InsaneJournal

WHO: Lucy Saxon and Death
WHAT: Death comes calling. Lucy isn't happy about it.
WHEN: At some point after she dies.
WHERE: Her holding cell… disguised as her childhood home.
RATING: PG (to be safe)
STATUS: Complete; narrative

"Lucy, dear, you really must learn to sit up straight."

The voice of her mother carried softly across the empty sitting room, memories of years gone by making Lucy remember the near constant reminder all too well whenever she felt herself preparing to slouch. Once again putting her mother's advice to use, she straightened her spine and returned her attention to the book in her lap. It was a new one – quickly rising to the top of the Best Sellers list – written by a man she'd never heard of before. To be honest, she found it a rather interesting read which she thought was a bit odd, considering autobiographies really weren't her most favourite of subjects.

Still, this man, this Harold Saxon, wove an interesting tale that had managed to grab her interest from the first page and had carried her almost halfway through the book in just one sitting. Lucy couldn't remember the last time she'd become so engrossed in a story before and, considering how much she read (both for fun as well as for her job in publishing), that was saying quite a lot.

Hearing the door to the sitting room open, the young woman glanced up. She expected to see her father and mother stepping inside. Possibly one of her siblings, although that would be a bit odd considering most didn't come by to visit except holidays. Or was it a holiday? Lucy wasn't certain and was struck with a sudden, irrational fear that she'd forgotten something important that the rest of her family would berate her over. They always did so in a loving way, or at least with the best of intentions, but being scolded as though she was a child when she was anything but did, at times, take a toll on the woman.

Realizing it wasn't her parents or siblings coming into the room might have put her at ease beyond simply assuring her that she hadn't forgotten a holiday or birthday… if it weren't for the stranger who was coming into the room, along with the feeling that she was most definitely forgetting something important. Very important, in fact.

"I don't want to go."

Why had she said that? Lucy hesitated, letting her gaze fall to the book she was clutching tightly. Licking her lips, she slowly raised her gaze back to the stranger. She meant to ask who he was, demand to know why he was in her parents' home. She wanted to tell him to leave so she could finish her book in peace. However, as her mouth opened, none of those things came out and what she did say wasn't even close.

"Please, can't you just let me be? I'll be missed far more here than there."

That didn't make any sense. Missed where? She wasn't supposed to be anywhere else, was she? She was fairly certain she was right where she was supposed to be, in fact. That certainly explained the request that she get to remain. Only, Lucy somehow knew that wasn't quite right. She was supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else. She'd been through this already, she realized as she once more turned down to the book she held. She'd read this book before. She'd moved out of this house already. She wasn't supposed to be here at all!

With a gasp, she surged to her feet. She stared with wide eyes at the man who was calmly observing her from the doorway, an unreadable expression resting on his gaunt features. "You're-"

Whatever else she had intended to say was stopped short when he finally spoke.

"I am."

Lucy didn't know how to react to that. This was him, she realized. Death, incarnate. The most frightening thing a human could ever face. Yet she wasn't afraid of him. Why wasn't she afraid of him? She should be. Lucy wasn't particularly bright, as her family so often reminded her, but she knew she should be afraid of death.

"Really, my dear, there's no need to fear me. In fact, when this is all said and done, you may even feel the need to thank me," he spoke up. He didn't move any closer; made no indication he was going to have a seat or anything remotely similar. He just stood by the doorway and calmly watched her. Observing. Deciding. Passing judgement. All of the above, for all Lucy knew.

She didn't like it and she shifted a bit, uncomfortable at the attention. She didn't know why she wasn't afraid but wasn't going to take his word that she simply shouldn't be. She instead tried to think, tried to remember what she'd been doing before she'd sat down to read. For a long moment, nothing came to her.

Then it did. Her memories resurfaced much like a deluge through her mind and Lucy's knees gave way. The sofa was still behind her, fortunately, and the soft cushions prevented her from harming herself. She slumped further down into the seat, uncaring of her mother's advice to sit straight no matter what.

"I died," she said softly, the words making her eyes itch and throat tightened. "They… they killed me." A tear fell, then another, until it was rather obvious she was crying even if she'd long since taught herself how to do so silently.

A tissue appeared in front of her, the long, thin fingers holding it delicately belonging to the being known as Death. She peered up, slightly startled at how quickly he'd moved toward her when she hadn't even heard him, then took the tissue with a slight smile of appreciation and a very soft, "Thank you'. Dabbing at her eyes, she sighed heavily and turned her gaze toward the book she'd been reading. She brushed her fingertips against the cover of it, remembering easily now the first time she'd read it. She had been in this very room and, much like she had been doing a few moments earlier, had finished it in one sitting. Then she had spent the next week convincing everyone she worked with that she simply had to meet Harold Saxon.

