alone desperately seeking the means for his return, still promised to her from tears and blood-soaked sheets and promises of renewal, regeneration, and rebirth. Still, her hands trembled as she removed the necessary items from her purse: the test tube containing her husband's blood sample, his laser screwdriver-the backup copy he had her keep in the eventuality that he would be otherwise indisposed-and the ring.
His ring. The one he wore on his hand. She could still see in her mind's eye Harry-the Master-fidgeting with it now. A sudden light in his eyes, a strange expression upon his face, an almost maniacal expression-all of these things she treasured about him as mysteries, and mysteries beyond mysteries.
Lucy's fingers moved over the laser screwdriver of their own accord, activating commands she barely remembered receiving-if she remembered receiving them at all, for that matter. With a decisive determination, she aimed the device at the vial of blood on the table.
A short burst of energy flared from the apparatus, and the test tube exploded. For but a moment she feared for the worse, but then the blood on the table bubbled and shone with an eerie glow. It expanded and burst into a million stars, which coalesced into a form-a vaguely familiar humanoid form-which shimmered on the table before her.
When the right hand was solid, Lucy's hand shot out and placed on it the ring with which he had entrusted her-the ring which he had assured her would hold his spirit and everything whom he was in all of its bold majesty. All the skies above her were torn asunder as light beyond sight ruptured into a blinding flame in the center of the newly made being on the table. As life began anew in the form of an infant, so came her husband-her beloved, the Master of All-in flesh and blood on the table as he was in life, as if she had never pulled the trigger that sent him away from her.
As Lucy emerged from her post-hypnotic trance, she felt herself quiver. Moments later as she gazed upon the naked body on the table as it-he-slowly twitched into consciousness, she cried hysterically.
Her husband-her Master-was back.
The first breath from his body was almost anti-climatic after the dazzling light show which had preceded it. As his eyes fluttered and widened as they gazed around the room, Lucy's eyes watered once more as her grief-stricken face gave way to a maddening grin.
'My angel, my precious angel….'
His eyes found hers, and narrowed as he chuckled lightly. "Oh ye of little faith," he chided her, and Lucy smiled. He was home, with her-and not a prisoner nor dead as illusion and others would've had her believe.
With a huge gasp of breath, he arose to survey his surroundings. The Master was back at his residence at 10 Downing Street, where he was still a newly elected Prime Minister-and he realized, with a grin, that he was no longer a potential prisoner of the Doctor's but still the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Archangel Network still running about, able and ready to achieve his plans.
But he paused with a frown as he gazed upon Lucy-Lucy Saxon, his faithful companion. How he had trusted her-trusted her more than he had any other, and how his trust turned into rubble as she had joined in with the others as they chanted the Doctor's named.
Doctor, Doctor….
His hearts ached as his mind churned. Betrayal. Betrayal at the hands of this woman, whom he had married, fucked, and granted the title of Empress of the Galaxy with him as Emperor should his plans go through as intended. He had given her so much.
And now she stood over him as his new body-which looked much like the old body, he was glad to note, plus an additional couple of regenerations or so-holding the laser screwdriver as if she governed over life and death itself.
How human. How dare she.
But still, he reasoned calmly, she had brought him back from the dead, the wandering abyss from which he had sought to collect himself. Surely that must mean something. Perhaps there was still hope left for her after all…?
"Did you miss me?" he asked her cheerfully, a playful smile lighting up his face.
"Of course, Harry," she answered, kissing his cheek. "Of course."
"Ah, ah," he scolded her gently, holding his finger to her mouth. "Remember. Who am I?"
Lucy nodded dazedly. Of course she remembered. "Master, my dear, you are the Master."
He smiled at her as she beamed at him. "Good girl." He suddenly gave way to a stretch as he nearly bounced off the table. With what little forethought she still possessed, Lucy placed the laser screwdriver on the table, grabbed his robe from a nearby chair, and handed it to him.
"Thank you, dear." He put on the robe and within mere moments, had the laser screwdriver in his right hand. Lucy gazed at him adoringly until she realized that the instrument was now pointed at her.
"Before I can express my full gratitude for bringing you back," he inquired, his voice growing strangely quiet, "I must ask you something." He gave her a strange, disconcerting smile. Old habits gave way to her running behind the chair that once held his robe as she gripped it tightly, as if willing it to give her both strength and shield from him.
"Yes, dear?" she asked calmly, but her hands shook as they clenched the chair.
"My faithful, faithful companion. My wife." He sprung off of the table as he gazed upon her intently. "You chanted his name along with everyone else," he hissed. "His. Name."
She could only nod fearfully.
"You did, didn't you?"
Her nods gave way to sobs. Her poor husband. She kept failing him again and again. What good could she possibly be to him? What good was she?
With a single stride, he grasped her wrists in his hands-his strong, strong hands-and looked her in the eye so intensely Lucy thought she would faint. "Why?" he whispered, his breath gently caressing her cheeks.
Lucy began to stutter. "I…I thought if they heard me…they wouldn't know…they would think…."
"Liar." His whisper hit her, the sound making her gut simultaneously tighten with both desire and fear.
"Harry…Master-"
"Silence." A single word, bold and deafening. If he had truly shouted, she did not know. Her knuckles were white now, her palms sweating. Whatever punishment he had for her, she hoped it would come soon so she could get over the worst of his temper and make amends.
With a gasp, she realized that he had both of her wrists clutched in one of his hands while the other tilted up her chin to look at him. His eyes burned through hers, and she could see the rage-and the hurt-that lay within.
"You betrayed me," he stated quietly, "then you brought me back. Why?"
All she could do was continue to cry. "I missed you, Harry. I really missed you."
"You brought me back because I made you do it. You were obeying my commands, obeying them blindly. You were my faithful, faithful companion. My slave. My obedient one." He shook his head, and Lucy realized that her hands and wrists were now freed from his grip as he brutally ran his fingers through his hair. "No…no…you wouldn't have done it otherwise, would you? Only through me. My commands."
She could only stare at him mutely. What was he talking about?
"Would you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Master sighed. Women. Always the women. Reluctantly, he altered a few settings on his laser screwdriver before he slowly raised it at the level of her chest.
"Lucy, sweet, dear Lucy…how I will miss you. How I will cherish the moments we've had together. And how I'll mourn your loss. You," he stated, his tone altogether mocking yet affectionate. "My little, darling you. You little, little human. How I adored you."
Panic seized her. "Harry, what are you talking about?" she shrieked. "Harry?"
"I'll make it quick, as thanks for bringing me back. But…." He sighed. "Only that. Why, my dear Lucy, why? Why did you side with him? The Doctor, my arch-nemesis? Against everything I stood for? We stood for?"
"Harry, please! I didn't mean-"
He closed his eyes, and began tapping his fingers against the instrument as if listening to music he could only hear. "Ah, Lucy, don't. Just…don't."
With a press of the button, she was gone, evaporated into a silent shriek and a flash of light.
The Master could only stand there, taking in the beautiful array of colors as his wife dissolved into nothingness as his hearts simultaneously mourned her yet seethed with anger for her transgressions against him.
"Oh ye of little faith," he repeated calmly, placing the laser screwdriver into the pocket of his robe.
He had work to do, the least of which may include finding a new companion. Mourning Lucy, he reasoned, would have to come later.