And that was how it all began. A book, written by a man who wasn't really a man. If she'd never read his book, she never would have met him. She would have likely married one of the man suitors her father had picked out for her. Yes, none of them excited her and most tended to want little to do with her so much as they wanted the prestige that her father's name carried, but at least she'd still be alive. And it wasn't as though Harry had married her because he was madly in love with her, either. He'd simply wanted the connections her family had so he could use them to rise to Prime Minister.

Shaking her head to dispel the 'what ifs', Lucy peered back up at Death. "Please have a seat," she murmured, blinking in surprise when he obliged and sat in the chair across from her. Not certain what else to say, she asked hesitantly, "Would you care for some tea?"

He smiled ever so slightly and shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I must decline," he replied almost gently. She really was quite skittish and uncertain about so very much. A large part of him wanted to take that from her and instil her with a bit more confidence. However he knew he couldn't. That would be far too much meddling even for him.

Which was precisely why he was here to do the next best thing.

"You're correct, you know," he spoke up again, causing Lucy's eyes to widen slightly in surprise. He continued, the same vaguely amused, almost caring smile in place. "If you'd never met the being posing as Harold Saxon, you would still be alive. You would have grown, as people are meant to do, and become quite successful in your career, in fact. You would be happy and healthy and certainly wouldn't see fit to second-guess yourself at most every turn."

"But I wouldn't have Harry."

And there it was. Death had known she would feel that way. Her connection with the Time Lord who called himself the Master was hardly a healthy one. Even in this place, far removed from direct influence, he had far more sway over her than anyone should have over another. It was partially why he'd chosen what Lucy's price would be without bothering to ask her. The other reason being that she really had nothing else to offer, although he wasn't going to tell her that.

"No," he instead answered her, the smile now replaced with a touch of a frown. "You would not."

"Why are you here?"

The question was a sudden one, and rather bold considering the source. It was the main reason he answered her rather than drag it out any longer. "I'm here to return you to life, Mrs. Saxon," he stated. At her surprised look, that hint of a smile returned. "Yes, I realize it seems rather unusual, given my nature. However, for reasons that are my own, I intend to do so regardless."

Lucy knew there was a 'but' involved. There always was. Nothing came without a price. Her marriage had cost her everything she'd once held dear, including her own sense of self. Surely returning to life had to be worth even more than that. Yet she didn't ask. She simply sat there, patiently waiting for him to continue.

Death, meanwhile, could almost respect how polite she was if he didn't know the manners were simply part of how docile she was. And her docility was hardly of her own doing but rather a careful culmination of years of being brow beaten by her family only to marry someone who had been even worse. Knowing he was going to do what he could to help in that regard, at least somewhat, he continued to explain.

"As you well know, Mrs. Saxon, everything comes with a price. In this instance, I am going to remove your memories." At her gasp, he paused to assure her, "Not all of them, of course. Simply some very select ones. Then I am going to restore you to life so you will be free to continue on with your existence without any memory of all of this… unpleasantness."

She didn't understand. At least, Lucy didn't think she understood. Then she thought about what he'd just said, really thought, and felt nothing short of horror wash over her. "You're taking him away from me," she whispered. She shook her head, pressing herself into the back of the couch in an effort to put some more distance between them. Her eyes widened and her expression became a panicked one. "Don't," she begged suddenly, "please don't. I don't want to go back, I don't want to live, and if you must force me to do so then at the very least, please don't-"

"Don't what, Mrs. Saxon?" Death remarked calmly. "Don't remove the rather large hindrance you've had in your life for some time now? Don't enable you to live your life free of fear and control? Why would I possibly want to do such a thing?"

Propriety all but forgotten, Lucy was on her feet in an instant. "I love him! He's my husband and you can't just-"

"I can," Death cut her off, making her mouth clamp shut. He rose and she instantly sat, hands clasped together and trembling almost violently in her lap. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared up at him fearfully. "I can," he continued, not lessening the severity of his tone until he'd made his point. "And I assure you, I am." He paused then, the intensity of the moment fading and his tone much more pleasant as he spoke again.

"It is for the best. While you might not agree with that sentiment currently, I can assure you that this is precisely what needs to be done," he said.

Lucy didn't speak. She simply continued to stare up at him, tears spilling unnoticed down her cheeks. Moving past her, pausing to place a calming hand on her shoulder, he added quietly, "This will all be over soon, my dear. You will find yourself back in the city which you call Colligo, with no recollection of this meeting nor that of the man you call Harry. I realize this is scarcely what you desire but I do promise you, it is for the best for all involved."

And then he was gone. Lucy felt the stifling feeling in the room evaporate and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Wiping absently at her tears, she looked around the room to find herself once again alone. Her gaze fell back to the book and, with trembling hands, she picked it up. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered nearly inaudibly before hugging the book to her chest, determined to spend however much time she had left in this place remembering her husband, in the vague hope she might be able to carry a few of those recollections back with her whenever this was all said and done.